The Discourses — Dio Chrysostom
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ΛΟΓΟΙ
Translation/edition: J. W. Cohoon
Language: English
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  - Greek text: https://plato-scroll.com/text/dio-discourses-e.txt
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Dio Chrysostom (“the Golden-Mouthed”, c. AD 40–115) was a Greek orator and popular philosopher of the Second Sophistic, exiled under Domitian and later honoured by Trajan. His eighty surviving Discourses blend Stoic and Cynic ethics with rhetoric — on kingship and tyranny, slavery and freedom, custom and law, beauty, retirement, and the famous Euboean oration on the simple country life. Translation by J. W. Cohoon (Loeb Classical Library, 1932–51). Public domain in the United Kingdom and much of the world; in the United States the Loeb text remains under copyright into the 2030s.
Marble bust of the emperor Trajan (AD 53–117), to whom several of Dio’s discourses on kingship are addressed.
Statue of Diogenes the Cynic at Sinop, Turkey — the Cynic sage is a recurring figure in Dio’s discourses.

## THE FIRST DISCOURSE ON KINGSHIP

THE FIRST DISCOURSE as well as the following three has for its subject Kingship, and from internal evidence is thought to have been first delivered before Trajan in Rome immediately after he became emperor. At any rate Dio does not address the Emperor in those terms of intimacy that he uses in the third Discourse.
Dio’s conception of the true king is influenced greatly by Homer and Plato. The true king fears the gods and watches over his subjects even as Zeus, the supreme god, watches over all mankind. At the end is a description of the choice made by Heracles, who is the great model of the Cynics.
The First Discourse on Kingship
[1.1] The story goes that when the flute-player Timotheus gave his first exhibition before King Alexander, he showed great musical skill in adapting his playing to the king’s character by selecting a piece that was not languishing or slow nor of the kind that would cause relaxation or listlessness, but rather, I fancy, the ringing strain which bears Athena’s name and none other. [2] They say, too, that Alexander at once bounded to his feet and ran for his arms like one possessed, such was the exaltation produced in him by the tones of the music and the rhythmic beat of the rendering. The reason why he was so affected was not so much the power of the music as the temperament of the king, which was high-strung and passionate. [3] Sardanapallus, for example, would never have been aroused to leave his chamber and the company of his women even by Marsyas himself or by Olympus, much less by Timotheus or any other of the later artists; nay, I believe that had even Athena herself — were such a thing possible — performed for him her own measure, that king would never have laid hand to arms, but would have been much more likely to leap up and dance a fling or else take to his heels; to so depraved a condition had unlimited power and indulgence brought him.
[1.4] In like manner it may fairly be demanded of me that I should show myself as skilful in my province as a master flautist may be in his, and that I should find words which shall be no whit less potent than his notes to inspire courage and high-mindedness — [5] words, moreover, not set to a single mood but at once vigorous and gentle, challenging to war yet also speaking of peace, obedience to law, and true kingliness, inasmuch as they are addressed to one who is disposed, methinks, to be not only a brave but also a law-abiding ruler, one who needs not only high courage but high sense of right also. [6] If, for instance, the skill which Timotheus possessed in performing a warlike strain had been matched by the knowledge of such a composition as could make the soul just and prudent and temperate and humane, and could arouse a man not merely to take up arms but also to follow peace and concord, to honour the gods and to have consideration for men, it would have been a priceless boon to Alexander to have that man live with him as a companion, and to play for him, not only when he sacrificed but at other times also: [7] when, for example, he would give way to unreasoning grief regardless of propriety and decorum, or would punish more severely than custom or fairness allowed, or would rage fiercely at his own friends and comrades or disdain his mortal and real parents. [8] But unfortunately, skill and proficiency in music cannot provide perfect healing and complete relief for defect of character. No indeed! To quote the poet:
[1.4b] “E’en to Asclepius’ sons granted not god this boon.”
[1.4c] Nay, it is only the spoken word of the wise and prudent, such as were most men of earlier times, that can prove a competent and perfect guide and helper of a man endowed with a tractable and virtuous nature, and can lead it toward all excellence by fitting encouragement and direction.
[1.9] What subject, then, will clearly be appropriate and worthy of a man of your earnestness, and where shall I find words so nearly perfect, mere wanderer that I am and self-taught philosopher, who find what happiness I can in toil and labour for the most part and employ eloquence only for the encouragement of myself and such others as I meet from time to time? My case is like that of men who in moving or shifting a heavy load beguile their labour by softly chanting or singing a tune — mere toilers that they are and not bards or poets of song. [10] Many, however, are the themes of philosophy, and all are worth hearing and marvellously profitable for any who listen with more than casual attention; but since we have found as our hearer one who is near at hand and ready eagerly to grasp our words, we must summon to our aid Persuasion, the Muses, and Apollo, and pursue our task with the greatest possible devotion.
[1.11] Let me state, then, what are the characteristics and disposition of the ideal king, summarizing them as briefly as possible — the king
[1.11b] “to whom the sonOf Saturn gives the sceptre, making himThe lawgiver, that he may rule the rest.”
