THE ESTATE-MANAGER

A State comes into being, in my opinion, when each of us finds that he is not self-sufficient, but lacks many things… So A calls in B with regard to his need of X, and calls in C with regard to his need of Y; and we lack many things, so we gather many people together into one place of habitation, as our partners and allies… and people give and take in exchange.

Here we have what may be called an economic interpretation of history, based on the idea of division of labour. But the ideas remain half–formed in economic terms, and are not developed into a science of economics with analysis of factors such as labour, wealth, productivity, prices, supply, demand, trade, national income and so on. The problem is succinctly stated by Joseph Schumpeter:¹

Common–sense knowledge goes in this field much farther relatively to such scientific knowledge as we have been able to achieve, than does common–sense knowledge in almost any other field. The layman’s knowledge that rich harvests are associated with low prices of foodstuffs or that division of labour increases the efficiency of the productive process are obviously prescientific and it is absurd to point to such statements in old writings as if they embodied discoveries.

In short, the context of Plato’s remarks is not scientific economics, but Greek theories on the origins of things, which were developed in the fifth century. We find the sophists in particular expressing opinions on the origin of language, religion and society. Views on the origin of society are the immediate context of Plato’s remarks; the most famous such theory is that of Protagoras, retold in Plato’s Protagoras, 320c-322d, where it is suggested that it was man’s defencelessness against the elements and other animals that first caused him to band together.

So Xenophon contributed towards the founding of a literary topic. But did he invent the topic? We have only a fraction of the fifth-century literature we would like to have, but, even with that qualification, there seems to be no reason not to credit Xenophon with an initiatory role (Aristotle’s Politics was written well after Xenophon’s death). This is not to say that the work represents a great pioneering feat. Xenophon drew largely on his own experience and on oral lore, but there were also relevant writings which could have been available to him. The most significant of these is Hesiod’s epic poem Works and Days (written c. 700), which is a mine of practical information on the very topics Xenophon covers. Hesiod also wrote other relevant poems, which are now lost to us: Great Works covered agriculture at greater length than Works and Days, and Precepts of Chiron seems to have contained practical as well as purely moral advice.

This relationship between self–discipline and estate-management also emerges clearly from The Estate-manager. This is achieved partly by implication: Ischomachus demonstrates the discipline of his personal regimen (11.7–20) and we are meant to see what a good manager he is. Mainly, however, the thesis is backed up by argument: Socrates argues that failure at estate-management is due to lack of self-discipline (1.16–23); Ischomachus insists that a prerequisite for positions of managerial responsibility on his estate is self-discipline (9.11, 12.11–14), and that unprofitable farming is due to carelessness (20.2–20).

It is only in the context of The Estate-manager as a quasiphilosophical, moral treatise that the eulogy of farming makes full sense. No doubt there are some more prosaic motives behind the praise. Xenophon may have recently taken up farming himself, and have been enthusiastic about it; he may be reflecting the Athenian citizen’s proprietorial love of the land; it has even been suggested that he was trying to encourage people to move back to abandoned farms. But it is the moral benefit of farming that is stressed throughout: farming inculcates self-discipline and all the manly virtues (5.4, 5.12–13); it trains people to want to protect their country and to be good at doing so (5.5, 5.7); it teaches men to rule others (5.15–17). These references are all from Socrates’ remarks on farming; Ischomachus’ role is to stand as a living model of all that Socrates says.

What is it, in Xenophon’s view, to be a kingly ruler? It is, first and foremost, to have thorough knowledge of the field in which you hope to rule (for example, Memoirs, 3.3.9, 3.9.10). Where kingship itself is concerned, the knowledge required is knowledge of how to deal with people: this is a constantly reiterated theme in the descriptions of the Xenophontic ‘truly good’ man. By displaying this knowledge, the ruler commands obedience from his subordinates (for example, Socrates’ Defence, 20; Memoirs, 4.6.12).³

All we can safely say about the dramatic date of the conversation with Ischomachus is that it precedes the conversation with Critobulus, since Socrates recounts it to Critobulus, and that it is again peacetime, since Ischomachus can come and go from Athens as he pleases (11.14–18) – during the war the countryside was invariably ravaged and even occupied by the enemy. There are two possibilities, therefore: the conversation could have taken place either before 431, when the Peloponnesian War began, or between 404, when it ended, and 401, the upper terminus of the conversation with Critobulus.

I would leave the matter there were it not that further discussion will also serve to tell the reader some of what we know about Ischomachus from other sources (see also p. 310, n. 2), as well as introduce a scenario which, especially if relevant, would supply a delightful contrast to Xenophon’s portrait of Ischomachus’ wife as a model of Greek meek-and-mild feminine virtue.

We find the name ‘Ischomachus’ in several other authors.¹ The following three mentions are relevant in the present context. Araros, the son of Aristophanes and himself a comic poet, mentions a living Ischomachus in Fragment 16. Araros did not put on any of his own plays until after 375 BC. The second mention is by the orator Lysias (19.46); this speech is most plausibly dated to c. 388 and mentions Ischomachus as dead – probably recently.

The third mention gives, or implies, more detail. Andocides, in a court speech (On the Mysteries, 124–7, written in 399), tells a wonderfully scurrilous story about Callias. He reports that Callias’ second marriage was to a daughter of Ischomachus and his wife Chrysilla. Within a year, however, Andocides claims, Callias had also installed Chrysilla in his home as his mistress. The daughter, after attempting suicide, leaves Callias. Eventually, Callias gets rid of Chrysilla too, but she is already pregnant by him and, after another unspecified length of time, Callias takes her back (she is by now described as an old woman) and acknowledges the child, a boy, as his own, although he had previously disowned him.

It would be a pity if we could not tip the scales in this issue one way or the other. At 6.13–14 Socrates implies that it was not long after he began his quest for true goodness that he introduced himself to Ischomachus. If this quest is synonymous with Socrates’ philosophical work (which is not implausible either in itself or by comparison with, for example, Plato, Apology, 21b ff.), then Xenophon could not be dating Socrates’ meeting with Ischomachus as late as c. 403, since Socrates was flourishing philosophically long before that. If this factor tips the scales, then it has the delightful consequence that the scandalous Chrysilla is Ischomachus’ wife, and Ischomachus possibly divorced her! This would show just how unreal and idealized Xenophon’s portraits of people could be.

When all is said and done, however, probably the only safe conclusion is that Xenophon is writing fiction and is not concerned with accurate historical settings for his work. And we should not let the reality of Chrysilla detract from the charming (and, for us, unique) view Xenophon affords us behind the doors of a Greek household.

THE ESTATE-MANAGER

I once heard him discussing estate-management as follows. ‘Tell me, Critobulus,’ he asked, ‘is estate-management the name of a branch of knowledge, like medicine, metalwork and carpentry?’

‘I think so,’ said Critobulus.

‘You know how we can attribute a function to each of those skills? Can we do the same for estate-management?’

‘Well, I think that a good estate-manager is one who manages his own estate well,’ said Critobulus.

‘What about if he were entrusted with someone else’s estate?’ asked Socrates. ‘Wouldn’t he be able to manage it as well as he does his own, if he chose to? I mean, an expert carpenter could do for someone else just as good a job as he does for himself; and the same goes for an estate-manager, I imagine.’

‘I think you’re right, Socrates.’

‘So,’ said Socrates, ‘is it possible for an expert at this skill, even if he happens to have no property himself, to earn a salary by managing someone else’s estate, just as he could by building him a house?’

‘Yes, indeed,’ said Critobulus. ‘He could earn a great deal of money, if he were able to take over an estate, pay all necessary expenses and increase the estate by providing a surplus.’

‘So what do we think an estate is? The same as a house? Or is it the case that all possessions outside the house are also part of an estate?’

‘Well,’ said Critobulus, ‘I think that all someone’s possessions, even if he has them in different cities, are part of his estate.’

‘Now, some people have acquired enemies, haven’t they?’

‘Certainly, lots of them in some cases.’

‘Shall we include enemies among their possessions?’

‘But it would be absurd,’ said Critobulus, ‘to pay someone wages for increasing the number of one’s enemies!’

‘Wait, though – we decided that a person’s estate was the same as his property.’

‘Yes, indeed,’ said Critobulus, ‘it is any good thing he possesses. But I most certainly do not include bad possessions among his property.’

‘You’re apparently describing as his “property” whatever is useful to an individual.’

‘Quite so. I count harmful things as liabilities rather than as assets.’

‘So suppose someone buys a horse, but doesn’t know how to make use of it, and falls off and is injured – then the horse isn’t an asset?’

‘No, it isn’t, if assets are good.’

‘So a person’s land isn’t an asset either, if his working it results in a loss.’

‘No, not even his land is really an asset, if it promotes hunger instead of nourishment.’

‘And the same goes for his flocks too: if someone incurs a loss through ignorance of how to make use of flocks, then his flocks wouldn’t be assets either, would they?’

‘Not in my opinion, anyway.’

‘In short, you reckon (or so it seems) that whatever is beneficial is an asset, and whatever is harmful is not.’

‘Just so.’

‘It follows that the same things are assets if one knows how to make use of them, and are not assets if one doesn’t. For instance, pipes are assets in the hands of someone who knows how to play them adequately, but someone who doesn’t might as well have useless stones.’

‘Unless he sells them.’¹

‘So our impression is that, for those who don’t know how to make use of them, pipes are assets if they sell them, but are not assets if they don’t sell them but hang on to them.’

‘Yes, Socrates, and the stages of our argument are perfectly consistent, based on the premiss that beneficial things are assets. Unsold pipes are not assets, because they are useless; sold pipes are assets.’

Socrates’ response was as follows: ‘Yes, if the seller knows how to sell. But if he sells the pipes for something else which he doesn’t know how to make use of, then it follows from your argument that pipes are not assets even if they’re sold.’

‘You seem to be implying, Socrates, that not even money is an asset, unless one knows how to make use of it.’

‘Yes, but you too agree that assets are things which can benefit a person. At any rate, if the use that someone makes of his money is, for example, to buy a concubine and consequently to damage his body, mind and estate, then how can his money benefit him?’

‘It cannot – unless we are going to claim that even the plant called henbane, which makes you mad if you eat it, is an asset.’

‘So if one doesn’t know how to make use of it, Critobulus, then money must be kept at such a distance that it isn‘t even included among one’s assets. Now, what about friends: if one knows how to make use of them, so as to derive benefit from them, then how should they be described?’

‘Most emphatically as assets,’ said Critobulus. ‘They deserve the description far more than cattle, provided they are more beneficial than cattle.’

‘So it follows from your argument that enemies too are assets for someone who is capable of deriving benefit from them.’

‘I agree.’

‘Therefore, it is the job of a good estate-manager to know how to make use of enemies too in such a way that benefit is derived from them.’

‘Indubitably.’

‘All right. Now, you can see, Critobulus, how many estates belonging to private individuals, and those of despots too, have been increased as a result of war.’

‘I’m happy with some of what you’re saying, Socrates,’ said Critobulus, ‘but what about the fact that we come across people who have the relevant branches of knowledge, the resources to work their estates and the ability to increase them, but who, as we can recognize, are not prepared to do it and hence derive no benefit from their knowledge? What do we make of them? Aren’t we bound to say that in their case neither their expertise nor their property is an asset?’

‘Are you trying to raise the topic of slaves with me, Critobulus?’ asked Socrates.

‘No, not at all,’ he replied. ‘I’m talking about people, some of whom, at least, are regarded as definitely well born, and who I can see are experts in war and peace, but are not willing to do anything with their expertise; and the reason, in my opinion, is precisely that they have no masters set over them.’

‘Of course they have masters,’ said Socrates. ‘After all, they pray for happiness and want to do things from which they might derive good, but are prevented from doing these things by their rulers.’

‘And who are these invisible rulers?’ asked Critobulus.

‘They’re not invisible at all,’ said Socrates. ‘They are exceedingly conspicuous. And even you must see that they are the worst kind of rulers, if you regard laziness and mental flabbiness and irresponsibility as bad. There are others too – mistresses and deceitful with it – who pretend that they are pleasures, such as gambling and pointless parties; as time goes on, it becomes clear even to the victims of their seduction that they are afflictions disguised as pleasures, and that their rulership prohibits beneficial activity.’

‘But there are other people, Socrates, who do not have these masters to prevent them from working, but who in fact are very enthusiastic about work and about arranging incomes for themselves; nevertheless, they squander their estates and are surrounded by difficulties.’

‘These people are slaves too,’ said Socrates, ‘with very harsh masters set over them; some are ruled by gluttony, some by sex, some by drink, some by stupid and costly ambitions. These are such harsh rulers of the people they govern that, as long as they see them flourishing and capable of work, they force them to take the fruits of their labours and spend them on their own desires; and when they see that old age has made them incapable of work, they abandon them to wretched senility, and try to enslave others instead. No, it is just as crucial to fight for one’s freedom against these opponents, Critobulus, as it is to fight against those who try to enslave you by force of arms. In fact, when people are enslaved by enemies who are truly good, they are often forced by their masters’ reprimands to become better and to live the rest of their lives with fewer constraints. But mistresses like the ones I mentioned never stop preying on people’s bodies and minds and estates as long as they rule them.’

Next, Critobulus spoke somewhat as follows: ‘I don’t think you need tell me any more about them: when I examine myself, I think I find that my control over them is adequate. So if you were to advise me how to increase my estate, I don’t think it would be these mistresses, as you call them, who would prevent me from doing it. So don’t hesitate to give me all the good advice you have. Or have you decided, Socrates, that we are rich enough and don’t need further assets?’

‘If you’re including me,’ said Socrates, ‘no, I don’t think I need any further assets: I’m rich enough. But I think that you are very hard up, Critobulus, and indeed there are times when I feel very sorry for you.’¹

Critobulus said with a smile, ‘In all honesty, Socrates, how much do you think the sale of your property would fetch compared with mine?’

‘I think,’ said Socrates, ‘that if I were lucky in the buyer I found, all my property, including my house, would quite easily fetch five minae;¹ yours, however, I’m absolutely certain, would fetch more than a hundred times that.’

‘And although you realize this, do you still think you need no further assets, and feel sorry for my poverty?’

