How to Be a Leader

What does it truly mean to lead wisely? Is leadership about commanding authority, or does it begin with commanding oneself? In How to Be a Leader: An Ancient Guide to Wise Leadership, Plutarch—through Jeffrey Beneker’s careful translation and commentary—argues that great leadership is grounded not in political power or rhetorical prowess, but in moral education and philosophical integrity. For Plutarch, rulers and civic leaders are first and foremost stewards of virtue. Their ability to govern others depends on their ability to govern themselves.

Living around the first century CE, Plutarch wrote during a time when Greek cities had lost much of their independence under Roman rule. Yet, he saw civic life as the crucible for personal and communal excellence. His essays—To an Uneducated Leader, How to Be a Good Leader, and Should an Old Man Engage in Politics?—explore leadership from three angles: the untrained politician driven by ambition; the developing public servant learning prudence and moderation; and the elder statesman who embodies experience and wisdom. Together, these essays form a moral framework that transcends their era, offering lessons for leaders in government, business, or any realm that demands ethical stewardship.

The Soul of Leadership: City Before Self

Plutarch’s central dictum—‘city before self’—captures his belief that leadership is a moral calling, not a means of self-advancement. A true leader is governed by logos, or Reason, which philosophy nurtures. Reason functions like a divine light within the soul, comparable to the sun in the heavens. Just as the sun illuminates and sustains life, Reason illuminates ethical action and sustains justice. The philosopher-leader is thus a mirror of cosmic order, promoting rational harmony among citizens. In contrast, the uneducated leader, enslaved to greed and fear, mirrors chaos. The moral unsteadiness of such individuals destabilizes the very polis—city-state—they claim to protect.

Moral Education as Political Training

In Plutarch’s framework, leadership cannot be divorced from philosophical education. This education doesn’t consist of abstract debate—it is practical ethics, training the leader’s Reason to master emotion and impulse. Through moral philosophy, leaders learn the humility to balance ambition with service and to transform power into benevolent order. Plutarch calls upon examples: Theopompus, king of Sparta, voluntarily curtailed his authority to strengthen the monarchy’s stability; Cato the Younger and Epaminondas of Thebes served their cities selflessly, ready to sacrifice personal gain for public virtue. Such leaders model “educated power”—governance tempered by conscience.

Politics as Philosophy in Action

For Plutarch, politics is not merely administration; it is applied ethics. A city prospers when its rulers behave like philosophers, translating moral insight into civic harmony. He even likens the political sphere to athletics—the leader’s honor and moral character are tested in public competition. This imagery of the “arena” shows Plutarch’s awareness that politics inflames ambition and ego; the wise leader must resist the temptation of glory and envy. To lead well is not to win every race but to preserve the moral health of the community. Politics should refine character, not corrupt it.

Relevance for Modern Leadership

Plutarch’s ideal of ethical governance remains strikingly relevant. The modern leader, whether in public office or private enterprise, faces constant pressure to choose between virtue and expediency. His advice—to align leadership with philosophy—echoes through millennia. Like Cicero’s On Duties or Marcus Aurelius’s Meditations, Plutarch’s vision ties moral clarity to effective leadership. He reminds us that great leaders embody justice not in their decrees but in their demeanor: through Reason, moderation, and compassion. His work ultimately proposes that leadership, at its highest form, is moral artistry—a living sculpture crafted by virtue itself.

In To an Uneducated Leader, Plutarch defines the moral gulf between those who hold power and those who deserve it. The essay warns against leaders who mistake the trappings of authority—stern voice, formal behavior, public spectacle—for genuine dignity. Like hollow bronze statues filled with clay, they appear mighty but are heavy with ignorance. True leadership, he writes, begins with internal mastery: a leader must first be ruled by Reason before they can rule others.

The Self-Governed Soul

Plutarch borrow’s Plato’s image of the human soul as a charioteer controlling spirited horses of impulse and desire. The charioteer—Reason—must be trained through philosophy; otherwise, the horses drag the leader into tyranny. The moral education of rulers mirrors divine governance: just as Zeus embodies Justice and Order, the philosopher-ruler embodies self-control and benevolence. Without this guidance, the leader’s passions transform into destructive acts. Anger leads to murder; greed leads to corruption. Plutarch’s examples are concrete—Alexander kills his friend Cleitus in a fit of rage, while tyrants like Clearchus live imprisoned by their own paranoia.