[1.12] Now it seems to me that Homer was quite right in this as in many other sayings, for it implies that not every king derives his sceptre or this royal office from Zeus, but only the good king, and that he receives it on no other title than that he shall plan and study the welfare of his subjects; he is not to become licentious or profligate, [13] stuffing and gorging with folly, insolence, arrogance, and all manner of lawlessness, by any and every means within his power, a soul perturbed by anger, pain, fear, pleasure, and lusts of every kind, but to the best of his ability he is to devote his attention to himself and his subjects, becoming indeed a guide and shepherd of his people, not, as someone has said, a caterer and banqueter at their expense. Nay, he ought to be just such a man as to think that he should sleep at all the whole night though as having no leisure for idleness. [14] Homer, too, in agreement with all other wise and truthful men, says that no wicked or licentious or avaricious person can ever become a competent ruler or master either of himself or of anybody else, nor will such a man ever be a king even though all the world, both Greeks and barbarians, men and women, affirm the contrary, yea, though not only men admire and obey him, but the birds of the air and the wild beasts on the mountains no less than men submit to him and do his bidding.
[1.15] Let me speak, then, of the king as Homer conceives him, of him who is in very truth a king; for this discourse of mine, delivered in all simplicity without any flattery or abuse, of itself discerns the king that is like the good one, and commends him in so far as he is like him, while the one who is unlike him it exposes and rebukes. Such a king is, in the first place, regardful of the gods and holds the divine in honour. [16] For it is impossible that the just and good man should repose greater confidence in any other being than in the supremely just and good — the gods. He, however, who, being wicked, imagines that he at any time pleases the gods, in that very assumption lacks piety, for he has assumed that the deity is either foolish or evil. [17] Next after the gods the good king has regard for his fellow-men; he honours and loves the good, yet extends his care to all. Now who takes better care of a herd of cattle than does the herdsman? Who is more helpful and better to flocks of sheep than a shepherd? Who is a truer lover of horses than he who controls the greatest number of horses and derives the greatest benefit from horses? [18] And so who is presumably as great a lover of his fellow-man as he who exercises authority over the greatest number of men and enjoys the highest admiration of men? For it would be strange if men governing beasts, wild and of another blood than theirs, prove more kindly to these their dependants than a monarch to civilized men who are of the same flesh and blood as himself. [19] And further, cattle love their keepers best and are most submissive to them; the same is true of horses and their drivers; hunters are protected and loved by their dogs, and in the same way other subject creatures love their masters. [20] How then would it be conceivable that, while beings devoid of intelligence and reason recognize and love those who care for them, that creature which is by far the most intelligent and best understands how to repay kindness with gratitude should fail to recognize, nay, should even plot against, its friends? No indeed! For of necessity the kindly and humane king is not only beloved but even adored by his fellow-men. And because he knows this and is by nature so inclined, he displays a soul benignant and gentle towards all, inasmuch as he regards all as loyal and as his friends.
[1.21] The good king also believes it to be due to his position to have the larger portion, not of wealth or of pleasures, but of painstaking care and anxieties; hence he is actually more fond of toil than many others are of pleasure or of wealth. For he knows that pleasure, in addition to the general harm it does to those who constantly indulge therein, also quickly renders them incapable of pleasure, whereas toil, besides conferring other benefits, continually increases a man’s capacity for toil. [22] He alone, therefore, may call his soldiers “fellow-soldiers” and his associates “friends” without making mockery of the word friendship; and not only may he be called by the title “Father” of his people and his subjects, but he may justify the title by his deeds. In the title “master,” however, he can take no delight, nay, not even in relation to his slaves, much less to his free subjects; [23] for he looks upon himself as being king, not for the sake of his individual self, but for the sake of all men.
[1.24] Therefore he finds greater pleasure in conferring benefits than those benefited do in receiving them, and in this one pleasure he is insatiable. For the other functions of royalty he regards as obligatory; that of benefaction alone he considers both voluntary and blessed. [24] Blessings he dispenses with the most lavish hand, as though the supply were inexhaustible; but of anything hurtful, on the contrary, he can no more be the cause than the sun can be the cause of darkness. Men who have seen and associated with him are loath to leave him, while those who know him only by hearsay are more eager to see him than children are to find their unknown fathers. [25] His enemies fear him, and no one acknowledges himself his foe; but his friends are full of courage, and those exceeding near unto him deem themselves of all men most secure. They who come into his presence and behold him feel neither terror nor fear; but into their hearts creeps a feeling of profound respect, something much stronger and more powerful than fear. For those who fear must inevitably hate and want to escape; those who feel respect must linger and admire.
[1.26] He holds that sincerity and truthfulness are qualities befitting a king and a prudent man, while unscrupulousness and deceit are for the fool and the slave, for he observes that among the wild beasts also it is the most cowardly and ignoble which surpass all the rest in lying and deceiving.
[1.27] Though naturally covetous of honour, and knowing that it is the good that men are prone to honour, he has less hope of winning honour from the unwilling than he has of gaining the friendship of those who hate him.