‘Well, you see, my property is enough to supply me with all my needs; but you cut such a dash and have such a reputation that I don’t think you’d have enough even if you had three times more than what you possess now.’

‘What do you mean?’ asked Critobulus.

Socrates explained: ‘In the first place, I see that you are obliged to offer many large sacrifices to the gods; otherwise, I think, both gods and men would object. Next, it is incumbent on you often to entertain visitors from abroad, and to do so generously. What is more, you have to invite your fellow citizens to dinners and do them favours; otherwise, you’d lose your supporters. Furthermore, I notice that the State is already requiring great expenditure from you on things like horse-rearing, financing choruses and athletic competitions, and on administration; and if there should be a war, I’m sure that they will require you to finance triremes and will make you pay an almost unbearable amount of tax.² And if you give the impression of not doing enough in any of these areas, I have no doubt that the Athenians will retaliate as severely as if they had caught you stealing from them. In addition, I see that you think you are rich, and you don’t bother about arranging an income; instead, you give your attention to childish pursuits, as if they were all you had to do. These are the reasons why I feel sorry for you and am worried in case you are ruined. Now, if I needed something, you know as well as I do that there are people who would help me out and whose contributions would not have to be at all large to overwhelm me with more than I need to live.

Your friends, however, although they have enough for their own situations and are therefore far better off than you, since you do not have enough, still look to you for your help.’

‘I can’t say you’re wrong in all this, Socrates,’ said Critobulus. ‘But now is the time for you to take charge of me and make sure that I don’t become really pitiable.’

In response, Socrates asked, ‘Don’t you think you’re behaving strangely? Not long ago, when I claimed to be rich, you laughed at me for my ignorance of what wealth is, and you wouldn’t let go until you’d argued me down and forced me to admit that my property is not even a hundredth of yours; but now you are telling me to take charge of you and to make sure that you don’t really become utterly impoverished.’

‘That, Socrates,’ he said, ‘is because I see that you know how to create a surplus, which is one of the activities that bring in money. So I look forward to someone who can create a surplus from meagre resources having little difficulty in creating a substantial surplus from substantial resources.’

‘Don’t you remember that point earlier in the discussion – it was when you weren’t letting me get a word in edgeways, and you said that horses are not assets for someone who doesn’t know how to make use of horses, and likewise for land, flocks, money and anything else whatsoever which someone doesn’t know how to make use of? Now, it is things like these from which income is derived, so how do you imagine that I know how to make use of any of them, when I’ve never had any of them in the first place?’

‘But our opinion was that there is a science of estate-management, which is not dependent on whether or not someone happens to have assets; so there’s nothing to stop you having this branch of knowledge, is there?’

‘Yes, there certainly is – the same thing which would stop a person knowing how to play the pipes, if he himself had never owned pipes or been lent someone else’s with which to learn. That’s exactly my situation as regards estate-management. I have not had the chance to learn from having owned the instrument myself – the instrument in this case being assets – nor has anyone else ever lent me his own assets to practise on, until your offer just now. But as you know, complete beginners at playing the lyre tend to ruin their lyres; so if I tried to learn estate-management on your estate, the chances are that I would ruin it.’¹

‘Socrates,’ Critobulus replied, ‘you’re trying hard to avoid lending me a helping hand; there are burdens I must bear, and you are not prepared to make them any easier for me.’

‘You completely misunderstand me,’ protested Socrates. ‘I’ll do my very best to explain to you anything I can. But I think that if you had come for fire and I didn’t have any to hand, and I directed you somewhere else, where you could get it, you wouldn’t have criticized me; and if you were asking me for water, and I didn’t have any, but I took you elsewhere for it, I’m sure that you wouldn’t have criticized me for that; and if you wanted to learn music from me and I pointed you to people who were far better than me at music and who would thank you for coming to learn from them, then would you still find fault with my conduct?’

‘That wouldn’t be fair at all, Socrates.’

‘Well, Critobulus, I’ll point you in the direction of other people who are far better than me at the matters which you are currently so keen to learn from me. I admit that I have looked into the question of who in Athens are the greatest experts at things. You see, I once noticed that some people get very poor, others very rich, as a result of the same activities; I was surprised, and I thought it worth investigating why this should be so. My investigations led me to the conclusion that this occurs quite naturally: I saw that those who act casually incur losses, while those who work hard and apply themselves act more quickly, more easily and more profitably. Now, suppose you learn from the latter people, if you want; then, in my opinion, provided God does not oppose you, you would become a very good businessman.’

In response, Critobulus said, ‘Now look, I’m not going to let you go, Socrates, until you have demonstrated what you promised to demonstrate in front of our friends here.’¹

‘Well then, Critobulus,’ said Socrates, ‘what if I demonstrate that, in the first place, some people spend a lot of money on building useless houses, whereas others spend far less and build perfectly adequate houses? If I do this, will I, in your opinion, be demonstrating that this is one of the things that fall within the domain of estate-management?’

‘Certainly,’ said Critobulus.

‘What if I next demonstrate to you the corollary of this? That some people own a great many possessions of all sorts, are unable to make use of them when they need to, don’t even know whether they are safe and sound, and hence cause themselves, and their servants, a great deal of irritation. On the other hand, those who have not more but fewer possessions have them immediately available and are able to make use of the ones they need.’

‘Isn’t the reason for this, Socrates, that the first lot of people drop their things here, there and everywhere, whereas the others keep everything arranged and in place?’

‘Yes, of course,’ said Socrates, ‘and everything is arranged in the proper place, not at random.’

‘I suppose you’re implying,’ said Critobulus, ‘that this too falls within the domain of estate-management.’

‘What if I further demonstrate to you that in some cases all the slaves are kept in chains, as it were – and these are the ones who constantly run away – whereas in others they are free and happy both to work and to stay? Will you think that I am demonstrating something remarkable, which also falls within the domain of estate-management?’

‘Yes, I most certainly will,’ said Critobulus, ‘very much so.’

‘And what about people who work almost identical farms, some of whom complain that they are being ruined by farming, and cannot make a living, while others gain from their farms everything they need, both in quantity and quality?’

‘Yes indeed,’ said Critobulus. ‘I mean, presumably there are people who spend money not only on necessities, but also on things which are bad for themselves and for their estates.’

‘There probably are people like that,’ said Socrates, ‘but I’m not talking about them. I’m referring to people who don’t have money to spend even on necessities, despite claiming to be farmers.’

‘Why would this happen, Socrates?’

‘I’ll take you to meet them too,’ said Socrates, ‘and when you observe them, you’ll understand the reasons, I’m sure.’

‘I certainly will, if I can,’ he said.

‘Well, you must observe them, and then you’ll discover by experience whether you find it comprehensible. I’m well aware of your current practice: when there’s a comedy to be seen, you get up very early in the morning and walk a very long way, and try hard to persuade me to come and watch it with you; but you’ve never invited me to any production like the one I’ve mentioned.’

‘So you think me ridiculous, Socrates.’

‘Far less than you do yourself, surely,’ he said. ‘And what if I demonstrate to you that stud-farming has led some people to indigence, but others to considerable prosperity and the ability to revel in their gains?’¹

‘Well, I’ve seen both types – I know them well – but I am still just as far from joining the profit-makers.’

‘That’s because you watch them as you watch tragic and comic actors, which you do not do with a view to becoming a playwright, I imagine, but to enjoy what you see or hear. That’s how it should be, I suppose, since you don’t want to become a playwright; but since you are forced to be involved with stud-farming, don’t you think it would be stupid not to ensure that you tackle the business professionally, bearing in mind especially that where horses are concerned, those whose use brings advantage are also those whose sale brings profit?’¹

‘Are you suggesting that I break in horses when they’re young, Socrates?’

‘No, of course not – no more than I would suggest that you buy farm-hands and train them from childhood; but I think that there are times in the lives of both horses and people when immediate use can be made of them and they can go on improving. ² Next, I can demonstrate that some people treat their wives in such a way that they gain their cooperation in the job of increasing their estates, but others treat their wives in a way guaranteed to maximize the destitution of their estates.’

‘And should one attribute this to the husband or the wife, Socrates?’

‘If a sheep is in a bad way,’ replied Socrates, ‘we usually blame the shepherd; if a horse’s behaviour is unruly, we blame the trainer. As for a wife, if she has faults even though her husband has tried to teach her virtue, then it would probably be fair to blame the wife; but if he doesn’t teach her what is truly good and then finds her ignorant of it, wouldn’t it be fair to blame the husband? Now, we’re all friends here, Critobulus, so you must be absolutely honest with us. Don’t you entrust more of your affairs to your wife than to anyone else?’

‘Yes,’ he replied.

‘And is there anyone to whom you speak less than you do to your wife?’

‘There aren’t many, if any.’

‘Didn’t you marry her when she was very young indeed and had had the least possible experience of the world?’³

‘Yes, she was very young.’

‘So it would be far more remarkable for her to know how to speak or behave properly than for her to make mistakes.’

‘But what about the people you mention who have good wives, Socrates? Did they educate them by themselves?’

‘There’s nothing like inquiry. I’ll get you to meet Aspasia,¹ and she’ll give you a far more knowledgeable account of all this than I can. My opinion is that when a wife is a good partner in the house, her contribution is just as beneficial as the husband’s. For the entry of wealth into the house is generally due to the husband’s activities, but expenditure is generally due to the wife’s housekeeping: if both of these jobs are done well, households flourish; but if they are done badly, households suffer. And if you feel a need to know about any other branch of knowledge, I think that I can direct you to someone who does an admirable job in it.’

‘But do you need to do this for every branch of knowledge, Socrates?’ asked Critobulus. ‘I mean, it isn’t easy to get hold of proper craftsmen of every craft, nor is it possible to become expert at them oneself.² So why don’t you concentrate on the branches of knowledge which you think finest and to which I particularly ought to apply myself? Show me which they are and who works at them, and help me yourself by explaining whatever you can about these matters.’

‘You’re right, Critobulus. I mean, the manual crafts, as they are called, have a bad name ³ and are not rated at all highly in our countries. There are good reasons for this. You see, those who work at them and apply themselves to them are forced to be sedentary and spend their time out of the sunlight, and sometimes even to spend their days by the heat of a fire.⁴ As a result their bodies are ruined, and this physical debilitation is accompanied by considerable weakening of their minds too. These so-called manual crafts give people no time to bother with friends or country, and consequently their practitioners are thought to be bad at dealing with friends and at defending their countries. In fact, it is a rule in some countries, and especially those with a reputation for military prowess, that only non-citizens can work at manual crafts.’¹

‘So which crafts do you think we ought to be involved with, Socrates?’

‘Could we possibly be ashamed if the king of Persia was our model? I mean they say that he regards agriculture and the art of war to be among the finest and most essential pursuits, and applies himself thoroughly to them both.’

In response to this, Critobulus said, ‘Do you trust this report, Socrates? Do you believe that the king of Persia makes any place at all among his occupations for agriculture?’

‘Perhaps we’ll find out if he does, Critobulus,’ said Socrates, ‘if we look at it this way. We agree that he pays close attention to military matters, because he has ordered the leaders of every nation which pays him tribute to maintain a quota of cavalry, archers, slingers and wicker-shield bearers ² for the purpose of controlling his subjects and defending the country in the event of a hostile invasion; and apart from these troops, he maintains garrisons in the city keeps. There is an official who has been given the job of maintaining the garrisons, and every year the king organizes a review of the troops, both those who receive pay and those who are otherwise instructed to bear arms; all the troops, except for those in the city keeps, are assembled at appointed places of muster. He personally inspects those who are stationed near his residence, and he sends trusted officers to inspect those who are stationed far away. Those commanders of garrisons or districts or provinces ³ who turn out with the full quota and have their men equipped with good-quality horses and weapons are promoted by him and enriched with generous gifts; but those commanders who are found to be neglecting their commands or making a profit out of them are severely punished by him and others are appointed to their posts. So, we reckon that these actions of his show beyond the shadow of a doubt that he applies himself to military matters.

‘Moreover, he personally assesses as much of his land as he sees when he passes through it; and however much he doesn’t see himself, he sends trusted men to inspect. And those rulers who are able to show him a populous domain and land which is being worked and has plenty of the local trees and crops – to these he assigns extra land, and he enriches them with gifts and rewards them with official posts; but those whose land he finds unworked and sparsely populated because of their strictness or oppression or neglect are punished by him and deprived of their command, and others are appointed to their posts. Do we reckon that these actions of his show that he pays less attention to ensuring that his land is worked by its inhabitants than to ensuring that it is well protected by its garrisons?

‘He has also arranged for there to be distinct officers for each of the two spheres: some govern the inhabitants and labourers, and collect tribute from them; others command the soldiers and garrisons. If the commander of a garrison fails to protect the land well enough, then the person who governs the inhabitants and oversees their labour informs against the commander, on the grounds that the inhabitants are unable to work the land because it is undefended; on the other hand, if the garrison commander is making sure that no warfare interrupts the labour, but the governor is still causing the land to be sparsely populated and unworked, then the garrison commander informs against him. This makes sense because, by and large, badly worked land cannot maintain garrisons or pay tribute. Wherever a province commander is appointed, however, both these jobs are in his hands.’

At this point Critobulus said, ‘Well, if the king of Persia does all this, Socrates, then I don’t think that he pays less attention to agricultural matters than to military matters.’

‘But that’s not all,’ said Socrates. ‘He ensures that not only all the places where he has residences, but also all the places he travels to, have parks, which are called paradeisoi,¹ filled with all the truly good produce of the earth; he himself spends as much time as possible in these parks, except when the weather prevents him.’

‘Well, Socrates,’ said Critobulus,’of course he ensures that these paradeisoi, where he himself spends time, are made as beautiful as possible with trees and all the other beautiful things the earth produces.’

‘And, Critobulus,’ said Socrates, ‘some say that when the king is handing out rewards, the first to be summoned are those who have excelled in war, on the grounds that plenty of land ready for crops is no use at all unless there are people to defend it; then the next to be summoned are those who have done particularly well at cultivating their lands and making them productive, the given reason being that even the defenders would be unable to live without people to work the land. In fact, Cyrus, who was the most renowned member of the Persian royal family,² is said to have once told the people he’d summoned for rewards that it would be fair if he himself received the rewards for both activities, since he was pre-eminent both at cultivating the land and at defending it when it had been cultivated.’