Philosophy as Political Therapy

Philosophy becomes the ruler’s medicine, stabilizing power through virtue. When the Spartan king Theopompus yielded authority to ephors, he secured his family’s dynasty through humility rather than domination. Plutarch praises such restraint as the mark of “educated power.” By contrast, uneducated rulers believe their privilege lies in never being ruled—and thus mistake freedom for license. Education transforms this perspective, replacing arrogance with civic duty. Reason becomes an ‘internal law,’ echoing Pindar’s claim that “the law is the king of all.”

Divine Models of Rule

Plutarch romanticizes ethical leadership as imitation of divine order. The philosopher-ruler is the city’s “sun,” radiating justice and Reason as light. His purpose is not to impose fear but to inspire reverence. This contrasts sharply with tyranny: kings fear for their subjects, tyrants fear of them. The good leader’s vigilance arises from compassion, not insecurity. For Plutarch, the ruler’s courage lies in guarding others’ welfare rather than preserving his own safety. The educated leader imitates the heavens—steady, luminous, and self-contained—while the uneducated burns violently and soon collapses.

Error as a Mirror of Power

Ultimately, Plutarch teaches that leadership magnifies both virtue and vice. The cracks of character—greed, vanity, laziness—become public fractures once empowered. Empty jars leak when filled, just as shallow souls spill corruption when granted office. Power exposes the untrained spirit like altitude exposes dizziness. The antidote is inner stability: govern yourself first. Only then does leadership become service, not self-display. His essay remains a timeless warning that uneducated power is not merely ineffective—it is dangerous, for it weaponizes ignorance with authority.

Plutarch’s second essay, How to Be a Good Leader, reads like a mentorship manual for a young public servant named Menemachus. Here, Plutarch exchanges the philosophical tone of his first treatise for a pragmatic, mentoring voice—half teacher, half father. His objective is clear: to turn political ambition into civic virtue. Leadership, he says, must begin in deliberate choice, guided by Reason, not vanity or rivalry. Entering politics for entertainment or revenge leads only to disillusionment and danger.

Choosing to Serve

Plutarch warns against entering public life impulsively, like a sailor swept by sudden wind into open seas. Proper motivation arises from thoughtful commitment, not restlessness. He contrasts figures like Gaius Gracchus—whose anger led him to ruin—with those who pursued politics through disciplined reflection. For Plutarch, the moral compass of a leader must point toward “absolute goodness,” not toward applause or profit. As Aristotle argued (in Politics), the state exists for moral flourishing; Plutarch echoes this but personalizes it—the leader must embody that flourishing.

Understanding the Character of the Citizens

The aspiring leader must study human nature as a physician studies symptoms. Each city has its temperament—Athenians are quick-tempered but merciful, Carthaginians are stern and disciplined. To lead wisely, one must adapt to the people’s character before reforming it. Themistocles famously disciplined himself before entering politics, staying sober and vigilant, declaring that Miltiades’ victory “would not let him sleep.” Leadership requires self-restraint and presentation; the public will judge not only speeches and laws but dinners, marital fidelity, and demeanor. Plutarch’s anecdotes—Alcibiades’ downfall due to his licentiousness, Cimon’s blame for wine, Scipio’s mockery for sleep—reveal how private behavior shapes political destiny.

Speech as Power

Rhetoric, Plutarch insists, is the tool that converts virtue into persuasion. Character alone cannot lead; it must speak. He cites Pericles, whose words transformed democracy itself: “a government in name democratic, in fact ruled by the leading man.” Cato the Younger’s speeches exhausted senates simply by their endurance; he spoke all day to prevent rash decisions. Plutarch thus distinguishes between empty eloquence and ethical speech—the latter serves truth, not vanity. The leader’s tongue becomes the rudder steering the ship of state.

Power Shared and Contained

A wise leader distributes power like a pilot shares duties among crew: trusting good men with parts of governance. Pericles delegated authority to his colleagues; Theopompus reduced his own. To monopolize office breeds envy and collapse; to collaborate fosters harmony. Plutarch counsels Menemachus to establish friendships guided by virtue, not convenience, and warns against rivals who seek glory rather than service. He paints civic leadership as teamwork across generations—and as moral exercise rather than conquest. In sum, the young leader must rule his passions, respect his peers, and measure success by the stability and decency of his city, not by personal fame.