[1.27b] He is warlike to the extent that the making of war rests with him, and peaceful to the extent that there is nothing left worth his fighting for. For assuredly he is well aware that they who are best prepared for war have it most in their power to live in peace.
[1.28] He is also by nature fond of his companions, fellow-citizens, and soldiers in like measure; for a ruler who is suspicious of the military and has never or rarely seen those who face peril and hardship in support of his kingdom, but continually flatters the unprofitable and unarmed masses, is like a shepherd who does not know those who help him to keep guard, never proffers them food, and never shares the watch with them; for such a man tempts not only the wild beasts, but even his own dogs, to prey upon the fold. [29] He, on the contrary, who pampers his soldiers by not drilling them or encouraging them to work hard and, at the same time, evinces no concern for the people at large, is like a ship-captain who demoralizes his crew with surfeit of food and noonday sleep and takes no thought for his passengers or for his ship as it goes to ruin. [30] And yet if one is above reproach in these two matters, but fails to honour those who are close to him and are called his friends, and does not see to it that they are looked upon by all men as blessed and objects of envy, he becomes a traitor to himself and his kingdom ere he is aware by disheartening those who are his friends and suffering nobody else to covet his friendship and by robbing himself of that noblest and most profitable possession: friendship. [31] For who is more indefatigable in toil, when there is occasion for toil, than a friend? Who is readier to rejoice in one’s good fortune? Whose praise is sweeter than that of friends? From whose lips does one learn the truth with less pain? What fortress, what bulwarks, what arms are more steadfast or better than the protection of loyal hearts? [32] For whatever is the number of comrades one has acquired, so many are the eyes with which he can see what he wishes, so many the ears with which he can hear what he needs to hear, so many the minds with which he can take thought concerning his welfare. Indeed, it is exactly as if a god had given him, along with his one body, a multitude of souls all full of concern in his behalf.
[1.33] But I will pass over most of the details and give the clearest mark of a true king: he is one whom all good men can praise without compunction not only during his life but even afterwards. And yet, even so, he does not himself covet the praise of the vulgar and the loungers about the market-place, but only that of the free-born and noble, men who would prefer to die rather than be guilty of falsehood. [34] Who, therefore, would not account such a man and such a life blessed? From what remote lands would men not come to see him and to profit from his honourable and upright character? What spectacle is more impressive than that of a noble and diligent king? What can give greater pleasure than a gentle and kindly ruler who desires to serve all and has it in his power so to do? [35] What is more profitable than an equitable and just king? Whose life is safer than his whom all alike protect, whose is happier than his who esteems no man an enemy, and whose is freer from vexation than his who has no cause to blame himself? Who is more fortunate, too, than that man whose goodness is known of all?
[1.36] In plain and simple language I have described the good king. If any of his attributes seem to belong to you, happy are you in your gracious and excellent nature, and happy are we who share its blessings with you.
[1.37] It was my purpose, after finishing the description of the good king, to discuss next that supreme king and ruler whom mortals and those who administer the affairs of mortals must always imitate in discharging their responsibilities, directing and conforming their ways as far as possible to his pattern. [38] Indeed, this is Homer’s reason for calling true kings “Zeus-nurtured” and “like Zeus in counsel”; and Minos, who had the greatest name for righteousness, he declared was a companion of Zeus. In fact, it stands to reason that practically all the kings among Greeks or barbarians who have proved themselves not unworthy of this title have been disciples and emulators of this god. [39] For Zeus alone of the gods has the epithets of “Father” and “King,” “Protector of Cities,” “Lord of Friends and Comrades,” “Guardian of the Race,” and also “Protector of Suppliants,” “God of Refuge,” and “God of Hospitality,” these and his countless other titles signifying goodness and the fount of goodness. [40] He is addressed as “King” because of his dominion and power; as “Father,” I ween, on account of his solicitude and gentleness; as “Protector of Cities” in that he upholds the law and the commonweal; as “Guardian of the Race” on account of the tie of kinship which unites gods and men; as “Lord of Friends and Comrades” because he brings all men together and wills that they be friendly to one another and never enemy or foe; [41] as “Protector of Suppliants” since he inclines his ear and is gracious to men when they pray; as “God of Refuge” because he gives refuge from evil; as “God of Hospitality” because it is the very beginning of friendship not to be unmindful of strangers or to regard any human being as an alien; and as “God of Wealth and Increase” since he causes all fruitage and is the giver of wealth and substance, not of poverty and want. For all these functions must at the outset be inherent in the royal function and title.