‘Well,’ said Critobulus, ‘if Cyrus said that, then he prided himself just as much on making the land productive and cultivating it as on his skill at warfare.’

‘Yes, he certainly did,’ said Socrates. ‘And if Cyrus had lived, he would probably have been an excellent ruler. There’s plenty of evidence to suggest it, but especially significant is the fact that, during the course of his expedition against his brother, to fight him for the throne, not a single man is said to have deserted from Cyrus to the king, whereas thousands upon thousands deserted from the king to Cyrus. I count it as highly indicative of good leadership when people obey someone without coercion ¹ and are prepared to remain by him during times of danger. While Cyrus was alive, his friends fought next to him; and when he was killed, they all died with him, fighting around his corpse – all except Ariaeus, that is, who, as it happened, was positioned on the left wing.²

‘While we’re on the subject of Cyrus, there’s a story (which Lysander himself once told someone he visited in Megara) that, when Lysander ³ came to him, bringing gifts from his allies, Cyrus acted kindly towards him in many ways, but especially by showing him the paradeisos in Sardis. When Lysander marvelled at how beautiful the trees were, how regularly they had been planted, how straight the rows were, how all their angles made for beauty, and how, as they walked around, they frequently came across pleasant scents, he expressed his admiration by saying, “I find the beauty of all this quite astonishing, Cyrus, but I am far more in awe of whoever measured and arranged everything for you.”

‘Cyrus was delighted at this and said, “Well, Lysander, it was I who did all the measuring and arranging, and I even planted some of the trees myself.”

‘Lysander looked at him, saw the fineness of the clothing he was wearing, smelled his perfumes, noticed the fineness of the necklaces and bangles and the rest of the jewellery he had on, and said, “What do you mean, Cyrus? Did you really do some of this planting with your own hands?”

‘“Does that surprise you, Lysander?” Cyrus replied. “I swear to you by Mithras that, my health permitting, I never ate without having first worked up a sweat by undertaking some activity relevant either to the art of war or to agriculture, or by stretching myself in some way or other.”

‘Lysander’s own report is that when he heard this, he applauded Cyrus and said, “You deserve your good fortune, Cyrus: you have it because you are a good man.”

‘I am telling you this, Critobulus,’ said Socrates, ‘because even those who are very well off cannot distance themselves from agriculture. You see, it is plausible to claim that the practice of agriculture is simultaneously a source of pleasant living, of increasing one’s estate, and of training the body for being able to do everything a free man ought to be able to do. In the first place, thanks to those who work it, the land bears not only the means for people to live, but also bears the means for them to live pleasantly; in the second place, it provides all the things people use to decorate their altars and their votive offerings, and all the things with which they decorate themselves – and the land does not merely provide these things, but also causes them to have the most pleasant scents and appearances; in the third place, it grows many savouries,¹ and feeds others (since livestock-breeding goes hand in hand with land-cultivation), and results in people both being able to please the gods by offering sacrifices and having stock for their own disposal.

‘The land provides the greatest abundance of good things, but doesn’t allow them to be taken without effort. It trains people to endure the cold of winter and the heat of summer. It exercises and strengthens smallholders who work it with their hands. It makes men of those who cultivate it diligently, by having them wake early and making them exert themselves as they go about their business. For on estates as well as in cities, the most vital jobs are always urgent.

‘Moreover, if one wants to help one’s country by serving in the cavalry, agriculture, more than anything else, is capable of contributing towards maintaining one’s own horse; if one is in the infantry, agriculture makes one’s body vigorous. And the land goes some way towards stimulating an interest in the effort that hunting requires,¹ since it makes it easy to maintain a pack of hounds and at the same time nourishes wild animals. And while both horses and hounds are benefited by agriculture, they in turn benefit the estate – the horse by carrying the manager early in the morning to his job and by giving him the opportunity to leave it late, the hounds by keeping wild animals from damaging crops and flocks, and by reducing the risks of living in isolation.

‘The land also plays a part in encouraging farmers to take up arms to assist their country, because its crops grow out in the open for the victor to take. What area of expertise produces better runners, throwers and jumpers than agriculture? What area of expertise offers more rewards to its practitioners? What area of expertise admits an acolyte more gratifyingly, freely allowing anyone who approaches to take what he needs? What admits strangers more generously? Where else than on an estate is it more feasible to pass the winter with no shortage of fire and with warm baths? Where else than in the country with its water, breezes and shade, is it more pleasant to spend the summer? What other area of expertise supplies the gods with more appropriate first-fruits or gives rise to more popular festivals? What is more congenial to one’s servants, or gratifying to one’s wife, or welcome to one’s children, or agreeable to one’s friends? I think it highly unlikely that any free man has ever acquired any possession more gratifying than this, or discovered a more pleasant pursuit, or one which enhances his livelihood more.

‘Furthermore, the land also freely teaches justice to those who are capable of learning; for it does people favours in proportion to how well they serve it. So if people involved in agriculture – with its vigorous and manly training – are ever forced away from their work by a massed army, they are well equipped in body and mind, if God should not oppose them, for being able to invade their opponents’ territory and take provisions. It is not uncommon in war for it to be safer to take weapons rather than farming implements on a foraging expedition.

‘Agriculture also contributes towards training people in cooperation. Going against hostile forces requires more than one person; so does working the land. Someone who wants to become a good farmer, then, must ensure that his labourers are both keen and obedient; someone who is going to lead an expedition against hostile forces must arrange for the same results, by rewarding those who act in a manner appropriate to good soldiers and by punishing those who lack discipline.¹ It is often just as important for a farmer to encourage his labourers as it is for a general to encourage his troops. And slaves need good prospects for the future just as much as free men – or even more – to make them prepared to stay put.

‘Whoever it was who said that agriculture is the mother and nurse of all other arts was right, because when agriculture is faring well, all the other arts are strengthened too; but wherever the land is forced into barrenness, all the other arts, whether based on land or sea, are more or less smothered.’

In response to this speech, Critobulus said, ‘You’re quite right in this, Socrates, I think. But it is beyond human ability to foresee the majority of factors relevant to agriculture. I mean, hailstorms and occasional frosts, droughts, sudden rainstorms, crop-diseases – all these and other factors often undo well-planned and well-executed work. And even the most well-bred flocks are sometimes utterly ruined by the occurrence of disease.’

‘Critobulus,’ Socrates replied, ‘I thought you knew that the gods have just as much control over agricultural matters as they do over warfare. I imagine you are aware that people engaged in war propitiate the gods and use sacrificial victims and omens to inquire what they ought and ought not to do before they embark on hostilities. Do you think it is any less necessary to ask the gods for mercy where agricultural affairs are concerned? Sensible farmers, I can assure you, worship and pray to the gods about their fruits, grain, cattle, horses, sheep – yes, and all their property.’

‘Well, Socrates, I think you’re right to tell me to try to bring the gods in at the start of any business, since the gods have authority over affairs conducted in peacetime just as much as they do over affairs in times of war. And that’s what we will try to do. But could you return to where you broke off from the discussion of estate-management and try to explain the relevant issues? I mean, even from what you’ve said so far, I think I now have a clearer insight than before into what I must do to make a living.’

‘All right,’ said Socrates. ‘So why don’t we start by running through all the agreed points in our discussion, with a view to trying also to reach the same unanimity, if we can, as we go through the points which remain?’

‘Yes, let’s,’ said Critobulus.’It’s nice when business partners don’t fall out in their dealings; it is equally nice for us, who are partners in conversation, to agree on topics as we deal with them.’

‘Well then,’ said Socrates, ‘we agreed that “estate-management” is the name of a branch of knowledge; that it is this knowledge which enables people to increase their estates; that an “estate” is the same as the sum of one’s property; that “property” is whatever is beneficial in a person’s life; and that beneficial things are those which one knows how to make use of. Now, we agreed that it is impossible to master all branches of knowledge, and we concur with our countries in rejecting the so-called manual crafts, because they seem to ruin people’s bodies and soften their minds. We said ¹ that the clearest evidence of this would be if, on the occasion of a hostile invasion of the country, one were to divide the farmers and the craftsmen into separate groups, sit them both down, and ask them to decide whether to defend the country or to give up the land and guard the fortified towns. We reckoned that in this situation those involved with the land would vote for defending it, while the craftsmen would vote for not fighting, but for sitting tight without effort or risk, as they have been conditioned to do. We judged that agriculture is the best work and the best branch of knowledge for a truly good person, because it supplies people with the necessities of life. We decided that it is the easiest work to learn and the most gratifying to do; that it makes people physically as attractive and fit as possible; and that it affords their minds the maximum possible opportunity for giving attention to their friends and countries. We agreed that agriculture also contributes towards promoting toughness in the people who work at it, since the crops that it grows and the livestock that it tends are situated outside the town fortifications. These are the reasons, we decided, why this means of making a living is held in the highest esteem by States, because it apparently turns out ideal citizens, who are extremely loyal towards the community.’

‘Socrates,’ said Critobulus, ‘I certainly think I am sufficiently convinced that agriculture provides the finest, best and pleasantest life. But you said ¹ that you understood the reasons why some farm in such a way that their farming gains them all they need and more, while the result of others’ labour is that their farming fails to make a profit. I‘m sure I’d be glad to hear what you have to say about these two cases, so that our activities are advantageous rather than detrimental.’

‘All right, Critobulus,’ said Socrates. ‘What if I tell you from start to finish about an encounter I once had with someone who, in my opinion, really was one of those people who deserve to be called “truly good”?’

‘I’d certainly like to hear about it,’ said Critobulus, ‘since I’d love to earn that description myself.’

‘I’ll tell you, then,’ said Socrates, ‘how I came to be interested in him. It didn’t take me at all long to visit our builders, smiths, painters, sculptors and so on, and see those products of theirs which are reckoned to be fine. But I had a passionate longing to meet one of those people who have this awesome designation of being “truly good”; I wanted to find out what they produced to make them deserve the name. Now, because “fine” is added to “good”,¹ my starting-point was that whenever I noticed someone fine, I approached him and tried to discover whether I could observe goodness attached to his fineness. This was not the case, however. Instead, I discovered that, in my opinion, some people with fine exteriors have very obnoxious minds. I decided, therefore, to ignore what was fine to look at, and to visit someone who was called “truly good”. So when I heard Ischomachus being called “truly good” by everyone – men and women, foreigners and Athenians – I decided to try to meet him.²

‘Some time later, I saw him sitting in the portico of the temple of Zeus Eleutherios; he didn’t seem busy, so I went and sat next to him and said, “What are you doing sitting here, Ischomachus? You’re usually busy. I generally see you in the agora, either busy about something or at any rate not really with time on your hands.”

‘“You wouldn’t have seen me now, Socrates,” said Ischo-machus, “if I hadn’t arranged to wait here for some people from out of town.”

‘“I’d be very grateful if you could tell me something,” I said. “When you’re not engaged like this, where do you spend your time, and what do you do? You see, I want very much to find out from you what activities have gained you the reputation of being truly good. For, as I can also tell from looking at your physical condition, you don’t spend time indoors.”

‘Ischomachus smiled at my question as to what he did to have gained the reputation of being truly good (I got the impression that he was pleased), and said, “I don’t know whether people call me that when they’re talking to you about me. When I am summoned to an exchange of property, where the issue is financing a trireme or a chorus,¹ no one goes looking for ‘Truly Good’, but the summons calls me plain ‘Ischomachus’, the name my father gave me! Anyway, Socrates,” he went on, “to answer your question, I don’t spend any time at all indoors: my wife is perfectly capable of managing my household affairs by herself.”

‘“I’ve got a question on this too, Ischomachus,” I said. “I’d be very glad if you could tell me whether you personally taught your wife how to be a model wife, or whether, when you were given her by her parents, she already knew how to manage her sphere of responsibility.”²

‘“How on earth could she know that when I received her, Socrates?” he asked. “She wasn’t yet fifteen years old when she came to me, and in her life up till then considerable care had been taken that she should see and hear and discover as little as possible. Don’t you think one should be content if all she knew when she came was how to turn wool into a cloak, and all she’d seen was how wool-spinning is assigned to the female servants? I was content, Socrates,” he added, “because when she came, she’d been excellently coached as far as her appetite was concerned, and that seems to me to be the most important training, for the husband as well as the wife.”

‘“What about all the other things she needed to know, Ischomachus?” I asked. “Did you personally teach your wife how to be capable of looking after them?”

‘“Well, at any rate not, you can be sure, until I had made a sacrifice to the gods,” said Ischomachus, “and had prayed that I would teach and she would learn what was best for both of us.”

‘“And did your wife join in your sacrificing, and offer up the same prayers?” I asked.

‘“She certainly did,” said Ischomachus. “She made many vows to the gods, and prayed that she might become a model wife. It was obvious that she would be a responsible pupil.”¹

‘“Please tell me where you started, Ischomachus,” I said. “What did you teach her first? I’d rather hear you describe this than the most spectacular athletic competition or horse-race!”²

‘“All right, Socrates,” said Ischomachus in reply. “I waited until she’d been broken in and was tame enough for a conversation, and then I asked her something along the following lines: ‘Tell me, my dear: have you realized yet why I married you and why your parents gave you to me? I mean, I know, and it’s clear to you too, that it wouldn’t have been difficult for each of us to have found someone else to share our beds. But for my part, I was considering whom it was in my interest to get as the best person to share my home and my children, and your parents had your interests at heart; so I chose you, and your parents apparently preferred me to all other eligible candidates. Now, as far as children are concerned, we will wait to see if God grants us any before thinking about how best to bring them up: one of the advantages we will share with each other is having them to support us and look after us as well as they can when we grow old. But what we share now is this home of ours, and we share it because I make all my income available for both of us, and you have deposited all that you brought with you in the same common pool. There’s no need to tot up which of us has made the greater contribution quantitatively, but we must appreciate that whichever of us is the better partner contributes more qualitatively.’

‘“To this, Socrates, my wife replied: ‘What assistance can I be to you? What can I do? It’s all up to you: my mother told me that my job was to be responsible.’

‘“‘Yes, my dear, of course,’ I said. ‘My father gave me the same advice. But you should know that responsible people of either sex should act in such a way as to ensure that their property is in the best possible condition and is increased as much as fair and honest dealings permit.’

