10 Croesus and Solon (§§29-3)

Sardis was now at its height in wealth (Σάρδις ακμαζούσας πλούτῳ), a statement that could be made only retrospectively, and it serves for us as a warning that the happiness won’t stay long, even though it is happiness circumscribed only by wealth.^[1] All the living sages of Greece came to visit Sardis, among them Solon of Athens.^[2] Solon is characterized as a wise man, for he provided Athens with laws, and as a good and selfless man, for he departed from Athens so as not to be compelled to change any of the laws (the Athenians are left under a heavy curse not to change them without his authority). As has been amply demonstrated, the story is chronologically impossible, but Herodotus tells it because it illustrates the ethical lessons he wishes to impart.^[3]

According to the story, after a visit with Amasis, an Egyptian king whose activities, weaknesses, and wisdom figure prominently in Book Two, Solon comes to see Croesus. He is received very well and is lodged at court. On the third or fourth day of the visit, King Croesus has servants give Solon a tour of the treasuries, showing their magnificence. When Solon had looked sufficiently (κατὰ καιρόν),^[4] Croesus asked him, “Guest­ friend from Athens, much talk of your wisdom has come to us, and of your wandering for the purposes of seeking wisdom and of seeing the world. Now the desire has come to me to ask whether someone of all whom you have seen is the most prosperous” (ὀλβiώτατον)^[5] Croesus’s speech is artfully constructed, and it is perhaps clear that he has been pondering the question and its presentation. Does the question indicate a reflectiveness on the king’s part? His reaction to Solon does not indicate any deep thought about happiness. The king first addresses Solon as “guest-friend,” a term that suggests a set of reciprocal obligations. From Croesus’s point of view what is owed by Solon is surely flattery; but as Croesus also uses the verb for “seeking wisdom,” one would assume that Solon expects Croesus to want an honest and wise answer. In keeping with his free Greek nature, Solon will give one. The motive for the question Croesus attributes to desire (ἵμερος), and as we have seen, for an Oriental despot, his will or desire is sufficient rationale. The question is also limited by “those whom you have seen.” It is thus not possible for Solon to answer with the name of a prosperous person of proverbial reputation; he must have seen the individual.

The key word in Croesus’s question is “prosperous,” a word that can be understood in the general sense of “happy” or in the narrow sense of “wealthy.” Later, after Solon has described Cleobis and Bito as the second happiest, Croesus will change the term to εὐδαιμονίη, the more usual word usual word for “happiness.” So it is possible that Croesus asks the question in one sense and receives an answer in another sense. The later shift perhaps indicates that Croesus’s conception of prosperity has changed in the course of the conversation, from wealth to other kinds of goods; but it has not changed enough for him to cease thinking of himself as most prosperous.

Herodotus, entering into the mind of Croesus, tells us that the king expected himself to be named as the most prosperous. As storyteller, Herodotus is free to tell us what someone thinks. The questions that arise, however, are these: why would Croesus need to be reassured that he is the most prosperous, and why would he need to hear it from Solon, a Greek? Can there be a gnawing doubt in his mind? Is he like Lear, who longs to be cuddled and flattered and reacts with fury when he is disappointed? The question does not seem to have arisen spontaneously in pleasant conversation, for to prepare the groundwork for the question Croesus has shown Solon the treasuries. The irrationality of the question, the complete need­ lessness to ask it, puts Croesus in the same situation as Candaules, who should have needed no more assurance of his wife’s beauty than Croesus needs assurance of his wealth. And the irrationality will similarly lead to a vengeance from the god. Without flattering, Solon answers truly, “Tellus the Athenian.” Amazed at the answer, Croesus eagerly asks why, and Solon enumerates the particulars of Tellus’s prosperity. His city was prosperous, he was the father of sons fine and good (καλοί τε κἀγαθοί),^[6] he lived to see grandchildren from all his sons and the grandchildren also all grew up, and after a life spent in what counts as economic prosperity among his people, he died gloriously, for in a battle between Athens and Eleusis he sallied forth, routed the enemy, died most beautifully (κάλλιστα), and received a public burial where he fell. Solon has evidently given considerable thought to the question, and his answer contains in seminal form all the elements of happiness enumerated later in Aristotle’s Rhetoric (1360b-1361). Aristotle, after briefly defining happiness (εὐδαιμονία) as well-being with virtue, lists its component parts (1360b10): “noble birth, numerous friends, good friends, wealth, good children, numerous children, a good old age; further, bodily excellences, such as health, beauty, strength, stature, fitness for athletic contests, a good reputation, honor, good luck, virtue.”^[7] In going beyond the notion that prosperity consists of wealth, Solon has anticipated the various arguments against the false theories of happiness as they are laid out in the Nicomachaean Ethics.^[8] Thus it seems clear that the Aristotelian idea of happiness was already present in Greek thought long before its systematic formulation.