[1.42] I might well speak next of the administration of the universe and tell how the world — the very embodiment of bliss and wisdom — ever sweeps along through infinite time in infinite cycles without cessation, guided by good fortune and a like power divine, and by foreknowledge and a governing purpose most righteous and perfect, and renders us like itself since, in consequence of the mutual kinship of ourselves and it, we are marshalled in order under one ordinance and law and partake of the same polity. [43] He who honours and upholds this polity and does not oppose it in any way is law-abiding, devout and orderly; he, however, who disturbs it, as far as that is possible to him, and violates it or does not know it, is lawless and disorderly, whether he be called a private citizen or a ruler, although the offence on the part of the ruler is far greater and more evident to all. [44] Therefore, just as among generals and commanders of legions, cities or provinces, he who most closely imitates your ways and shows the greatest possible conformity with your habits would be by far your dearest comrade and friend, while he who showed antagonism or lacked conformity would justly incur censure and disgrace and, being speedily removed from his office as well, would give way to better men better qualified to govern; [45] so too among kings, since they, I ween, derive their powers and their stewardship from Zeus; the one who, keeping his eyes upon Zeus, orders and governs his people with justice and equity in accordance with the laws and ordinances of Zeus, enjoys a happy lot and a fortunate end, [46] while he who goes astray and dishonours him who entrusted him with his stewardship or gave him this gift, receives no other reward from his great authority and power than merely this: that he has shown himself to all men of his own time and to posterity to be a wicked and undisciplined man, illustrating the storied end of Phaethon, who mounted a mighty chariot of heaven in defiance of his lot but proved himself a feeble charioteer. [47] In somewhat this wise Homer too speaks when he says:
[1.42b] “Whoso bears
A cruel heart, devising cruel things,
On him men call down evil from gods
While living, and pursue him, when he dies,
With scoffs. But whoso is of generous heart
And harbours generous aims, his guests proclaim
His praises far and wide to all mankind,
And numberless are they who call him good.”
[1.48] For my part, I should be most happy and eager, as I have said, to speak on this subject — on Zeus and the nature of the universe. But since it is altogether too vast a theme for the time now at my command and requires a somewhat careful demonstration, perhaps in the future there may be leisure for its presentation. [49] But if you would like to hear a myth, or rather a sacred and withal edifying parable told under the guise of a myth, perhaps a story which I once heard an old woman of Elis or Arcadia relate about Heracles will not appear to you out of place, either now or hereafter when you come to ponder it alone.
[1.50] Once when I chanced to be wandering in exile — and great is my gratitude to the gods that they thus prevented my becoming an eye-witness of many an act of injustice — I visited as many lands as possible, at one time going among the Greeks, at another among barbarians, assuming the guise and dress of a vagabond beggar,
[1.50b] “Demanding crusts, not caldrons fine or swords.”
[1.51] At last I arrived in the Peloponnesus, and keeping quite aloof from the cities, spent my time in the country, as being quite well worth study, mingling with herdsmen and hunters, an honest folk of simple habits. [52] As I walked along the Alpheus on my way from Heraea to Pisa, I succeeded in finding the road for some distance, but all at once I got into some wood land and rough country, where a number of trails led to sundry herds and flocks, without meeting anybody or being able to inquire my way. So I lost my direction, and at high noon was quite astray. But noticing on a high knoll a clump of oaks that looked like a sacred grove, I made my way thither in the hope of discovering from it some roadway or house. [53] There I found blocks of stone set roughly together, hanging pelts of animals that had been sacrificed, and a number of clubs and staves — all evidently being dedications of herdsmen. At a little distance I saw a woman sitting, strong and tall though rather advanced in years, dressed like a rustic and with some braids of grey hair falling about her shoulders. [54] Of her I made full inquiry about the place, and she most graciously and kindly, speaking in the Dorian dialect, informed me that it was sacred to Heracles and, regarding herself, that she had a son, a shepherd, whose sheep she often tendered herself. She also said that the Mother of the Gods had given her the gift of divination and that all the herdsmen and farmers round about consulted her on the raising and preservation of their crops and cattle. [55] “And you too,” she continued, “have come into this place by no mere human chance, for I shall not let you depart unblest.” Thereupon she at once began to prophesy, saying that the period of my wandering and tribulation would not be long, nay, nor that of mankind at large. [56] The manner of her prophesying was not that of most men and women who are said to be inspired; she did not gasp for breath, whirl her head about, or try to terrify with her glances, but spoke with entire self-control and moderation.
[1.57] “Some day,” she said, “you will meet a mighty man, the ruler of very many lands and peoples. Do not hesitate to tell him this tale of mine even if there be those who will ridicule you for a prating vagabond. [57] For the words of men and all their subtleties are as naught in comparison with the inspiration and speech due to the promptings of the gods. Indeed, of all the words of wisdom and truth current among men about the gods and the universe, none have ever found lodgment in the souls of men except by the will and ordering of heaven and through the lips of the prophets and holy men of old. [58] For instance, they say there once lived in Thrace a certain Orpheus, a Muse’s son; and on a certain mountain of Boeotia another, a shepherd who heard the voices of the Muses themselves. Those teachers, on the other hand, who without divine possession and inspiration have circulated as true stories born of their own imaginings are presumptuous and wicked.