‘“‘And what can I do to increase our estate?’ asked my wife. ‘Can you see anything I can do?’

‘“‘Yes, indeed I can,’ I replied. ‘You can try to utilize to the best of your ability the talents which the gods have implanted in you and society approves.’

‘“‘What talents do you mean?’ she asked.

‘“‘Ones which, in my opinion,’ I said, ‘are far from worthless – unless the jobs over which the queen bee of a hive presides are worthless! I’ll tell you what I’m getting at, my dear. I think that the gods exercised especially acute discernment in establishing the particular pairing which is called “male and female”, to ensure that, when the partners cooperate, such a pair may be of the utmost mutual benefit. In the first place, this pairing with each other is established as a procreative unit so that animal species might not die out. In the second place, human beings, at any rate, are supplied with the means to have supporters in their old age as a result of this pairing. In the third place, human life, unlike that of other animals, which live in the open, obviously requires shelter. But if people are to have something to store in this shelter, then they need someone to work out in the open: ploughing, sowing, planting and pasturing are all open-air jobs, and they are the sources of the necessities of life. Now, when these necessities have been brought under cover, then in turn there is a need for someone to keep them safe and to do the jobs for which shelter is required. Looking after new-born children requires shelter, as does making bread from corn and clothes from wool.

‘“‘Since both of these domains – indoor and outdoor – require work and attention, then God, as I see it, directly made woman’s nature suitable for the indoor jobs and tasks, and man’s nature suitable for the outdoor ones. For he made the masculine body and mind more capable of enduring cold and heat and travel and military expeditions, which implies that he ordained the outdoor work for man; and God seems to me to have assigned the indoor work to woman, since he made the female body less capable in these respects. And knowing that he had made it the woman’s natural job to feed new-born children, he apportioned to her a greater facility for loving new-born infants than he did to man. And because he had assigned to the woman the work of looking after the stores, God, recognizing that timidity is no disadvantage in such work, gave a larger share of fearfulness to woman than he did to man. And knowing that it would also be necessary for the one who does the outdoor work to provide protection against potential wrongdoers, he gave him a greater share of courage. But because both sexes need to give as well as receive, he shared memory and awareness between them both, and consequently you wouldn’t be able to say whether the male or the female sex has more of these. He also shared between them both the ability to be suitably responsible, and made it the right of whichever of them, the man or the woman, is better at this to reap more of its benefits. In so far as the two sexes have different natural talents, their need for each other is greater and their pairing is mutually more beneficial, because the one has the abilities the other lacks.

‘“‘So, my dear,’ I said, ‘we must recognize what God has assigned to each of us, and try our hardest to carry through our respective responsibilities. Society approves of this too, since it pairs a man and a woman together. Just as God has made men and women share in procreation, so society makes them share in estate-management. Moreover, where God has implanted in either sex greater ability, there custom gives its blessing. For it is better for the woman to stay indoors than to go out, but it is more reprehensible for the man to stay indoors than to look after the outside work. And if a man acts contrary to the talents God has implanted in him, then the chances are that the gods notice his disobedience and punish him for neglecting his own duties or doing the woman’s work. And I think,’ I concluded, ‘that the queen bee works away at similar tasks as God has assigned her.’

‘“‘How are the queen bee’s tasks similar to the ones I should do?’ asked my wife.

‘“‘In that although she stays in the hive,’ I replied, ‘she doesn’t allow the bees to be idle: those whose duty it is to work outside she sends out to their work. She also acquaints herself with everything that every bee brings into the hive, receives it and keeps it safe until it is required; when the time comes for it to be used, she distributes a fair proportion to each bee. She also oversees the construction of the honeycomb in the hive, making sure that it is constructed correctly and quickly; and she looks after the growing brood, making sure that it reaches maturity. When it does so and the youngsters are capable of working, she sends them out to found a colony, with a queen to rule the company.’¹

‘“‘So I too will be required to do these things?’ asked my wife.

‘“‘Yes,’ I said. ‘You will have to stay indoors and send out the servants who have outdoor jobs, and oversee those with indoor jobs. You must receive the produce that is brought in from outside and distribute as much of it as needs dispensing; but as for the proportion of it which needs putting on one side, you must look ahead and make sure that the outgoings assigned for the year are not dispensed in a month. When wool is brought in to you, you must try to make certain that those who need clothes get them. And you must try to ensure that the grain is made into edible provisions. One of your responsibilities, however,’ I added, ‘will probably seem rather unpleasant: when any servant is ill, you must make sure that he is thoroughly looked after.’

‘“‘No, no!’ said my wife. ‘That will be quite the opposite of unpleasant, provided that those who are well looked after turn out to be grateful and to grow in their loyalty.’

‘“‘I was delighted at this reply of hers. So I said, ‘It is attentive actions like these on the part of the queen in the hive too which make the attitude of the bees towards her such that, when she leaves the hive, not a single bee thinks of abandoning her, but they all go with her. Don’t you think, my dear, that such actions are the reason for this?’

‘“‘I would think it likely,’ said my wife, ‘that the actions of a leader like the queen bee are more applicable to you than to me. My storage and distribution of things indoors would look pretty absurd, I think, if you weren’t trying to make sure that produce is brought in from outside.’

‘“‘On the other hand,’ I replied, ‘my bringing produce in would look absurd without someone to keep what was brought in safe! Don’t you see how those who pour water into a leaky jar, as the proverb puts it, are pitied for their useless effort?’

‘“‘Yes, and pity is what they deserve, of course,’ said my wife, ‘for doing it.’

‘“‘Anyway,’ I said, ‘some of your specific responsibilities will be gratifying, such as getting a servant who is ignorant of spinning, teaching it to her and doubling her value to you; or getting one who is ignorant of housekeeping and service, teaching her to be a reliable servant, and ending up with her being of inestimable value; or having the right to reward those in your household who are disciplined and helpful, and to punish anyone who turns out to be bad. And the most gratifying thing of all will be if you turn out to be better than me, and make me your servant. This will mean that you need not worry that, as the years pass, you will have less standing in the household; instead you will have grounds for believing that, as you grow older, you will have more standing in the household, in proportion to the increase in your value to me as a partner and to our children as a protector of the home. For it is virtue rather than the physical beauty of youth that increases true goodness in human life.’¹

‘“That, Socrates, as near as I can remember, was my first conversation with her.”

‘“Ischomachus,” I asked, “did you find that she was motivated towards taking more responsibility as a result of what you said?”

‘“She most certainly was,” replied Ischomachus. “And I know that she was annoyed and highly embarrassed because once, when I asked for something from the stores, she couldn’t give it to me. When I saw that she was cross, I said to her, ‘Don’t worry, my dear, if you can’t give me what I happened to ask for. It is certainly unsatisfying not to be able to use something you need; but not being able to have something you’re looking for is less distressing than not looking in the first place because you know you haven’t got it! Anyway, I’m to blame, not you: I entrusted things to you without telling you where they should all be put, so how could you know where to put them and where to get them from? There is nothing in human life as useful or as fine as orderliness, my dear. I mean, consider a dance-troupe, which is a collection of people: when each of its members acts at random, chaos ensues and it’s not a pleasant spectacle; but when these same people act and sing in a disciplined way, then, I think, they are worth seeing and hearing.

‘“‘Or take the case of an army, my dear,’ I went on. ‘When it is in disarray, nothing is more chaotic, it’s no problem for the enemy to overcome it, and it’s an ignominious sight for those who wish it well and of no use to them at all – it’s a jumble of donkeys, hoplites,¹ baggage-carriers, light-armed infantry, cavalry and carts. How can they move like that, when they get in one another’s way – walkers impeding runners, runners being frustrated by those who have stopped, carts hindering cavalry, donkeys in the way of carts, baggage-carriers obstructing hoplites? And suppose they need to fight – how could they manage to fight in this state? The contingents who have to withdraw from the advancing enemy ² are quite capable of trampling on the hoplites. An orderly army, however, elates its watching supporters, but strikes gloom into its enemies. I mean, who – if he’s on the same side – could fail to be delighted at the sight of massed hoplites marching in formation, or to admire cavalry riding in ranks? And who – if he’s on the other side – could fail to be terrified at the sight of hoplites, cavalry, peltasts,³ archers, slingers, all arranged and following their commanders in a disciplined way? When they march in formation, even if there are thousands upon thousands of them, still they all proceed without confusion, as if they were a single individual, because any gap that is created is filled by the man behind.

‘“Moreover, the only time a trireme packed with men strikes fear into the enemy, but is a wonderful sight for people on the same side, is when it is moving fast through the water. And why do the crew not get in each other’s way? Only because they are seated in an orderly way, lean forward and pull back in an orderly way, and embark and disembark in an orderly way. Disorder strikes me as being like this: suppose a farmer were to put barley, wheat and pulse all together in the same place; then, when he wanted cake or bread or a savoury, he would have to sift instead of having them nicely separate and ready for use.

‘“So, if you want to avoid such chaos, my dear, and would like to be able to manage our belongings without making mis-takes, and to have easily available for use anything you require, and to please me by giving me anything I ask for, then let’s decide on the appropriate place for everything and, once we’ve put them there, let’s tell the housekeeper that that’s where to get them from and where to return them. This will enable us to know which of our belongings are safe and sound and which are not, because the place itself will cry out for anything that’s not there; our eyes will spot anything that needs attention, and knowing where each thing is will make it readily available so that there are no obstacles to our making use of it.’

‘“The finest and most precise ordering of objects that I think I’ve ever seen, Socrates, was when I went on board the great Phoenician ship to inspect it.¹ There I saw a huge number of items all separately packed away in the least possible space. I mean, a ship, as you know, uses a lot of wooden objects and ropes when it docks and sets sail, and a lot of rigging, as it is called, when it is sailing; it carries a lot of devices to defend itself against enemy ships, a lot of weaponry for the crew and all the implements which people use in a house on land for each group of men who mess together. Apart from all this, it is filled with all the goods which the ship’s owner is transporting for profit. And all these things I’ve mentioned are kept not in some over-large space, but in a hold which is comparable in size to a ten-couch dining-room. I observed that all these objects were stored in such a way that they didn’t obstruct one another, didn’t need a search-party, and weren’t either so loosely or so tightly packed as to cause a delay when there was an urgent need for something. I found out that the helmsman’s subordinate, who is called the prow-man of the ship, knows everything’s location so well that even when he’s not in the hold he can say where everything is and how many objects there are, just as someone who’s literate can say how many letters there are in ‘Socrates’ and where in the word each letter comes. Nevertheless, I saw this same prow-man using his spare time to inspect all the ship’s necessities. I was surprised that he was making such an inspection, and I asked him what he was doing. ‘Sir,’ he replied, ‘I am inspecting the ship’s equipment to see if anything is missing or awkwardly stored. I am doing this in case something unforeseen happens. You see, when God whips up a storm at sea, searching for an essential item or handing over something which is lying awkwardly is out of the question. God guarantees retribution for stupidity and punishes it. If God merely refrains from destroying innocent people, they have much to be grateful for; and even if you’ve done your job excellently and you are spared, it is the gods who must be profusely thanked.’

‘“Anyway, since I’d seen the tidiness of this equipment, I said to my wife, ‘If people on ships – even on small ships – can find space, can keep things tidy even when they are being tossed about in a violent storm, and can lay their hands on what they want even when they are terrified, then it would be very stupid for us, when our house has large, separate store-chests for everything and rests on solid ground, not to be able to find a correct and accessible place for each of our things. Wouldn’t that be highly idiotic of us? What an advantage it is to have one’s stock of equipment well ordered! I have already remarked on this, and how easy it is to find a suitable place to put everything in a house. What a fine impression is given by footwear of all different kinds when it is kept in rows! What a wonderful sight is clothing of all kinds, and blankets, and metalware, and tableware, when each item is stored separately! What a wonderful sight is a regular display of jars all kept nicely separate! (I know it particularly provokes superficial people to mockery, but profound people agree.) This regularity explains why everything else too looks more beautiful when it is arranged and ordered. We are faced with a dance-troupe of utensils, and the unobstructed space between them all is beautiful too, just as the dancers in a circle-dance are not only beautiful to watch themselves, but the space in the middle also looks beautiful and clear. We can test the truth of what I say, my dear, with nothing to lose and little effort.

‘“‘Also, my dear, you don’t need to worry about its being difficult to find someone to learn where everything lives and to remember to put each item in its place. I mean, we are both, of course, aware that Athens as a whole has ten thousand times the possessions we do, and yet none of our servants has any difficulty in buying and bringing back home from the agora anything you tell him to get, which proves that they all know where to go to get anything. And the reason for this is precisely that everything is kept in its appointed place. On the other hand, one often gives up looking for a person, even though he may be looking for you too, before finding him; and this happens precisely when there is no appointed meeting-place.’

‘“That, as far as I remember, was my conversation with her about arranging utensils and making them usable.”

‘“And what happened, Ischomachus?” I asked. “Did your wife give you any indication that she was taking seriously any of the points you’d been at pains to teach her?”

‘“Of course. She promised to give them her attention, and she was obviously extremely delighted, as if she’d found the solution to a problem, and she begged me to make the kind of arrangements I’d described as soon as possible.’

‘“And how did you organize things for her, Ischomachus?” I asked.

‘“Well, naturally, the first step that occurred to me was to show her the house’s potential. You see, the rooms have not been ornately decorated,¹ Socrates, but have been purpose-built as the most functional containers possible of the things intended for them: consequently, each room tended to invite what was appropriate for it. The storeroom, being secure in the inner part of the house, invited the most valuable coverings and utensils; the dry rooms called for the grain, the cool rooms for the wine, the bright rooms for any objects and utensils which require light. I showed her that the house has rooms for people to pass time in (these have been decorated), which are cool in summer, but warm in winter; and I showed her that the whole house lies open to the south, with the obvious result that it is sunny in the winter and shady in the summer. I also showed her the female servants’ quarters, which are divided from the men’s quarters by a bolted door, to prevent items being unnecessarily removed from the house and to stop the servants breeding without our permission. I mean, when good servants have children, their loyalty is usually increased; but when bad ones are paired together, their criminal activities are increased.