Of the qualities Aristotle names, Tellus has them all. First he enjoys noble birth in a polis that Aristotle defines as being “autochthonous,” or “sprung from the soil,” a favorite boast of the Athenians and implicit in the epithet Solon gave Tellus, “of Athens.” That he had friends and a good reputation we can deduce from the treatment he received at death. His children and their goodness are specifically mentioned by Solon, as is his wealth. Solon believes that one need not be the richest man in the world in order to be wealthy; how much caviar can one eat? It is possible to deduce that since his sons were fine-looking and healthy, so was Tellus. His virtue we may see in his courage, when even at an advanced old age he was able to fight for his country. Certainly he had luck, not only to be killed after routing the enemy but also to live in a country while it prospered. And his honor was magnificent: public burial on the spot where he fell, a special honor later granted the glorious Athenians who defended their homeland at Marathon.^[9] One would be very hard pressed to name anyone else who shared all these qualities. Despite the small number of qualities making up such prosperity, Tellus’s kind of prosperity is incredibly rare in human history. Indeed, in the nearly three decades since I first read this story in Herodotus I have been trying to find even one person whose happiness could exceed or equal that of Tellus—with no success.^[10]

One might contrast Croesus with Tellus: Croesus’s country will be over­ turned and become a vassal state in his lifetime; one of Croesus’s sons is deaf and dumb, the other will die in his youth; and Croesus’s end will be to serve a cruel master-the lunatic Cambyses. Who would not choose to be Tellus over Croesus?

Thinking that perhaps he might win second prize, Croesus asks Solon to name the second happiest, to which question he receives the unexpected answer, Cleobis and Bito.^[11] Argives, they were sufficiently wealthy and prize-winning athletes. Their strength is illustrated by a story about an especially glorious deed that they performed.^[12] There was to be a feast of Hera and the mother of Cleobis and Bito needed to ride to the temple. When the oxen did not come home, the boys harnessed the wagon to themselves and pulled their mother forty-five stades. When all had seen them complete the task and had congratulated them and their mother on the youths’ strength, the mother stood before the statue of the goddess and prayed that she give them whatever is best for men to receive. And, says Solon, the story illustrates how much better death is for men than life.^[13] After her sons sacrificed and feasted, they went to sleep in the temple and died in their sleep. The Argives made statues of them as the best of all men and dedicated the statues to Delphi.^[14]

We can again see most of what Aristotle lists as the components of happiness: good birth (Cleobis and Bito are sons of a priestess), sufficient wealth, athletic ability and strength. They lack children and a good old age. The pattern of their lives is substantially different from that of Tellus’s life. Whereas Tellus’s life seems to have been good all along but, until his end, not conspicuously glorious, the lives of Cleobis and Bito are punctuated with singular moments of glory: they have won prizes as athletes; they are acclaimed as they carry their mother into the temple precinct. The various lives may be graphed thus (making no distinction between Cleobis and Bito):

Solon finds superior a life of steady good fortune, none of the elements extraordinary in itself, but the presence of them all exceedingly rare. A life of peaks, however, must necessarily contain valleys, and hence does not win first prize.^[15]

The story of the two sons also contrasts strongly with the situation of Croesus. As we shall learn, Croesus, like the priestess, has two sons, but where both the sons of the priestess are prizewinners, one of the sons of Croesus is deaf and dumb, the other the first among those his own age. The healthy son, Atys, dies in a hunting accident, having failed to snare a boar. His life was short and inglorious. The second son, when he sees Croesus about to be slain, speaks for the first time to save his father’s life, and he speaks thereafter. But there is little glory in this action, for it saves Croesus for the pyre and for a life of servitude. Part of the happiness of Cleobis and Bito is the glory manifested in the statues made for them and dedicated to Delphi. This is real glory, bestowed by others and given in recognition of real deeds. An Oriental monarch like Croesus can bestow only an empty glory on himself-a tyrant’s breast, bedecked with medals he or his bravos have given, is the stuff of comic operetta. He can win the glory history confers by great deeds, but in Croesus’s case, the attempted deeds end in defeat. It is clear, then, that Croesus does not deserve the second prize either. Who, after all, would not prefer to be Cleobis or Bito?

Before examining Croesus’s reaction to Solon’s judgment, we might compare the relative prosperities of Tellus and of Cleobis and Bito. Tellus’s happiness contains the greater number of the components Aristotle lists; it also is closely bound up with a public life in the city. The happiness of Cleobis and Bito depends primarily on their own deeds, deeds involving personal prowess and familial attachment. That their mother is a priestess perhaps increases the likelihood of her prayer being answered but other­ wise is not essential to the deed. A life in which there are a few deeds of tremendous greatness must necessarily also be a life of painful contrasts. People whose brilliance is limited to great deeds of physical strength inevi­tably feel the loss of such strength; death at the peak prevents the sorrow of the descent. The deaths of Cleobis and Bito came at the critical moment for them, and their statues, like Keats’s urn, will keep them forever panting and forever young. Achilles was given the choice of a long and undistinguished life or a short and glorious one. Part of his tragedy was not having the choice of Tellus’s life. If he had, perhaps he would have chosen it.