[1.59] “Hear, therefore, the following tale and listen with vigilance and attention that you may remember it clearly and pass it on to that man whom I say you will meet. It has to do with this god in whose presence we now are. [59] Heracles was, as all men agree, the son of Zeus and Alcmene, and he was king not only of Argos but of all Greece. (Most people, however, do not know that Heracles was continually absent from Argos because he was engaged in making expeditions and defending his kingdom, but they assert that Eurystheus was king at this time. These, however, are but their idle tales.) [60] And he was not only king of Greece, but also held empire over every land from the rising of the sun to the setting thereof, aye, over all peoples where are found shrines of Heracles. [61] He had a simple education too, with none of the elaboration and superfluity devised by the unscrupulous cleverness of contemptible men.
[1.62] “This, also, is told of Heracles: that he went unclothed and unarmed except for a lion’s skin and a club, [62] and they add that he did not set great store by gold or silver or fine raiment, but considered all such things worth nothing save to be given away and bestowed upon others. At any rate he made presents to many men, not only of money without limit and lands and herds of horses and cattle, but also of whole kingdoms and cities. For he fully believed that everything belonged to him exclusively and that gifts bestowed would call out the good-will of the recipients. [63] Another story which men tell is untrue: that he actually went about alone without an army. For it is not possible to overturn cities, cast down tyrants, and to dictate to the whole world without armed forces. It is only because, being self-reliant, zealous of soul, and competent in body, he surpassed all men in labour, that the story arose that he travelled alone and accomplished single-handed whatsoever he desired.
[1.64] “Moreover, his father took great pains with him, implanting in him noble impulses and bringing him into the fellowship of good men. He would also give him guidance for each and every enterprise through birds and burnt offerings and every other kind of divination. [65] And when he saw that the lad wished to be a ruler, not through desire for pleasure and personal gain, which leads most men to love power, but that he might be able to do the greatest good to the greatest number, he recognized that his son was naturally of noble parts, and yet suspected how much in him was mortal and thought of the many baneful examples of luxurious and licentious living among mankind, and of the many men there were to entice a youth of fine natural qualities away from his true nature and his principles even against his will. [66] So with these considerations in mind he despatched Hermes after instructing him as to what he should do. Hermes therefore came to Thebes, where the lad Heracles was being reared, and told him who he was and who had sent him. Then, taking him in charge, he led him over a secret path untrodden of man till he came to a conspicuous and very lofty mountain-peak whose sides were dreadfully steep with sheer precipices and with the deep gorge of a river that encompassed it, whence issued a mighty rumbling and roaring. Now to anyone looking up from below the crest above seemed single; but it was in fact double, rising from a single base; and the two peaks were far indeed from each other. [67] The one of them bore the name Peak Royal and was sacred to Zeus the King; the other, Peak Tyrannous, was named after the giant Typhon. There were two approaches to them from without, each having one. The path that led to Peak Royal was safe and broad, so that a person mounted on a car might enter thereby without peril or mishap, if he had the permission of the greatest of the gods. The other was narrow, crooked, and difficult, so that most of those who attempted it were lost over the cliffs and in the flood below, the reason being, methinks, that they transgressed justice in taking that path. [68] Now, as I have said, to most persons the two peaks appear to be practically one and undivided, inasmuch as they see them from a distance; but in fact Peak Royal towers so high above the other that it stands above the clouds in the pure and serene ether itself, whereas the other is much lower, lying in the very thick of the clouds, wrapped in darkness and fog.
[1.69] “Hermes then explained the nature of the place to Heracles as he led him thither. But when Heracles, ambitious youth that he was, longed to see what was within, he said, ‘Follow, then, that you may see with your own eyes the difference in all other respects also, things hidden from the foolish.’ [70] He therefore took him first to the loftier peak and showed him a woman seated upon a resplendent throne. She was beautiful and stately, clothed in white raiment, and held in her hand a sceptre, not of gold or silver, but of a different substance, pure and much brighter — a figure for all the world like the pictures of Hera. [71] Her countenance was at once radiant and full of dignity, so that all the good could behold it without fear, but no evil person could gaze upon it any more than a man with weak eyes can look up at the orb of the sun; composed and steadfast was her mien, and her glance did not waver. [72] A profound stillness and unbroken quiet pervaded the place; everywhere were fruits in abundance and thriving animals of every species. And immense heaps of gold and silver were there, and of bronze and iron; yet she heeded not at all the gold, nor did she take delight in it, but rather in the fruits and living creatures.
[1.73] “Now when Heracles beheld the woman, he was abashed and blushes mantled his cheeks, for he felt that respect and reverence for her which a good son feels for a noble mother. Then he asked Hermes which of the deities she was, and he replied, ‘Lo, that is the blessed Lady Royalty, child of King Zeus.’ And Heracles rejoiced and took courage in her presence. And again he asked about the women who were with her. ‘Who are they?’ said he; ‘how decorous and stately, like men in countenance!’ [74] ‘Behold,’ he replied, ‘she who sits there at her right hand, whose glance is both fierce and gentle, is Justice, aglow with a surpassing and resplendent beauty. Beside her sits Civic Order, who is very much like her and differs but slightly in appearance. [75] On the other side is a woman exceeding beautiful, daintily attired, and smiling benignly; they call her Peace. But he who stands near Royalty, just beside the sceptre and somewhat in front of it, a strong man, grey-haired and proud, has the name of Law; but he has also been called Right Reason, Counsellor, Coadjutor, without whom these women are not permitted to take any action or even to purpose one.’