‘“When we’d finished this,” he continued, “the next step was for us to divide our movable property into categories. We began by gathering together the things we use in worship. Next, we took out the decorative attire women wear for festivals, and the men’s festive and military clothing; here the bedclothes for the women’s quarters, there the bedclothes for the men’s quarters; here women’s footwear, there men’s footwear. Another category consisted of weapons, another of utensils for spinning, another of bread-making utensils, another of washing utensils, another of utensils used for kneading, and another of tableware. This latter category as a whole we subdivided into implements in constant use and those for special meals. We also set aside the goods that would be used up month by month, and made a separate category of the goods estimated to last for a year: this is the way to increase one’s knowledge about what the situation will be at the end of a period of time.

‘“When we had divided all the movable property into separate categories, we distributed each and every item to its appropriate place. Then we showed the servants, since they are the ones who use them, the proper places for all the utensils they use on a daily basis (for example, utensils for bread-making, savoury-making, spinning and so on); we entrusted these utensils to them and told them to keep them safe. But as for the utensils we use for festivals or parties or other occasional events, we entrusted these to the housekeeper, showed her their places and, once we’d counted them and made an inventory, told her that they were to be given to whoever needed them, and that she was to remember to whom she’d given them, get them back from that person and return them to the place she’d got them from.

‘“We had appointed as housekeeper the woman whom we considered, after looking into the matter, to be the most self-disciplined with regard to food, drink, sleep and sex, and who, in addition, struck us as having the best memory and being most likely to avoid incurring our disfavour by neglecting her duties, and as most likely to think about how she could please us and so earn rewards from us. We taught her to be loyal to us by sharing with her the occasions which made us happy, and by getting her involved in things which upset us too; and we taught her to be prepared to work hard for the increase of our estate by making her aware of its nature and by sharing its successes with her. We also instilled justice in her, by rewarding right, not wrong, among the servants and by showing her that justice leads to a wealthier and freer life than injustice. And then we gave her the job.

‘“Once all this was behind us, Socrates, I told my wife that none of it would be any good unless she made herself responsible for everything staying tidily arranged. I informed her that in countries with orderly constitutions the citizens don’t stop at enacting a fine legal code, but also elect guardians of the law to keep an eye on things and to commend or punish legal or illegal actions respectively. So I instructed my wife to think of herself as a guardian of the law in our household. I told her to inspect our utensils, when she had a mind to do so, just as the commander of a garrison inspects his troops; and to assess whether or not each item was in a good condition, just as the Council assesses the cavalry and their mounts; and to behave like a queen who, on the basis of the authority that is hers, commends and rewards anyone who deserves it, and reprimands and punishes when necessary. I also told her that, where our property was concerned, she shouldn’t be annoyed at my giving her more jobs to do than I gave the servants; I pointed out that servants’ involvement in their master’s assets is limited to fetching, looking after and protecting, but, unless their master lets them, they don’t have the right actually to make use of any of the assets – it is only the master’s right to make use of anything he wants. Therefore, I explained, the person who profits most if assets are safe and sound, but loses most if they are destroyed, should take the most responsibility for those assets.”

‘“Now, Ischomachus,” I said, “once your wife had heard what you had to say, what did she do about it?”

‘“Well,” he replied, “she told me, Socrates, that I’d got it wrong if I thought that I was giving her an onerous task by telling her it was her duty to look after our property. She said that the duty of looking after what was good for her personally would be far less of a burden than if I’d told her to neglect what belonged to her. I think,” he added, “that when she said that she thought it was more gratifying for a responsible woman to care for her own possessions (which please her because they belong to her) than to neglect them, she was expressing the same natural law which makes it easier for a responsible woman to care for her own children than to neglect them.”

‘When I heard this answer of his wife’s,’ said Socrates, ‘I exclaimed, “Good heavens, Ischomachus! On your evidence, your wife has a mind as good as a man’s!”

‘“Yes,” said Ischomachus, “and I’d like to tell you about other instances of her considerable conscientiousness, where I only had to say something once and she took to heart what I said.”

‘“Tell me, please,” I said. “What did she do? I’d much rather hear about virtue in a real live woman than have Zeuxis show me a portrait of one, however beautiful.”¹

‘So Ischomachus continued as follows: “Well, Socrates, I once noticed that she had rubbed a lot of white lead into her skin, to make herself seem even paler than she was, and also a lot of alkanet, to make her cheeks redder than they were naturally,¹ and was wearing raised shoes, to appear taller than her actual height. ‘Tell me, my dear,’ I said, ‘would you love me more, as your partner in our assets, if I showed you my belongings for what they are without pretending that I’ve got more than I have and without hiding any of them either, or would you love me more if I tried to deceive you by claiming to have more than I do, and by showing you counterfeit money and fake jewellery, and if I told you that clothing dyed with purple that will soon fade was the genuine article?’

‘“She didn’t hesitate, but exclaimed in response: ‘What a dreadful thing to say! Don’t you ever behave like that! I couldn’t love you from my heart if you were like that.’

‘“‘Well, my dear,’ I said, ‘our marriage means that we are also partners in each other’s bodies, doesn’t it?’

‘“‘So people say, at any rate,’ she replied.²

‘“‘So would you think me a more lovable physical partner,’ I said, ‘if I tried to present myself to you with a good natural complexion by ensuring that my body is healthy and fit, or if I presented myself to you after making up with red lead and smearing foundation cream under my eyes, so that, when we were together, I was deceiving you and making you see and touch red lead instead of my skin?’

‘“‘I’d rather touch you than red lead,’ she replied, ‘and I’d rather see your complexion than foundation cream, and I’d rather see your eyes naturally healthy than made up.’

‘“The same goes for me too, my dear,’ I said. ‘Don’t think that I prefer the colour of white lead or alkanet to your own colouring. The gods have made horses attract horses, cows cows and sheep sheep. Human beings are no different: they find an unadorned human body the most attractive. It is possible that artifice like this may deceive outsiders, but it is inevitable that people who spend all their time together will not get away with trying to deceive each other. There are several possibilities: they’ll be caught out when they get out of bed in the morning before getting dressed, or the truth will be revealed by sweat or tears or washing.’”

‘“Please tell me,” I said, “what reply she made to this.”

‘“Well,” he said, “she never did anything like that ever again! Instead she set about presenting herself in an unadorned and tasteful manner. She did ask me, however, if I had any advice to offer on how she could make herself truly beautiful, instead of just appearing to be beautiful. Now, my advice to her, Socrates, was to avoid constantly sitting down, which is what slaves do, and to try, with the gods’ help, to act like the mistress of the house and, when she approached the loom, for instance, to stand there and teach or learn, depending on whether she knew something better or worse than others; or again, I advised her to watch over the bread-making, to stand by the housekeeper when she’s telling the servants their budgets, and also to walk around checking whether everything is in its proper place. My thinking was that these activities combine industry with walking. I also told her that there was good exercise to be provided by mixing water and flour and kneading dough, or by shaking and folding clothes and bedding. I pointed out that, if she exercised like this, she would enjoy her food more, be healthier and bring a genuine bloom to her complexion. As for what she looks like – when there’s a decision to be made between her and a servant girl, then because she is less made up and more tastefully dressed, she becomes an object of desire, and especially because she is granting her favours willingly, whereas the servant has no choice but to submit.¹ But women who put on airs and sit around are inviting comparison with tarted-up seductresses. Anyway, Socrates,” he concluded, “you can be sure that my wife’s lifestyle and appearance now conform to my injunctions and the description I’ve been giving you.”

‘Next I said, “Ischomachus, I think I’ve heard enough for the time being about what your wife does – and it reflects very well on both of you. But why don’t you tell me now what you do? You’ll have the pleasure of explaining the reasons for your excellent reputation, and I’ll get a thorough and comprehensible account (if my abilities allow me to understand it) of what a truly good man does, for which I’ll be very grateful.”

‘“Yes, Socrates,” said Ischomachus, “I will indeed be truly delighted to tell you what I spend my time doing, so that, if you think that anything I do is not right, you can set me straight.”

‘“I don’t know about that,” I said. “I don’t see how it could be right for me to correct a man who is perfectly and truly good, when my reputation is of being a windbag with his head in the clouds,¹ and – though this seems to me to be the silliest criticism imaginable – I am also called impecunious! Actually, Ischomachus, I would have been very depressed by this criticism, if it were not for an encounter I had the other day: I saw the horse belonging to Nicias the foreigner surrounded by people gawping at it, and I overheard some of them having a long discussion about it. Well, I went up to the groom and asked him if the horse had a lot of money. He looked at me as if I was out of my mind for asking such a question, and said, ‘How can a horse have money?’ I breathed a sigh of relief at hearing that it was not out of the question for an impecunious horse to be a good horse (assuming that it does have a good temperament). So, since my becoming a good man is not entirely out of the question, do please tell me all about what you do, and then, in so far as I can understand what you say, I’ll be able to try to follow suit, which is what I’ll do, starting from tomorrow morning. For tomorrow is a good day for embarking on a life of virtue.”

‘“Despite your joking, Socrates,” said Ischomachus, “I’ll tell you what I try to the best of my ability to spend my life doing. One thing I think I understand is that the gods have ruled out success for people who don’t know either what they ought to do or what steps they should take to achieve what they ought to do. Nevertheless, prosperity is given to only some of those who do have this knowledge and do take the proper steps. Therefore, I begin by worshipping the gods, and what I try to aim for in what I do is to make it possible for them to grant my prayers for physical health and strength, public recognition, goodwill from my friends, honourable survival in war and increasing wealth, blamelessly earned.”

‘When he’d finished, I said, “Ischomachus, do you really desire wealth – and all the bother of looking after large assets once you’ve got them?”

‘“Yes,” replied Ischomachus, “I certainly do desire these things. For it pleases me, Socrates, to give generously in worshipping the gods, to help my friends when they are in need, and to use my assets for beautifying the city as much as I can.”

‘“These are admirable reasons, Ischomachus,” I said, “and anyone with outstanding ability should, of course, have such aims. The vast majority of people are either incapable of living within their means or are happy if they can make ends meet. So of course those who are able not only to provide for their own households, but also to create a surplus, with which to beautify their cities and alleviate their friends’ burdens, are regarded as impressive and formidable men. However, I am far from being the first to find it easy to eulogize such people. Why don’t you go back to the beginning and tell me how you look after your health and your strength, and how you guarantee honourable survival in war? After that,” I said, “I’d be glad to hear about your financial affairs.”

‘“But all these things are interconnected, Socrates, I think,” said Ischomachus. “You see, when someone has enough to eat and takes the correct amount of exercise, he will stay healthy and get stronger, in my opinion; and, if his exercise includes training in the martial arts, his survival will be more honourable; and, if he applies himself properly and keeps fit, he is more likely to increase his estate.”

‘“I can follow you so far, Ischomachus,” I said. “You’re saying that exercise and practice and training increase a person’s chances of success. But I’d be glad to find out from you what sort of exercise you take to keep fit and strong, and how you train in the martial arts, and how you go about creating a surplus so as to help your friends and improve your city.”

‘“All right, Socrates,” said Ischomachus. “I usually get up early enough in the morning so that, if I happen to need to see someone, I can find him still at home. If I have to do some business in Athens, I use it as an opportunity to take a walk; if there’s no need for me to be in Athens, then my slave takes my horse on ahead to my farm, and I use the journey out of town as an opportunity for a walk – and this is probably better exercise for me, Socrates, than walking in my courtyard. Out on my farm I may find planting, ploughing, sowing or harvesting taking place, and I oversee all aspects of the labour and make any changes I can to improve on what’s going on. Next, I usually mount my horse and put him through his paces: since I imitate as closely as I can the equestrian skills needed in battle, I don’t steer clear of uneven or steep ground, or ditches or streams – although I do try as hard as possible not to lame my horse during these exercises. When this is over, my slave lets the horse have a roll and then takes him back home along with anything we need in town from the country. I walk some of the way home and run the rest, and then scrape myself clean with a strigil. Finally, Socrates, I eat enough to see me through the day without being either empty or too full.”

‘“Ischomachus,” I said, “your activities seem faultless to me, I swear. You contrive to be healthy, you take steps to keep fit, you train for war, you look after your wealth – and you put all this into practice at one and the same time! I find it thoroughly commendable. And you are living and sufficient proof that you go about each of these pursuits in the right way. For we can see that you are on the whole (as much as the gods grant to any man) healthy and fit, and we know that you have the reputation of being one of the best horsemen and wealthiest people in Athens.”

‘“Anyway, Socrates,” he said, “the result of my doing all this is that I am frequently slandered by sycophants,¹ though you perhaps thought I was going to say that I am frequently described as ‘truly good’!”

‘“Actually, Ischomachus,” I said, “I was going to ask you whether you also do anything about ensuring that you can hold your own in an argument, should the occasion arise.”

‘“Socrates,” he replied, “don’t you think that I have constantly been preparing for precisely that ² – to argue in my own defence that I do wrong to no one, but in fact often benefit people to the best of my ability? And don’t you think that I prepare for arguing as a prosecutor too, by observing those individuals who often wrong not only private citizens but also the State, and never do good to anyone?”

‘“Yes, Ischomachus,” I said, “but I’d still like to hear whether you practise actually expressing all this verbally.”

‘“I never stop practising that, Socrates,” he replied. “Sometimes I get one of my servants to play the role of prosecutor or defendant, and I listen to his speech and then try to refute it; sometimes I criticize or praise someone before a jury of his friends; sometimes I reconcile some of my acquaintances with one another by trying to explain that it is in their interests to be on good terms, not bad; sometimes we get together and pick holes in a general’s conduct,³ or speak in defence of someone who has been accused despite being innocent, or in impeachment of someone wrongly appointed to political office. Moreover, we often act like members of the Council, and recommend a course of action we approve of, or criticize one we don’t approve of. And often, Socrates, I have even been singled out and sentenced to pay some appropriate penalty or fine!”

‘“By whom, Ischomachus?” I asked. “I didn’t know that had happened.”

‘“By my wife!” he said.

‘“And what are you like at arguing your case?” I asked.

‘“Not bad at all, when it is a matter of telling the truth; but when I’d be better off lying, Socrates, there’s absolutely no way I can make the weaker argument into the stronger one.”¹

‘“That, Ischomachus,” I said, “is probably because you are incapable of making lies true!”