Should an Old Man Engage in Politics? brings Plutarch’s trilogy full circle. Addressing his contemporary Euphanes, Plutarch asks whether leaders should retire or remain active in old age. His answer: the wise never truly retire; they simply shift from commanding to mentoring. Age does not extinguish Reason—it refines it. The essay becomes both philosophical defense and personal testament: Plutarch himself, in his fifties, continued supervising public works for his hometown Chaeronea while serving Apollo’s temple at Delphi. Politics, he declares, is not a temporary task but a lifelong moral vocation.

The Value of the Elder Statesman

Elders, he says, are the soul of political reason. Their moderation tempers the passion of youth. Homer’s Nestor embodies this archetype: a commander whose wisdom outlasts strength. Plutarch reminds us that Pericles, Cato the Elder, and Agesilaus achieved their greatest accomplishments late in life. He mocks the idea that age should withdraw into luxury, comparing old politicians who retreat to idleness to sailors abandoning ship before reaching harbor. True dignity lies in serving the city until the end—“for nature makes us political creatures,” he echoes Aristotle, “not until fifty, but for life.”

Public Life as Perpetual Training

Plutarch argues that like crafts and arts, political skill decays without practice. The aging statesman must keep his Reason exercised through counsel and reflection, even if his body weakens. He recounts tales of veterans like Phocion, leading Athens in his eighties, and Masinissa, who fought in battle at ninety. The soul shines “like polished bronze” when used; neglected, it dulls. Hence, old age should engage lightly but steadily—overseeing, advising, guiding—the way retired athletes still stretch their limbs without racing.

Mentoring as Political Legacy

The elder leader’s ultimate duty, Plutarch concludes, is instruction. Just as the Vestal Virgins moved from learners to teachers, so should aged politicians become civic tutors. Teaching through example, they civilize ambition and shape character. Plutarch compares mentorship to the blending of wine with water: the fervor of youth mixed with the sobriety of age. This combination produces ethical balance and continuity in governance. Through mentoring, elders achieve immortality—their wisdom lives on in the young.

Politics as a Lifelong Art

Plutarch ends on a beautifully civic note: to withdraw from politics is to betray nature itself. Cities, he says, are like living gods—they require constant service, care, and truth. As priest of Apollo, he saw civic duty as a sacred ritual; public service was worship in action. His message transcends age: whether young or old, educated or learning, one must never stop practicing justice. True leadership is not a career—it is a craft of virtue performed until the final breath.

Throughout all three essays, Plutarch wrestles with a central paradox: ambition powers achievement, but unchecked ambition destroys it. His ancient world was full of leaders ruined by their appetites—Alcibiades by indulgence, Sulla by cruelty, and Alexander by anger. Yet without ambition, noble deeds vanish. The task, Plutarch teaches, is to reshape ambition into love of goodness—a desire not for fame but for excellence.

Moderation as Strength

Drawing on both Greek and Roman examples, Plutarch defines moderation not as weakness but as mastery. A leader who limits himself achieves stability, just as Theopompus secured power through surrendering power. In his words, a monarchy becomes “stronger the more stable it is.” Ambition must therefore serve stability, not turbulence. Restraint becomes the invisible backbone of lasting leadership, a theme mirrored centuries later by Cicero’s political stoicism and even reflected in modern democratic ethics.

The Corruption of Glory

Plutarch exposes the toxic logic of vanity—how men who seek glory in ruling become ruled by it. He calls this self-idolatry: leaders mistaking the symbolic trappings of authority for divine likeness. The tyrant imagines himself Zeus wielding thunderbolts; the wise leader imitates Zeus’s Justice. The former fears the people; the latter fears wrongdoing. Fame, in Plutarch’s ethics, must never eclipse virtue. Material honors—statues, crowns—are corruptible; virtue endures as the “living image of God” within the soul.

Ambition Reforged as Service

Plutarch’s prescription is moral reengineering: redirect ambition toward the common good. “City before self” again becomes the moral compass for leaders. The philosopher does not abolish ambition; he ennobles it by aligning it with duty. Ambition purified becomes zeal for justice—the same impulse that drove Themistocles, Pericles, and Cato not to dominate but to serve. In this transformation lies Plutarch’s most enduring lesson: greatness without goodness is tyranny; goodness without courage is fragility; the harmony of both is leadership.