[1.76] “With all that he heard and saw Heracles was delighted, and he paid close attention, determined never to forget it. But when they had come down from the higher peak and were at the entrance to Tyranny, Hermes said, ‘Look this way and behold the other woman. It is with her that the majority of men are infatuated and to win her they give themselves much trouble of every kind, committing murder, wretches that they are, son often conspiring against father, father against son, and brother against brother, since they covet and count as felicity that which is the greatest evil — power conjoined with folly.’ [77] He then began by showing Heracles the nature of the entrance, explaining that whereas only one pathway appeared to view, that being about as described above — perilous and skirting the very edge of the precipice — yet there were many unseen and hidden corridors, and that the entire region was undermined on every side and tunnelled, no doubt up to the very throne, and that all the passages and bypaths were smeared with blood and strewn with corpses. Through none, however, of these passages did Hermes lead him, but along the outside one that was less befouled, because, I think, Heracles was to be a mere observer.
[1.78] “When they entered, they discovered Tyranny seated aloft, of set purpose counterfeiting and making herself like to Royalty, but, as she imagined, on a far loftier and more splendid throne, since it was not only adorned with innumerable carvings, but embellished besides with inlaid patterns of gold, ivory, amber, ebony, and substances of every colour. Her throne, however, was not secure upon its foundation nor firmly settled, but shook and slouched upon its legs. [79] And in general things were in disorder, everything suggesting vainglory, ostentation, and luxury — many sceptres, many tiaras and diadems for the head. Furthermore, in her zeal to imitate the character of the other woman, instead of the friendly smile Tyranny wore a leer of false humility, and instead of a glance of dignity she had an ugly and forbidding scowl. [80] But in order to assume the appearance of pride, she would not glance at those whom came into her presence but looked over their heads disdainfully. And so everybody hated her, and she herself ignored everybody. She was unable to sit with composure, but would cast her eyes incessantly in every direction, frequently springing up from her throne. She hugged her gold to her bosom in a disgusting manner and then in terror would fling it from her in a heap, then she would forthwith snatch at whatever any passer-by might have, were it never so little. [81] Her raiment was of many colours, purple, scarlet and saffron, with patches of white, too, showing here and there from her skirts, since her cloak was torn in many places. From her countenance glowed all manners of colours according to whether she felt terror or anguish or suspicion or anger; while at one moment she seemed prostrate with grief, at another she appeared to be in an exaltation of joy. At one time a quite wanton smile would come over her face, but at the next moment she would be in tears. [82] There was also a throng of women about her, but they resembled in no respect those whom I have described as in attendance upon Royalty. These were Cruelty, Insolence, Lawlessness, and Faction, all of whom were bent upon corrupting her and bringing her to ignoble ruin. And instead of Friendship, Flattery was there, servile and avaricious and no less ready for treachery than any of the others, nay rather, zealous above all things to destroy.
[1.83] “Now when Heracles had viewed all this also to his heart’s content, Hermes asked him which of the two scenes pleased him and which of the two women. ‘Why, it is the other one,’ said he, ‘whom I admire and love, and she seems to me a veritable goddess, enviable and worthy to be accounted blest; this second woman, on the other hand, I consider so utterly odious and abominable that I would gladly thrust her down from this peak and thus put an end to her.’ Whereupon Hermes commended Heracles for this utterance and repeated it to Zeus, who entrusted him with the kingship over all mankind as he considered him equal to the trust. [84] And so wherever Heracles discovered a tyranny and a tyrant, he chastised and destroyed them, among Greeks and barbarians alike; but wherever he found a kingdom and a king, he would give honour and protection.”
[1.83b] This, she maintained, was what made him Deliverer of the earth and of the human race, not the fact that he defended them from the savage beasts — for how little damage could a lion or a wild bear inflict? — nay, it was the fact that he chastised savage and wicked men, and crushed and destroyed the power of overweening tyrants. And even to this day Heracles continues this work and you have in him a helper and protector of your government as long as it is vouchsafed you to reign.

## THE SECOND DISCOURSE ON KINGSHIP

THE SECOND DISCOURSE on Kingship is put dramatically in the form of a dialogue between Philip of Macedon and his son Alexander, and in it the son is Dio’s mouthpiece, in marked contrast to the situation in the fourth Discourse, where Diogenes — and therefore Dio — is opposed to Alexander. We are shown here the way in which the true king acts in the practical affairs of life, and the Stoic ideal, drawn largely from Homer, is set forth. Toward the end the true king is contrasted with the tyrant.
Although this Discourse is addressed to no one, von Arnim is led to conjecture from its martial tone that it was delivered before Trajan in A.D. 104 on the eve of the Second Dacian War.