‘“But don’t let me detain you, Ischomachus,” I went on, “if you want to get away.”

‘“No, no, Socrates,” he replied. “I can’t go until the agora is completely clear.”

‘“Good heavens!” I said. “You certainly take a great deal of care that you keep your reputation for being truly good. I mean, there’s all your plentiful property requiring your attention, yet you are waiting here for your visitors from out of town, since you promised to do so, and you’re not about to break a promise!”

‘“As a matter of fact, Socrates,” Ischomachus said, “I’m not neglecting my property either, because I have foremen on my farms.”

‘“What do you do when you need a foreman, Ischomachus?” I asked. “Do you watch out for a man with the right skills, and then try to buy him (just as I’m sure that, when you need a builder, you would watch out for a skilled builder and then try to get hold of him)? Or do you train your foremen by yourself?”

‘“I try to train them myself, of course, Socrates,” he replied. “I mean, since I want someone who is capable of looking after things in my place when I’m not there, he needs to know exactly what I know. And if I have the competence to supervise the labour, I would surely be capable of passing that knowledge on to someone else too.”

‘“If he is to be capable of deputizing for you,” I said, “it must be of prime importance that he is loyal to you and your property, since any foreman’s knowledge is no good at all without loyalty, is it?”

‘“Of course not, none whatsoever,” said Ischomachus. “And in fact the first thing I try to inculcate is loyalty to me and my property.”

‘“Do please tell me,” I said, “how you teach whoever it may be to be loyal to you and your property.”¹

‘“By being his benefactor, of course,” Ischomachus said, “when the gods grant us some great good fortune.”

‘“You’re implying, then,” I said, “that loyalty to you, and the willingness to act to your advantage, are the result of your sharing the benefits of your good fortune, aren’t you?”

‘“Yes, Socrates; the way I see it, that’s the best means of securing loyalty.”

‘“But does loyalty to you by itself result in a competent foreman, Ischomachus?” I asked. “Isn’t it obvious that almost everyone is loyal to himself, but people are still often not prepared to make themselves responsible for getting the good things they want to have?”²

‘“Yes, of course,” said Ischomachus. “So when I want to make people like that into foremen, I also teach them responsibility.”

‘“How on earth do you do that?” I asked. “I really thought that it was altogether impossible to teach people responsibility.”³

‘“In fact it isn’t possible to teach it to absolutely everyone,” he said.

‘“So what kind of people can be taught it?” I asked. “Please give me a thorough and clear description of them.”

‘“Well, in the first place, Socrates,” he said, “you can’t teach people to be responsible if they have a weakness for alcohol, because their drunkenness makes them forget everything they’re supposed to do.”¹

‘“Is this the only weakness that prevents responsibility,” I asked, “or are there others?”

‘“There most certainly are others,” Ischomachus replied, “for instance, being ruled by sleep. I mean, it’s impossible for someone to perform his duties or to delegate them if he’s asleep!”

‘“Well, are these now the only kinds of people who can’t be taught responsibility,” I asked, “or are there others as well?”

‘“Yes,” replied Ischomachus, “I think that people who are obsessed with a lover are incapable of being taught to take responsibility for anything except the object of their infatuation. It isn’t easy to find a source of more pleasant anticipation or effort than attending to a loved one! And when the sexual act is imminent, it isn’t easy to find a worse punishment than being kept from one’s lover! So I refuse even to try to inculcate responsibility in people I recognize as being like that.”

‘“What about people who are in love with making money?” I asked. “Is there no hope of them being taught to take responsibility for farm matters?”

‘“Quite the contrary,” Ischomachus replied. “They are very easy to train for this work: you only need to show them that, if they take responsibility, they’ll make money!”

‘“What about the rest of mankind,” I asked, “people who are not slaves to the influences you’ve been telling me about, and are only moderately fond of making money? How do you teach them to be responsible for the work you give them?”

‘“It’s very simple, Socrates,” he replied. “When I see that they are behaving responsibly, I make sure I congratulate them and reward them; when I see irresponsibility, I make sure my words and actions are caustically critical.”

‘“Ischomachus,” I said, “can we change tack now? Instead of talking about those actually being trained in responsibility, could you explain a general educational issue to me: is it possible for someone who is himself irresponsible to make others responsible?”

‘“No, it certainly is not,” Ischomachus replied. “You might just as well expect someone tone-deaf to teach people to be musicians! It’s difficult to learn to do something well when your teacher is giving you bad lessons; and it is difficult for a servant to learn responsibility when his master is giving lessons in irresponsibility. In a nutshell, I don’t think I have found any cases of good servants with a bad master; I have seen cases of bad servants with a good master, however – but the servants didn’t get away with it! Anyone who wants to make people capable of being responsible must be capable of supervising and scrutinizing the work, must be prepared to show gratitude for work performed well, and must not be afraid of administering punishment when irresponsibility demands it. The story about the Persian’s answer is a good one, I think: the king of Persia happened to get a good horse, and wanted to fatten it up as quickly as possible. So he asked a recognized expert on horses what it is that fattens up a horse most quickly. ‘The master’s eye,’ replied the man, as the story goes.¹ And I think, Socrates, that the same is true elsewhere: the master’s eye is the most effective way of producing good work.”

‘“When you have conclusively demonstrated to someone that he must be responsible for the work you give him,” I asked, “is he now capable of being a foreman, or is there more that he needs to learn before being a competent foreman?”

‘“Yes, there certainly is,” said Ischomachus. “He still needs to know what to do, and when and how. A foreman without this knowledge is as useless as a doctor who works from dawn to dusk at looking after a patient, but doesn’t know what regimen will do the patient good.”

‘“All right, then,” I went on. “If he learns how to do the work, will he still be inadequate in any respect, or will he now be a perfect foreman for you?”

‘“I think he needs to learn how to wield authority over the workforce.”

‘“So do you also teach your foremen how to be capable of this?” I asked.

‘“I try to,” said Ischomachus.

‘“Please,” I said, “do tell me how you teach them to be good at wielding authority.”

‘“It’s so straightforward, Socrates,” he replied, “that you’ll probably laugh when I tell you.”

‘“No,” I responded. “This issue’s not a laughing-matter, Ischomachus. For the ability to make people good at wielding authority obviously entails the ability to teach them mastery, and the ability to make people masters entails the ability to make them kings. So anyone who can do this deserves a high degree of respect, in my opinion, not scorn.”

‘“Well, Socrates,” he said, “there are two ways in which the rest of the animal kingdom learns obedience – by being punished when they attempt to be disobedient, and by being rewarded when they willingly do what they’re supposed to do. For instance, colts learn to obey their trainers because something nice happens to them when they are obedient and because they get into trouble when they are disobedient, and this goes on until they submit to the trainer’s will. Or take puppies: although their intelligence and speech are negligible compared to a human’s, the same method can still teach them to run around in circles and turn somersaults and so on, because, when they do as they’re told, they get something they want, and when they don’t listen, they are punished. Human beings can be made more obedient just by force of argument, by proving that it is in their interest to obey; but, where slaves are concerned, the training which is apparently designed only for lower animals is very effective for teaching obedience; for you’ll get plenty of results by gratifying their bellies in accordance with their desires.¹ Those of them with ambitious temperaments can also be motivated by praise: I mean that some have an innate appetite for praise, just as others have for food and drink. Anyway, by using this training method, I think the people I deal with become more obedient, so I use it for those I want to appoint as foremen; I also back them up in situations like the following. You see, I am bound to supply my labourers with clothing and footwear, but I have some of these articles made better than others rather than making them all the same; then I can reward better workers with the better articles, and give worse workers the inferior articles. My reason, Socrates, is that I think good workers get very depressed when they see that, although they’re the ones doing all the work, the others get the same as them, despite making no effort and being unprepared to face danger, if need be. So I don’t think it is at all right for the better ones to get the same as the worse ones, and when I see that my foremen have assigned the best-quality articles to the most valuable workers, I congratulate them; on the other hand, if I see a worker receiving special favours as a result of sweet-talking a foreman or as a result of pleasing him in any other useless way, I don’t turn a blind eye, Socrates, but I reprimand the foreman and try to explain that this sort of thing isn’t even to his own advantage.”

‘“So when he has become capable of wielding authority, Ischo-machus,” I asked, “and consequently can make people obey him, do you think that he is then a perfect foreman? Is someone who has all the abilities you’ve mentioned still inadequate in any respect?”

‘“Yes, he most certainly is,” replied Ischomachus. “He needs to be able to keep his hands off his master’s property and not to steal. If the overseer of the crops ventures to steal them, and thus removes the source of the business’s profit, then what advantage could there be in using his industry to run the farm?”

‘“Do you, then, also undertake to teach honesty in this respect?” I asked.

‘“Yes, indeed I do,” said Ischomachus, “though I find that not everyone is prepared to take this lesson to heart! Still, I draw on both Draco’s and Solon’s legal codes and try to point my servants towards honesty.¹ I think that Draco and Solon established many of their laws precisely to educate people in this kind of justice. For instance, the laws state that people who try to steal are to be punished, imprisoned and executed, if they are caught in the act. Now, obviously, they enacted these laws with the intention of making dishonest gain unprofitable for the criminals. Anyway, by making use of some aspects of their laws, and also by availing myself of some aspects of the royal Persian laws, I try to make my servants honest in their handling of property. I use this combination because Draco’s and Solon’s codes merely punish transgression, whereas the royal Persian code not only punishes criminals, but also benefits those who are law-abiding,² and this has the effect of showing that honesty is more lucrative than dishonesty, so that often, even if they are mercenary, people staunchly persevere at avoiding dishonesty. Now, if I’ve treated someone well but nevertheless find him still inclined towards dishonesty, then I regard him as incurably avaricious, and I make no further use of him; if, on the other hand, I find someone who is moved to be honest not only because he wants to profit by his honesty, but also because he wants to earn my praise, then I treat him as I would a free man, in the sense that I don’t just reward him financially, but also give him the recognition due to a truly good person. You see, Socrates, I think that the difference between a man who wants recognition and a man who wants profit lies in the fact that the former is prepared to accept approbation and recognition as reasons for working hard at his duties, facing danger and avoiding dishonest gain.”

‘“All right,” I said. “So now you’ve got a man in whom you have bred the desire for your welfare and the ability to be responsible for bringing this about; you have also made him possess knowledge of how every aspect of the business is to be done so as to increase its utility; you have also made him capable of wielding authority; and on top of all this, it is just as much his pleasure to maximize the crop yield for you as it is yours to do the same for yourself. I no longer need to ask whether your man is inadequate in any respect: I think that such a man would be an extremely valuable foreman. But please, Ischomachus, don’t ignore that aspect of the discussion which has been touched on, but has not been developed at all.”

‘“Which aspect do you mean?” asked Ischomachus.

‘“You said, as you will remember,” I continued, “that it was absolutely crucial to learn how each part of a task is to be done; otherwise, you claimed, if someone lacks the knowledge of what is to be done and how to do it, even his applying himself to the task is no good at all.”

‘“Are you now prompting me to explain the actual technical details of agriculture, Socrates?” asked Ischomachus.

‘“Yes, I am,” I said, “because the chances are that knowledge of the technical details makes people rich, whereas those who don’t know them can expend plenty of effort but still live a life of poverty.”

‘“Well now, Socrates,” he said, “I shall also show you how altruistic this art is,¹ because, in addition to being very profitable and pleasant work, and in addition to being very attractive and congenial to both gods and men, it is also very easy to learn. Who, then, could fail to find it generous? As you know, we call even animals generous when they are attractive, important and useful, and are also kind to people.”

‘“Well,” I said, “I think I have grasped this latter point ² well enough, Ischomachus, in so far as you described the method required to train a foreman: I mean, I think I understood how you said you make him loyal to you, and how you make him take responsibility and wield authority and be honest. But you also said that for someone to apply himself successfully to agriculture, he must learnwhat to do, and how and when to do it; and this is the aspect of the discussion which I think has been touched on, but has not been developed. It’s as if you were to say that, for someone to be capable of writing down a dictation or reading something written, he must know the alphabet. If you’d told me that, I’d have heard that I must know the alphabet, but my appreciation of this point would not, I think, bring me any closer to actually knowing the alphabet. The present situation is just the same: I have no difficulty in being convinced that, for someone to apply himself successfully to agriculture, he must know agriculture, but my appreciation of this point does not bring me any closer to knowing how farming must be done. Instead, if I made a firm decision right now to become a farmer, I would be no different from the doctor we mentioned,³ who goes around examining his patients, but is completely ignorant of what regimen will do his patients good. I don’t want to be like that,” I said, “so please explain to me the actual tasks involved in agriculture.”

‘“All right,” he said, “but in fact, Socrates, agriculture isn’t like other skills, where the pupil has to spend an exhausting amount of time at his lessons before his work is of a high enough quality to earn him a living. No, agriculture isn’t awkward to learn like that: all you need is to watch people working at some aspects of it, and listen to people explaining other aspects, and then you’d understand it – well enough even to explain it to someone else, if you wanted. I also think that you yourself know considerably more about it than you think you know. And the fact is that, whereas experts in other areas in a sense keep the most vital parts of their particular skills secret, among farmers the best planter likes nothing more than having someone watch him, and the same goes for the best sower. Whatever you ask him about work he has done well, he will tell you the method without keeping anything secret. Do you see, Socrates, how very generous agriculture apparently makes the characters of those who are involved in it?”

‘“You have delivered a brilliant introduction to the subject,” I said, “and one which is designed to sustain the interest of your audience. Now explain the actual subject to me, and all the more thoroughly because it is easy to learn. I mean, you won’t lose face if you teach an easy subject, but I’ll lose face far more if I don’t know it, especially if the subject happens to be useful too.”

‘“All right, then, Socrates,” he said. “The first thing I want to prove to you is that no real difficulty is involved in that aspect of farming which is called the most complex by people who give the most detailed verbal account of farming, but never actually work on a farm. For they say that a necessary prerequisite to successful farming is knowledge of the land.”

‘“And they’re right,” I said, “since ignorance of what the land can grow would, I imagine, entail ignorance of what ought to be sown or planted.”