Thus, says Herodotus, Solon gave to these Argive youths the second prize of happiness. Croesus hotly demands to know why his happiness is not considered as anything, as not even worthy to be compared to that of private people. Solon replies with a lengthy speech.

It is an artful speech, beginning and ending with references to the divine. The god, he says, is envious and troublesome φθονερός τε καὶ ταραχῶδες).^[16] The idea, as commentators have pointed out, is not new to Herodotus, and as antecedents Odyssey 5.118 and Persians 362 are observed, and as parallels 3.40 and 7.46 in the History are observed.^[17] The key word is, I think, φθονερός, which is sometimes translated “envious,” sometimes “jealous.” Fortunately, Aristotle defines the word for us in the Rhetoric, and his comments are very illuminating. “It would seem that envy φθόνος) is also similarly opposed to pity, as being akin to or identical with indignation, although it is really different; envy also is indeed a disturbing pain and directed against good fortune, but not that of one who does not deserve it, but of one who is our equal and like” (Rhetoric 1386b15-20).^[18] If we look at the various parallels cited for the idea, we find first that in the case of the Odyssey it is Calypso who complains about the gods.^[19] She of course is herself divine and she is complaining to Hermes, who has just told her that she must give up Odysseus. She complains that male gods are allowed to sleep with whomever they want, while she must give up her lover. As she is herself a goddess, the parallel does not show that the gods are protective of their rights vis-a-vis human beings. The passage in History 3.40 is spoken by Amasis, the monarch of Egypt, and the very one Solon has just been visiting. One can wonder whether Amasis, who mentions the “envy” of the gods in a letter to Polycrates warning him to suffer some piece of bad luck and who is particularly superstitious on this score, had discussed the principle with his Athenian visitor. The passages in the Persians and later in the History, both concern Xerxes. Given that the principle of the gods’ envy is addressed to monarchs who believe themselves gods, it seems not farfetched to apply the Aristotelian definition of envy as applying to one’s like in these cases. Thus Solon, in mentioning the φθόνος of the gods, at the same time both warns Croesus and flatter him.^[20] As it is characteristic of a good exordium to win over the audience, Solon’s opening ought to be effective. Croesus, however, is not a normal audience.

Solon continues by pointing out that an average human life consists of a great many days, and with scientific accuracy numbers them at 26,250. None of these days is just like another; thus man is wholly an accident (οὖτω πᾶν ἐστὶ ἄνθρωπος συμφορή).^[21] Croesus may indeed be rich and the king of many people, but, says Solon, until he ends his life well it is not possible to answer his question about the relative status of his happiness. Solon then compares the rich man and the lucky man, with the prize going to the lucky man; one is reminded of the bon mot of Samuel Johnson, that the chief ill avoided by wealth is poverty. It is not possible, Solon continues, for a single individual to have all good things, but the one who has the most is best off. Like Aristotle, he reckons that happiness has many components, of which wealth is merely one. Croesus’s confusion, we see, lies in confusing a part for the whole, a charge that could similarly be made of the Platonic Socrates, who confused virtue for all of happiness and knowledge for all of virtue. Solon concludes with a proposition similar to that with which he had begun: “It is necessary to look to the end of every matter, how it will come out; the god, you see, having shown prosperity to many, overthrows it from its roots.”

I think we have to remember that there are several audiences for Solon’s speech. The first is the dramatic audience, Croesus. If he reacted with the same intelligence as he did to Pittacus or Bias, he would have learned to judge himself correctly and might have averted some of the consequences of his arrogance. As has been observed, Solon’s advice seems almost a collection of commonplaces; its truth is so obvious as to be self-evident, and the details about wealth as no guard against bad luck seem belabored.^[22] Yet Croesus dismisses the Athenian as worthy of no account and foolish for disregarding present prosperity in looking to the end of every matter. When one dismisses claims obviously true, the one dismissing them appears foolish and irrational, and surely the abrupt dismissal is one of Herodotus’s ways of characterizing Croesus.^[23]

Solon’s second audience is Herodotus’s readers. As these are very likely Athenians, we have Solon arisen ghostlike from the dead to advise his descendant countrymen, as he had a century earlier, when he blamed the crisis of his day on the Athenian aristocrats’ unrestrained passion for riches.^[24] His lesson for Croesus would be of equal value for them. Like Croesus, they are at the height of their prosperity (at least up to this point in their history), possess a rather large empire, and are very wealthy. Also like Croesus they are waxing arrogant, confident in the constancy of their good luck. Herodotus’s defiance of chronology in introducing Solon may therefore intend to make the man warning his countrymen against hubristic behavior the hero of Athens. If they would listen to no one else, perhaps Herodotus reasoned, they will listen to their Solon. Thus Herodotus sacrificed his reputation for scholarly accuracy to save his contemporaries from war. The Athenians, alas, proved as uneducable as the Sardian king.