The Second Discourse on Kingship
[2.1] It is said that Alexander, while still a lad, was once conversing with Philip his father about Homer in a very manly and lofty strain, their conversation being in effect a discussion of kingship as well. For Alexander was already to be found with his father on his campaigns, although Philip tried to discourage him in this. Alexander, however, could not hold himself in, for it was with the lad as with young dogs of fine breed that cannot brook being left behind when their masters go hunting, but follow along, often breaking their tethers to do so. [2] It is true that sometimes, because of their youth and enthusiasm, they spoil the sport by barking and starting the game too soon, but sometimes too they bring down the game themselves by bounding ahead. This, in fact, happened to Alexander at the very beginning, so that they say he brought about the battle and victory of Chaeronea when his father shrank from taking the risk.
[2.3] Now it was on this occasion, when they were at Dium in Pieria on their way home from the campaign and were sacrificing to the Muses and celebrating the Olympic festival, which is said to be an ancient institution in that country, [3] that Philip in the course of their conversation put this question to Alexander: “Why, my son, have you become so infatuated with Homer that you devote yourself to him alone of all the poets? You really ought not to neglect the others, for the men are wise.” And Alexander replied: “My reason, father, is that not all poetry, any more than every style of dress, is appropriate to a king, as it seems to me. [4] Now consider the poems of other men; some I consider to be suitable indeed for the banquet, or for love, or for the eulogy of victorious athletes or horses, or as dirges for the dead, and some as designed to excite laughter or ridicule, like the works of the comic writers and those of the Parian poet. [5] And perhaps some of them might be called popular also, in that they give advice and admonition to the masses and to private citizens, as, for instance, the works of Phocylides and Theognis do. What is there in them by which a man could profit, who, like you or me,
[2.3b] ‘aspires to be
The master, over all to domineer.’
[2.6] The poetry of Homer, however, I look upon as alone truly noble and lofty and suited to a king, worthy of the attention of a real man, particularly if he expects to rule over all the peoples of the earth — or at any rate over most of them, and those the most prominent — if he is to be, in the strict sense of the term, what Homer calls a ‘shepherd of the people.’ Or would it not be absurd for a king to refuse to use any horse but the best and yet, when it is a question of poets, to read the poorer ones as though he had nothing else to do? [7] On my word, father, I not only cannot endure to hear any other poet recited but Homer, but even object to any other metre than Homer’s heroic hexameter.”
[2.8] Then Philip admired his son greatly for his noble spirit, since it was plain that he harboured no unworthy or ignoble ideas but made the heroes and demigods his examples. [8] Nevertheless, in his desire to arouse him, he said, “But take Hesiod, Alexander; do you judge him of little account as a poet?” “Nay, not I,” he replied, “but of every account, though not for kings and generals, I suppose.” “Well, then, for whom?” And Alexander answered with a smile: “For shepherds, carpenters, and farmers; since he says that shepherds are beloved by the Muses, and to carpenters he gives very shrewd advice as to how large they should cut an axle, and to farmers, when to broach a cask.” [9] “Well,” said Philip, “and is not such advice useful to men?” “Not to you and me, father,” he replied, “nor to the Macedonians of the present day, though to those of former times it was useful, when they lived a slave’s life, herding and farming for Illyrians and Triballians.” “But do you not like these magnificent lines of Hesiod about seed-time and harvest?” said Philip:
[2.8b] “Mark well the time when the Pleiads, daughters of Atlas, are rising;
Then begin with the harvest, but do not plough till their setting.”
[2.10] “I much prefer what Homer says on farm-life,” said Alexander. “And where,” Philip asked, “has Homer anything to say about farming? Or do you refer to the representations on the shield of men ploughing and gathering the grain and the grapes?” “Not at all,” said Alexander, “but rather to these well-known lines:
[2.10b] ‘As when two lines of reapers, face to face,
In some rich landlord’s field of barley or wheat
Move on, and fast the severed handfuls fall,
So, springing on each other, they of Troy
And they of Argos smote each other down,
And neither thought of ignominious flight.’
[2.11] “And yet, in spite of such lines as these,” said Philip, “Homer was defeated by Hesiod in the contest. Or have you not heard of the inscription which is inscribed upon the tripod that stands on Mount Helicon?
[2.11b] ‘Hesiod offered this gift to the Muses on Helicon’s mountain
When at Chalcis in song he had vanquished Homer, the godlike.’”
[2.12] “And he richly deserved to be defeated,” rejoined Alexander, “for he was not exhibiting his skill before kings, but before farmers and plain folk, or, rather, before men who were lovers of pleasure and effeminate. And that is why Homer used his poetry to avenge himself upon the Euboeans.” “How so?” asked Philip in wonder. “He singled them out among all the Greeks for a most unseemly haircut, for he makes them wear their hair in long locks flowing down their backs, as the poets of to‑day do in describing effeminate boys.”
[2.13] Philip laughed and said, “You observe, Alexander, that one must not offend good poets or clever writers, since they have the power to say anything they wish about us.” “Not absolute power,” said he; “it was a sorry day for Stesichorus, at any rate, when he told the lies about Helen. As for Hesiod, it seems to me that he himself, father, was not unaware of how much inferior his powers were to Homer’s.” [14] “How is that?” “Because, while Homer wrote of heroes, he composed a Catalogue of Fair Women, and in reality made the women’s quarters the subject of his song, yielding to Homer the eulogy of men.”