‘“Well,” said Ischomachus, “this knowledge can be gained by looking at the crops and trees on somebody else’s land to find out what the land can and cannot grow. And when you’ve found this out, of course, fighting against the gods starts to seem inex-pedient. For you’ll gain more produce by sowing and planting what the land readily grows and nurtures than by sowing and planting what you want. But if the land you examine can’t show you its potential because the people who own it have not worked it, then, rather than questioning a local person, it is often possible to get more accurate information from a local piece of land! But in fact even uncultivated land still shows its quality: if it allows wild plants to flourish, then, when cultivated, it is also capable of bearing flourishing domesticated plants. Thus, even people without much experience of agriculture can still discern quality in land.”

‘“Well, as far as this matter is concerned, Ischomachus,” I said, “I think I am now confident enough not to feel I have to avoid agriculture from fear that I won’t recognize the quality of the land. In fact, I am reminded of what fishermen do. They work on the sea and don’t stop for a look or, while moving, interrupt their activities, but simply glide past the fields; nevertheless, when they see crops growing on land, they do not shrink from expressing their views about which land is good and which is bad, but they condemn the one and praise the other. Moreover, I notice that the views they express about the good land usually coincide to a high degree with those of experienced farmers.”

‘“So where would you like me to start, Socrates?” he asked. “How shall I remind you of what you know about agriculture? I’m sure that you already know a great deal of what I’ll tell you about farming methods.”¹

‘“A philosopher’s job is above all to learn, Ischomachus,” I said, “so I think the first thing I’d like to learn is how I could work the land (supposing I wanted to) to maximize the crops of wheat and barley I can get from it.”

‘“Well, here’s something you know, don’t you? That fallow land must be ploughed up to be ready for sowing?”

‘“Yes, I know,” I said.

‘“So,” he asked, “if we were to set about ploughing the land in winter…?”

‘“Then the land would be waterlogged,” I replied.

‘“But what do you think about ploughing in summer?”

‘“The ground will be too compact for the plough to turn.”

‘“This job should probably be undertaken in the spring, then.”

‘“Yes,” I said, “since it is reasonable to suppose that at that time of year the soil will break up most as it is being turned.”

‘“Moreover, Socrates,” he added, “at that time of year the weeds which are turned over act as fertilizer for the land, but haven’t yet shed their seeds, and so won’t grow. I mean, I think you already know that if fallow ground is to be good, it must be clear of weeds and baked as much as possible in the sun.”

‘“Yes, I have little doubt that this is another crucial factor,” I said.

‘“So do you think there is any other way of achieving this than by turning the soil as often as possible during the summer?” he asked.

‘“I’m absolutely sure,” I replied, “that the best way for the weeds to be brought to the surface and withered by the heat, and for the soil to be baked by the sun, is to plough up the ground in midsummer – and at midday too!”

‘“And if people use spades to work the fallow, then isn’t it obvious that they must separate the weeds from the soil?”

‘“Yes, and they must spread the weeds on top of the ground, so that they wither,” I added, “and must turn the soil, so that the moist part of it is baked.”

‘“You can see, Socrates, that both of us are of one mind where fallow ground is concerned,” he said.

‘“Yes, apparently,” I replied.

‘“Now, what do you think about the season for sowing, Socrates?” he asked. “Would you disagree with the season which past experience has universally shown, and present experience is universally confirming, to be the best for sowing? I mean, when autumn approaches, everybody, so to speak, looks to God, to see when he will dampen the ground with rain and thus let them sow.”

‘“Furthermore, Ischomachus,” I said, “it is also universally agreed that sowing in dry ground is to be avoided if you can, obviously because people have had to contend with a great deal of retribution if they sow before God gives the go-ahead.”

‘“So there is universal unanimity on this point,” said Ischomachus.

‘“Yes,” I said, “God’s injunctions lead to unanimity. For example, everyone prefers to wear thick clothing during winter, if they can, and to light a fire, if they have wood.”

‘“But there is an aspect of sowing,” said Ischomachus, “about which there is considerable difference of opinion, and that is whether it is best to sow early in the season, in the middle of it, or right at the end.”

‘“God orders the year unpredictably,” I said. “In one year it is best to sow early, in another in mid-season, and in another right at the end of the season.”

‘“Well, Socrates,” he asked, “do you think it is better to choose just one of these times, whether a small or a large quantity of seed has to be sown, and do one’s sowing then, or do you think that sowing should carry on from the very beginning of the season to the very end?”

‘“In my opinion, Ischomachus,” I replied, “it is best to make use of the whole sowing-season, because it is far preferable to have a constant supply of sufficient food than to have too much at one time and too little at another.”

‘“Here again, Socrates,” he said, “you and I – pupil and teacher – have the same view, even though you expressed your opinion before having heard mine!”

‘“What about actually scattering the seed?” I asked. “Is there a complicated technique involved?”

‘“Let’s look into this question too, Socrates, by all means,” he replied. “I’m sure you are aware that the seed must be scattered by hand.”

‘“Yes, I’ve seen that,” I said.

‘“But some people can scatter it evenly, some can’t,” he said.

‘“In that case,” I remarked, “we find that here too, as in playing the lyre, the hand needs practice, so that it can obey the mind’s directions.”

‘“Quite so,” he said. “But what if some of the soil is lighter than normal and some heavier than normal?”

‘“What do you mean?” I asked. “By ‘lighter’ and ‘heavier’ do you mean ‘weaker’ and ‘stronger’?”

‘“That’s right,” he said. “And my question is whether you would assign an equal amount of seed to both kinds of soil, or a greater quantity to one rather than the other.”

‘“Well,” I replied, “I think that the stronger the wine, the greater the quantity of water which ought to be added to it, and the stronger the man, the greater the weight which ought to be loaded on to him, if there were things that needed carrying; and if feeding people were the issue, I would arrange for the number of people anyone fed to increase in proportion to his ability to do so. Can you tell me, however,” I added, “whether the more seed it takes in, the stronger weak soil becomes? After all, this is what happens with farm animals.”

‘Ischomachus laughed and said, “There’s many a true word spoken in jest, Socrates; I’ll have you know that, if you put seed in the ground and then, when it has sprouted (and picking a time when the ground is still getting plenty of nourishment from the skies), you plough the seed back in again, it turns into food for the soil, and the soil does in a sense become strong thanks to the seed. On the other hand, if you allow the soil to give its nourishment to the crops all the way through from seed to fruition, then, if the soil is weak by the end of this process, you are unlikely to get much of a crop, just as it is difficult, of course, for a weak sow to give nourishment to a lot of healthy piglets.”

‘“Do you mean that the weaker the soil, the less seed ought to be put into it, Ischomachus?” I asked.

‘“Precisely, Socrates,” he replied. “And this agrees with your suggestion that lesser loads are to be assigned to weaker creatures.”

‘“Now, Ischomachus, what about hoers?” I asked. “Why do you get them involved with the corn?”

‘“I’m sure you are aware,” he said in reply, “that there is a lot of rain during winter.”

‘“Of course.”

‘“Well then, let’s suppose that some of the corn has got covered to a certain extent by mud streaming down over it thanks to the rain, and that some of the roots have been exposed by flooding. And, of course, weeds often spring up among the corn, as you know, thanks to the rain, and choke it.”

‘“These are all likely events,” I said.

‘“So don’t you think the corn needs some assistance at this point?” he asked.

‘“Yes, I certainly do.”

‘“And what do you think should be done to help the corn which has been swamped by mud?”

‘“The weight of the soil should be reduced.”

‘“And what about the corn which has its roots exposed?” he asked.

‘“Soil needs heaping up on top of the roots.”

‘“And what if weeds have sprung up and are choking the corn and depriving it of its nourishment–like useless drones depriving the bees of the stuff which they have industriously stored as food?”

‘“The weeds must be cut down and removed from the source of nourishment,¹ of course,” I said, “just as the drones must be removed from the hives.”

‘“So do you think it sensible of us to get hoers involved?” he asked.

‘“I certainly do,” I said. “But you know, Ischomachus, I am mulling over the significance of introducing similes at appropriate points, because when you mentioned drones, you made me very angry about the weeds, far more angry than when you were talking just about the weeds.”

‘“But anyway,” I went on, “the next stage is probably the harvest; so please tell me anything you can about this too.”

“I will– provided that we don’t find that you already know what I know about this topic too,” he said. “Anyway, I’m sure you are aware that the corn must be cut.”

‘“Of course.”

‘“Now, while you are cutting it,” he said, “would you stand facing the direction in which the wind is blowing, or facing into the wind?”

‘“I wouldn’t face into the wind,” I said, “because I think your eyes and hands would suffer if you harvested with your body turned towards straw and husks.”

‘“And would you cut off just the heads, or would you cut close to the ground?” he asked.

‘“If the stems were short,” I replied, “I’d cut them low down, to have a better chance of getting enough straw; but if the stems were long, I think I’d be right to cut them halfway down, so as not to provide the threshers or the winnowers with unnecessary matter which would make their work more troublesome. I suppose that what is left in the ground could enrich the soil by being burned, and could increase the amount of fertilizer by being added to it.”

‘“Do you see, Socrates,” he said, “that you have been caught in the act? You already know what I know about harvesting too.”

‘“It looks that way,” I said. “Now I want to see if I know about threshing too.”

‘“Well, here’s something I’m sure you know,” he said, “that draught-animals are used to thresh the corn.”

‘“Of course I do,” I said. “And ‘draught-animals’ is a general term for oxen, mules and horses.”

‘“Do you think that trampling on the corn as they are being driven along represents the sum total of these creatures’ knowledge?” he asked.

‘“Yes, what else could draught-animals know?”

‘“And who has the job of seeing that they crush what they ought, Socrates,” he asked, “and that the corn to be threshed is spread evenly?”

‘“Obviously the threshers do,” I replied. “They keep tossing the corn, and throwing the unthreshed corn under the animals’ hoofs, and it is clear that, while they are doing this, they are keeping the threshing-floor as evenly spread as possible and are getting the work done as quickly as possible.”

‘“So you know just as much about this as I do,” he said.

‘“Well, the next stage will be for us to winnow the impurities out of the corn,” I said.

‘“Tell me this, Socrates,” said Ischomachus. “Do you appreciate that if you start from the windward part of the threshing-floor, your chaff will be blown across the whole threshing-floor?”

‘“Inevitably.”

‘“So it’s likely that it will actually fall on to the corn,” he said.

‘“Yes,” I said, “because the bare part of the threshing-floor is beyond the corn – a long way for the chaff to be blown.”

‘“What if the winnowing is started from the leeward part?” he asked.

‘“Obviously,” I said, “the chaff will pretty soon find itself in the trough designed for it.”

‘“And when you’ve got halfway across the threshing-floor in cleaning the corn,” he said, “will you leave the corn scattered like that while you winnow the rest of the chaff, or will you first gather the cleaned corn together into as narrow as possible a line along the diameter of the floor?”¹

‘“I’ll certainly gather the clean corn together first,” I said, “so that the chaff is blown over it into the bare part of the threshing-floor; otherwise, I’ll have to winnow the same chaff twice.”

‘“So then, Socrates,” he said, “you could teach somebody else how to clean corn in the quickest way possible!”

‘“Well, I hadn’t been aware of this knowledge of mine. In fact, I’ve been wondering for some time whether I also know how to smelt gold and play the pipes and paint pictures, but wasn’t aware of it. I mean, no one ¹ has taught me these subjects, but then I’ve never been taught agriculture; but just as I see people farming, so I see people working at other arts and crafts.”

‘“You can see now,” said Ischomachus, “why I told you some time ago ² that agriculture was the most generous art, because it is the easiest to learn.”

‘“All right, Ischomachus, I do have this knowledge,” I said. “I just hadn’t realized that I knew all about sowing corn.”

‘“But, anyway, is planting trees also part of the art of agriculture?” I continued.

‘“Yes, it is,” replied Ischomachus.

‘“Then how can I know all about sowing, and yet be ignorant about planting?”

‘“You mean you don’t know about planting?” said Ischomachus.

‘“How could I?” I said. “I don’t know what kind of soil is right for planting, nor how deep or wide a hole to dig, nor how much of the plant to put in the hole, nor what arrangement of the plant in the soil best allows it to grow.”

‘“All right, then,” said Ischomachus, “now’s your chance to fill any gaps in your knowledge. I’m sure you’ve seen what kinds of holes are dug for the plants.”

‘“Yes, often.”

‘“So have you ever seen one more than three feet deep?”

‘“No, and in fact I’ve never seen one more than two and a half feet deep either.”

‘“And have you ever seen one more than three feet wide?”

‘“No, not more than two feet wide, in fact.”

‘“All right. Now tell me this too: have you ever seen one less than a foot deep?” he asked.

‘“No, not less than one and a half feet, in fact,” I said. “I mean, when digging goes on around the plants, they’d be dug out of the ground, if they’d been planted too close to the surface like that.”

‘“Then here is something which you do know well enough, Socrates,” he said, “that the holes are dug no deeper than two and a half feet and no shallower than one and a half feet.”

‘“Yes, I know that,” I said. “I’m bound to notice something so obvious.”

‘“Now, can you also use your eyes to recognize drier and damper soil?” he asked.

‘“Well, I suppose that the ground near Lycabettus and any similar ground is dry,” I said, “and the ground in the Phalerian marsh and any similar ground is damp.”¹

‘“In which would you choose to dig a deep hole for your plant–the dry ground or the damp ground?” he asked.

‘“The dry ground, of course,” I replied, “because if you were to dig a deep one in damp ground, you’d meet water, and then you couldn’t proceed with your planting.”

‘“I think you’re right,” he said. “Now, once the holes have been dug, under what conditions is it preferable to place the plants in the ground?² Have you ever noticed this?”

‘“Definitely,” I said.

‘“So, given that you want the plants to grow as quickly as possible, do you think that if you were to put worked soil under the cutting, the new shoots would reach firm soil more quickly through this loose soil or through unworked soil?”

‘“Obviously,” I said, “it would shoot more quickly through the worked soil than it would through unworked soil.”

‘“Then soil must be put under the plant.”

‘“Of course,” I said.

‘“And do you think the cutting would take root better if you put the whole plant upright, pointing towards the sky, or if you bend some of it under the soil which you’ve put under the plant, making it like an upside-down gamma?”¹

‘“The latter alternative would surely be better, because more of the plant’s buds would be underground; I can see that shoots grow from the buds of plants above ground, so I assume that the buds below ground have the same function, and that, the more shoots there are growing underground, the more rapidly and strongly the plant will grow.”

