Against Timocrates

What do you think of this, men of Athens? A poor man, or, for the matter of that, a rich man, who had spent a great deal and was, perhaps, in a certain sense short of money, was not only afraid to show himself in the market-place, but found it unsafe even to stay at home. And to think that Androtion was responsible for those fears,—Androtion, whose past life and conduct disqualify him for seeking satisfaction at law even for himself, much more for imposing Property-taxes for the State.

If anyone asked him,—or asked you, Timocrates, the apologist and abettor of that gang,—whether our property or our persons are amenable to taxation, you would reply, if you chose to tell the truth, our property, because it is from our property that we pay. Then why, you unparalleled scoundrels, instead of confiscating estates and houses, and putting them on the schedule, did you imprison and maltreat men who were full citizens, as well as those unhappy aliens, whom you treated more outrageously than your own domestic slaves?

If, gentlemen of the jury, you will turn over in your minds the question what is the difference between being a slave and being a free man, you will find that the biggest difference is that the body of a slave is made responsible for all his misdeeds, whereas corporal punishment is the last penalty to inflict on a free man. These men reversed that principle, and applied punishment to the bodies of their victims, as though they were bondservants.

Androtion’s behavior towards you was so unfair and so greedy that, whilst approving the conduct of his own father, who had been confined in jail for a debt to the State and made his escape without payment or trial, he thought it quite proper that any other citizen, who was unable to pay out of his own resources, should be dragged by him from his home to the jail and there imprisoned.

And Timocrates, at the time when he was levying double payment, would never have consented to accept bail, I do not say till the ninth presidency, but even for a single day, from any of us common people; we must either pay down the money or incontinently be lodged in prison. He used to hand over to the police even a man who had never been condemned in any court. Yet today he has dared, taking full responsibility, to introduce a law to enable persons on whom you have passed sentence, to go where they will in freedom.

Nevertheless they will allege that both then and now they were acting in your interests. Will you then accept their exploits as due to zeal in your interests? Or will you indulgently tolerate the handiwork of their audacity and wickedness? No, men of Athens; you ought to abhor such men rather than liberate them. He who claims your indulgence as having acted for the good of the commonwealth must be shown to possess the spirit of the common wealth.

That spirit is a spirit of compassion for the helpless, and of resistance to the intimidation of the strong and powerful; it does not inspire brutal treatment of the populace, and subservience to the potentates of the day.—And such is your conduct, Timocrates; and therefore the jury will have better reason to refuse you a hearing and condemn you to death than to acquit you for the sake of Androtion.

However, I will make it quite clear to you without more ado that they did not carry out those exactions for your benefit. If they were asked whether, in their opinion, the greater injury is done to the commonwealth by tillers of the soil, who live frugally, but, because of the cost of maintaining their children, or of household expenses, or of other public burdens, are behindhand with their taxes, or by people who plunder and squander the money of willing taxpayers and the revenue that comes from our allies, I am sure that, for all their hardihood, they would never have the audacity to reply that those who fail to contribute their own money are worse transgressors than those who embezzle public money.

—What then is the reason, Timocrates and Androtion, that, though one of you has taken part in public life for more than thirty years, though during that time many commanders have defrauded the commonwealth, and many politicians as well, who have been tried in this court, and though some of them have suffered death for their crimes, and others have condemned themselves by slipping away and disappearing altogether, neither of you ever once appeared as prosecutor of those offenders, or expressed any indignation at the wrongs of the city, but made your first exhibition of anxiety for our welfare in an affair which involved harsh treatment of a great many people?

—Do you wish me to tell you the reason, men of Athens? These men share in the frauds that certain persons practise on you, and they also get their pickings from the collection of revenue. In their insatiable greed they reap a double harvest from the State. For it is not an easier matter to make enemies of a multitude of petty offenders than of a few big offenders; neither of course is it a more popular thing to have an eye for the sins of the many than for the sins of the few.

However, the reason is what I am telling you. You must, therefore, take these facts into account, and, bearing in mind their several misdeeds, punish every one of them as soon as you have caught him. Never mind how long ago the offence was committed; consider only whether they committed it. If you are indulgent today to crimes that aroused your indignation then, it will look as though you sentenced them to repay the money because you were angry, not because you suffered any wrong. For to do something spiteful on the spur of the moment to the man who has hurt you is a symptom of anger; if you are really aggrieved, you wait till you have the malefactor at your mercy, and then punish him. You must not let it be inferred from your placability today that you disregarded your oaths and gratified an unjust passion then. You ought to detest them; you ought to be impatient of the sound of the voice of either of those two men, whose public conduct has been what I describe.

Yes, but, in spite of those public delinquencies, there was, it may be said, other business which they managed with credit. On the contrary, in every respect their behavior towards their fellow-citizens has been such that the story you have heard is the least of the reasons you have for hating them. What do you wish me to mention? How they repaired the processional ornaments? How they broke up the crowns? Their success as manufacturers of saucers?

Why, for those performances alone, though they had committed no other fraud on the City, it seems to me that they deserve not one but three sentences of death; for they are guilty of sacrilege, of impiety, of embezzlement, of every monstrous crime. The greater part, then, of the speech by which Androtion threw dust in your eyes I will leave unnoticed; but, by alleging that the leaves of the crowns were rotten with age and falling off,—as though they were violet-leaves or rose-leaves, not leaves made of gold—he persuaded you to melt them down. Being appointed to perform that operation, he chose as his assistant Timocrates, the constant partner of his misdeeds.

And then, in providing for the collection of taxes, he had put in a clause that the public accountant should attend. That was very honest of him; only every taxpayer was certain to check the accounts. But in dealing with the crowns that he was to break up, he left out that very proper regulation; he was himself orator, goldsmith, business-manager, and auditor of accounts.

—Now if you, sir, had claimed our entire confidence in all your public business, your dishonesty would not have been equally manifest; but, seeing that in the matter of the taxes you laid down the just principle that the City must trust, not you, but her own servants, and then, when you took up another job, and were tampering with the consecrated plate, some of it dedicated before we were born, you forgot to provide the precaution that was taken at your own instance in respect of the tax-collection, is it not perfectly clear what you were aiming at? Of course it is.

Again, men of Athens, consider those glorious and much-admired inscriptions that he has obliterated for all time, and the strange and blasphemous inscriptions that he has written in their stead. You all, I suppose, used to see the words written under the circlets of the crowns: The Allies crowned the People for valor and righteousness, or The Allies dedicated to the Goddess of Athens a prize of victory; or, from the several states of the Alliance, Such-and-such a city crowned the People by whom they were delivered, or The liberated Euboeans, for example, crowned the People, or again Conon from the sea-fight with the Lacedaemonians, Chabrias from the sea-fight off Naxos.

Such, I say, were the inscriptions on the crowns. They were tokens of emulation and honorable ambition; but now they have vanished with the destruction of the crowns, and the saucers which that lewd fellow has had made in their place bear the inscription Made by direction of Androtion. And so our temples contain gold plate marked with the name of a man whom the laws forbid to enter those temples in person because of his filthy life. Just like the old inscriptions,—Is it not?—and the same incentive to your ambitions!

You may, then, mark three scandalous crimes committed by these persons. They have robbed the Goddess of her crowns. They have extinguished in the City that spirit of emulation that sprang from the achievements which the crowns, while in being, commemorated. They have deprived the donors of a great honor,—the credit of gratitude for benefits received. And after this long series of evil deeds they have grown so callous and so audacious that one of them expects you to acquit him for the sake of the other, and the other sits by his side and does not sink into the ground for shame at his conduct.