‘“So on this matter too,” he said, “we find that you know as much as I do. But would you only heap soil up around the plant, or would you also pack it very firmly?”

‘“I would pack it, of course,” I said. “Otherwise, I’m sure that the soil would turn soggy when it rained, or the sun would make it dry right down to the bottom, and consequently the plants would probably be rotted by moisture or withered by desiccation as their roots heat up.”

‘“Now, all this is relevant to planting vines, Socrates,” he said, “and we find that you know as much as I do on the subject.”

‘“And do the same points apply to planting fig trees?” I asked.

‘“Yes,” said Ischomachus, “and to all other fruit trees too, in my opinion. I mean, when you’ve got a good method for planting vines, why reject it as a method for planting other types of tree?”

‘“And what’s the method for planting olive trees, Ischomachus?” I asked.

‘“You’re just putting me to the test,” he said, “since you know this too perfectly well. You can see, because there’s non-stop digging going on alongside the roads, that a deeper hole is dug for olives; you can see that there are stumps adjacent to all the suckers; and you can see that mud is put on the tops of all the plants and that part of every plant which is above ground is wrapped up.”¹

‘“Yes, I’ve noticed all these things,” I said.

‘“Well, if you’ve noticed them,” he replied, “then of course you know all about them. Or do you not know how to put the potsherd up there on the mud, Socrates?”

‘“No, there’s certainly nothing among the things you’ve mentioned that I don’t know, Ischomachus,” I said. “In fact, I’ve been wondering for some time why on earth, when you asked me earlier the general question whether I knew how to plant trees, I said that I didn’t. I mean, I didn’t think I’d have anything to say about how planting ought to be done; but then you set about asking me particular questions, and I find that, as you say, I come up with answers which correspond to what you know, and you are an acknowledged expert at agriculture. Is questioning an educational process, Ischomachus? I’m asking because I’ve just understood your method of questioning me. You take me through points that I know, you show me that these points are no different from points I’d been thinking I didn’t know, and thus you convince me, I think, that I do know the latter points too.”

‘“Does it follow,” asked Ischomachus, “that if I’d asked you whether or not a coin was sound, I could convince you that you knew how to distinguish sound and counterfeit coinage? And if I’d asked you about pipe-players, could I convince you that you knew how to play the pipes, and so on for painting and other such skills?”

‘“I wouldn’t put it past you,” I replied, “since you have convinced me that I know how to farm, even though I am aware that I’ve never had a teacher in this area of expertise.”

‘“That isn’t so, Socrates,” he said. “I told you before that agriculture is such an altruistic and kind art that one only has to watch and listen for the result to be knowledge of it. And in many respects, agriculture itself teaches the best agricultural methods. A vine climbs up trees, if there are any near by, and immediately teaches us to support it; while the bunches of grapes are delicate, the vine spreads its leaves around them, and teaches us to protect its exposed parts from the sun throughout that period; but when the time comes for the grapes to be sweetened by the sun, the vine sheds its leaves and teaches us to defoliate it and to ripen its fruit; because of its fecundity the vine produces ripe grapes while other bunches are still relatively unripe, and teaches us to pluck those that are swollen at any time, just as one does figs.”

‘At this point I asked, “If the business of farming is so easy to learn, Ischomachus, and everyone has equal knowledge of the necessary jobs, why are people’s achievements not equal? Why do some farmers make an exceptionally good living, while others are unable to supply themselves with the necessities of life, and even run up debts?”

‘“I’ll tell you, Socrates,” said Ischomachus. “What is responsible for the fact that some farmers do well, whereas others get into difficulties, is not their knowledge or ignorance. You won’t hear anyone trotting out an argument that his estate has been ruined because the sower failed to sow the seed evenly, or because the trees weren’t planted in straight lines, or because someone’s ignorance of vine-bearing soil made him plant the vines in infertile ground, or because someone didn’t know that fallow ground should be ploughed to be ready for sowing, or because someone didn’t know that the land should be fertilized. Instead, you’re far more likely to hear that the reason so-and-so fails to get crops from his fields is that he neglected to sow it or fertilize it; or the reason so-and-so has no wine is that he neglected to plant vines or to ensure that his existing vines bear fruit; or the reason so-and-so has no olive oil or no figs is that he was irresponsible and didn’t make sure that he got them. These are the sorts of factors, Socrates, which make some farmers better than others and achieve better results – and far more outstanding results than people who invent some apparently clever device for the work.

‘“The same goes for military commanders too: there are some aspects of military matters in which commanders differ in the sense that some are better than others, not by virtue of intelligence, but obviously because they take responsibility. I mean, there are matters which all commanders know (as do most civilians), but not all of them put their knowledge into practice. For instance, they all know that it is better for soldiers who are passing through enemy territory to do so in the formation which will best allow them to fight, if they have to. Anyway, despite knowing this, not all of them put it into practice. They all know that it is better to post guards in front of their encampment all day as well as during the night; but here too, whereas some of them make sure that this happens, others don’t. Or again, you’re not likely to find someone who is unaware that it is preferable to occupy the vantage points before advancing through a pass, are you? But here too, whereas some of them make sure that this is done, others don’t.

‘“So, for instance, although everyone acknowledges that fertilizer is essential in farming, and although they can see that it is a natural product and can be absolutely certain how it is produced, and although it is easy to get plenty of it, nevertheless here too, whereas some people make sure they have a stock of it, others are remiss. And yet God on high supplies us with water, and all hollows become pools of water, and the earth supplies all kinds of weeds, which must be cleared off the land before sowing; and if the stuff which is removed and thrown out were to be put into the water, then time by itself would make matter which enriches the land. For there is no way in which weeds and earth, left in standing water, do not turn into fertilizer. And everyone also knows all the treatment the land needs: if it is too damp for sowing or too salty for planting, they know how water is drained off and how salty soil is corrected by having all kinds of non-salty substances, whether liquid or solid, mixed in with it. Yet, again, not everyone actually does something about treating the land.

‘“Imagine someone who is completely unaware of what the land is capable of growing, and who can neither see its crops and trees, nor hear any accurate information about it. Even so, isn’t it far easier for any person to find out about the land than about a horse, and isn’t it far easier than finding out about a human being? For when the land shows something, it doesn’t do so in order to deceive, but in a straightforward fashion it gives clear and accurate information about what it is and is not capable of. And I think that, because the land makes everything easy to know and learn, there is nothing better at exposing people who are bad rather than good.¹ You see, it is not like the other arts, where it is possible for people to plead ignorance if they fail to achieve anything: everyone knows that if you do good to the land, you will achieve good results, so failure on the land is a clear indictment of a bad character. For no one persuades himself that human life is not sustained by certain essentials: so someone who is not prepared to be a farmer, and knows no other skill by which he could earn money, is evidently planning to make a living by being a thief or a burglar or a beggar – or else he is a complete imbecile.

‘“Farming may or may not be profitable; now, given that there are labourers, the crucial difference is that one person makes sure that his workers, even if there are rather a lot of them, are hard at work when they should be, while another person doesn’t make sure of this. For if even one man in ten is doing his full complement of work, that makes all the difference; and the scales can be tipped the other way by someone leaving work early. So allowing the workforce to take it easy all day long easily halves the total amount of work done. When two men are travelling, their relative progress might differ so much that, on a journey of 200 stadia,² one will be 100 stadia ahead of the other, because, even though both of them are young and fit, one is walking to reach a goal, while the other has a casual attitude and stops to gaze around by streams and in places sheltered from the sun, and looks for routes where balmy breezes blow. Exactly the same goes for agricultural labour too: it makes a great deal of difference to the end-result when people do the work they’ve been given, rather than finding excuses for not working and being allowed to take it easy. So making sure that the work is done well rather than badly tips the scales no less than the work being done rather than left undone. Suppose digging is going on to clear vines of weeds: if the result of the digging is that the weeds multiply and flourish, wouldn’t you be forced to describe this as unproductive work?

‘“So these factors are far more responsible for the collapse of estates than cases of excessive ignorance. Although the estate has its full quota of expenses, the work is not being carried out to bring in more than is being spent: so there is no longer any reason to be surprised if this situation results in a shortfall instead of surplus. However, those who are capable of applying themselves and of working hard at farming ¹ find no more effective way of making money than agriculture, as my father found by engaging in the business himself, and as he taught me too. He never used to let me buy land that had been farmed, but he used to recommend me to buy land which, because of the owners’ neglect or inefficiency, was unworked and unplanted. He claimed that farmed land was expensive and could not be developed; and he reckoned that land which couldn’t be developed couldn’t give one anything like the same amount of pleasure – which was maximized, in his opinion, by the improvement of any object or creature. And nothing is more capable of improvement than land which is being transformed from an unworked state to full fertility. You should know, Socrates, that between us we have by now greatly increased the original value of many plots of land. And this scheme is so lucrative, Socrates, and also so easy to grasp that, having been told it, you will go away knowing it just as well as I do, and can teach someone else, if you want to. In fact, my father didn’t learn it from anyone else and didn’t have to think long and hard to come up with the scheme: he claimed that it was because he loved farming and wasn’t afraid of hard work that he wanted land that would enable him simultaneously to keep busy and to have the pleasure of making a profit. I tell you, Socrates, I think that no Athenian has ever been naturally inclined to love farming as much as my father.”

‘Well, once I’d heard what he had to say, I asked him, “Did your father retain all the plots of land he’d worked, Ischomachus, or did he also sell them, if he had a good offer?”

‘“Oh, he sold them, of course,” said Ischomachus. “But because he was so fond of the work, he used straight away to buy another one, which was unworked, to replace any he sold.”

‘“From your description, Ischomachus,” I said, “your father really was naturally inclined to love farming to the same degree that traders love corn. For suppose traders hear that there’s a vast quantity of corn somewhere: because they love it so much, they sail there to get it, which might involve crossing the Aegean or the Euxine or the Sicilian sea.¹ Then, when they’ve got hold of the largest quantity they can, they transport it by sea, and do this by putting it into the same ship in which they themselves are sailing. When they want to make money, they don’t casually get rid of the corn in any old place, but they take the corn to where they hear corn is fetching the highest price and the people’s demand for it is the greatest, and sell it to them there.² And your father was apparently fond of farming in the same sort of way.”

‘“You may joke, Socrates,” Ischomachus replied, “but I don’t think it detracts from a person’s love of building houses, say, if he sells them once he’s finished building them, and then builds others.”

‘“Good heavens, no, nor do I, Ischomachus,” I said. “I swear to you that I most emphatically believe you when you say that everyone is naturally inclined to love the things which they think will profit them.”¹

‘“However,” I continued, “I am reflecting on how well your hypothesis has been supported by the whole argument you have provided. Your hypothesis was that agriculture is the easiest to learn of all areas of expertise, and I am now convinced, as a result of everything you’ve said, that you are absolutely right about that.”

‘“Of course I am,” said Ischomachus, “but there is one point I’ll concede, Socrates: it has to do with the ability to wield authority, which is common to all activities, whether they are concerned with agriculture or politics or estate-management or warfare. I concede to you that some people’s mental flair is far greater than others’ in this respect. Consider what happens on board triremes, for example: when the rowers are out at sea and are supposed to complete a voyage within a day, some boatswains can speak and act in ways designed to stimulate the crew’s willingness to work, while others lack this flair to such an extent that it takes them more than double the time to complete the same voyage. The crew of the first ship disembark all covered in sweat, with the officer congratulating his men and the subordinates just as pleased with their officer; the crew of the second ship arrive without having worked up a sweat, hating their boss and being hated in return.

‘“This factor also distinguishes military commanders from one another. Some fail to make their men prepared to work and face danger, and not only make them averse and reluctant to obey (unless it is absolutely unavoidable), but even have the effect of making them take pride in disobeying their officers; and these are precisely the commanders who fail to instil in their men a sense of shame at any dishonourable event that might occur. On the other hand, there are the divinely favoured, competent and knowledgeable commanders, who take over the same men (and, not infrequently, others too) and can make each and every one of them feel ashamed to do anything dishonourable, can make them prefer obedience and take pride in it, and ¹ can make them work at their duties and do so happily. Just as some civilians are innately fond of work, so also a whole army can be imbued by good commanders not only with love of work, but also with the desire to be seen by the commander to be acting with honour. It is leaders whose followers have this attitude towards them who make strong commanders; it is certainly not those soldiers who are physically the most capable, or who are the best spearmen or archers, or who own the best horses and so face danger like perfect cavalrymen or peltasts.² No, strong commanders are those who can impress upon their troops that they must be followed even through fire or danger of any kind.³ It would be right to ascribe great flair to these men – men whom people follow because they recognize their qualities; it would be reasonable to say that a man like this goes to war with strength in his hand, since so many hands are prepared to obey his mind’s directions; and great indeed is the man who can use his mind rather than his physical might for great achievements.

‘“The same applies to non-military matters as well. Whether the person in charge is a foreman on a farm or an administrator in the city, it is anyone capable of making people work enthusiastically, energetically and consistently, who promotes good results and creates a substantial surplus. But suppose the master puts in an appearance at work, Socrates: he is the one who is most capable of hurting a bad labourer and rewarding an enthusiastic one, and, if his appearance fails to make the workers act in a noticeably different manner,¹ I for one could not admire him; but, if his appearance stimulates the workers and inspires each of them with purpose and with eagerness to outdo one another and with desire to be the best, then I would say that his character has some kingly quality. And this, in my opinion, is the most crucial factor in any work which depends on human endeavour – and that includes agriculture.

‘“However, I should stress that I am not saying that this kingly quality too can be learned by someone who just sees it, or is told about it once;² my position is rather that anyone who is to have this ability requires training and must also be naturally talented and above all favoured by the gods. For I’m not quite convinced that this gift of wielding authority over willing subjects is entirely human rather than divine: it is clearly granted to those who are true initiates in self-discipline. On the other hand, it seems to me that the gods give tyranny over reluctant subjects to those who they think deserve a life like that of Tantalus in Hades, who is said to spend eternity in fear of a second death.”’³

THE ESTATE-MANAGER

INTRODUCTION

THE ESTATE-MANAGER