[2.15] Philip next asked him: “But as for you, Alexander, would you like to have been Agamemnon or Achilles or any one of the heroes of those days, or Homer?” [15] “No, indeed, said Alexander, “but I should like to go far beyond Achilles and the others. For you are not inferior to Peleus, in my opinion; nor is Macedonia less powerful than Phthia; nor would I admit that Olympus is a less famous mountain than Pelion; and, besides, the education I have gained under Aristotle is not inferior to that which Achilles derived from Amyntor’s son, Phoenix, an exiled man and estranged from his father. Then, too, Achilles had to take orders from others and was sent with a small force of which he was not in sole command, since he was to share the expedition with another. I, however, could never submit to any mortal whatsoever being king over me.” [16] Whereupon Philip almost became angry with him and said: “But I am king and you are subject to me, Alexander.” “Not I,” said he, “for I hearken to you, not as king, but as father.” “I suppose you will not go on and say, will you, that your mother was a goddess, as Achilles did,” said Philip, “or do you presume to compare Olympias with Thetis?” At this Alexander smiled slightly and said, “To me, father, she seems more courageous than any Nereid.” [17] Whereupon Philip laughed and said, “Not merely more courageous, my son, but also more warlike; at least she never ceases making war on me.” So far did they both go in mingling jest with earnest.
[2.18] Philip then went on with his questioning: “If, then, you are so enthusiastic an admirer of Homer, how is it that you do not aspire to his poetic skill?” “Because,” he replied, “while it would give me the greatest delight to hear the herald at Olympia proclaim the victors with strong and clear voice, yet I should not myself care to herald the victories of others; I should much rather hear my own proclaimed.” [18] With these words he tried to make it clear that while he considered Homer to be a marvellous and truly divine herald of valour, yet he regarded himself and the Homeric heroes as the athletes who strove in the contest of noble achievement. “Still, it would not be at all strange, father,” he continued, “if I were to be a good poet as well, did nature but favour me; for you know that a king might find that even rhetoric was valuable to him. You, for example, are often compelled to write and speak in opposition to Demosthenes, a very clever orator who can sway his audience — to say nothing of the other political leaders of Athens.” [19] “Yes,” said Philip playfully, “and I should have been glad to cede Amphipolis to the Athenians in exchange for that clever Demosthenes. But what do you think was Homer’s attitude regarding rhetoric?” “I believe that he admired the study, father,” said he, “else he would never have introduced Phoenix as a teacher of Achilles in the art of discourse. Phoenix, at any rate, says that he was sent by Achilles’ father,
[2.18b] ‘To teach thee both, that so thou mightst become
In words an orator, in warlike deeds
A doer.’
[2.20] And as for the other chieftains, he depicted the best and the best qualified for kingly office as having cultivated this art with no less zeal: I mean Diomede, Odysseus, and particularly Nestor, who surpassed all the others in both discernment and persuasiveness. Witness what he says in the early part of his poem:
[2.20b] ‘whose tongue
Dropped words more sweet than honey.’
[2.21] It was for this reason that Agamemnon prayed that he might have ten such elders as counsellors rather than youths like Ajax and Achilles, implying that the capture of Troy would thus be hastened. And, indeed, in another instance he showed the importance of rhetorical skill. [22] For when the Greeks had at last become faint-hearted in pursuing the campaign because the war had lasted so long and the siege was so difficult, and also, no doubt, because of the plague that laid hold of them and of the dissensions between the kings, Agamemnon and Achilles; and when, in addition, a certain agitator rose to oppose them and threw the assembly into confusion — at this crisis the host rushed to the ships, embarked in hot haste, and were minded to flee. Nobody was able to restrain them, and even Agamemnon knew not how to handle the situation. [23] Now in this emergency the only one who was able to call them back and change their purpose was Odysseus, who finally, by the speech he made, and with the help of Nestor, persuaded them to remain. Consequently, this achievement was clearly due to the orators; and one could point to many other instances as well. [24] It is evident, then, that not only Homer but Hesiod, too, held this view, implying that rhetoric in the true meaning of the term, as well as philosophy, is a proper study for the king; for the latter says of Calliope,
[2.21b] ‘She attendeth on kings august that the daughters of great Zeus
Honour and watch at their birth, those kings that of Zeus are nurtured.’
[2.25] But to write epic poetry, or to compose pieces in prose like those letters of yours, father, which are said to have won you high repute, is not altogether essential for a king, except indeed when he is young and has leisure, as was the case with you when, as they say, you diligently cultivated rhetorical studies in Thebes. [26] Nor, again, is it necessary that he study philosophy to the point of perfecting himself in it; he need only live simply and without affectation, to give proof by his very conduct of a character that is humane, gentle, just, lofty, and brave as well, and, above all, one that takes delight in bestowing benefits — a trait which approaches most nearly to the nature divine. He should, indeed, lend a willing ear to the teachings of philosophy whenever opportunity offers, inasmuch as these are manifestly not opposed to his own character but in accord with it; [27] yet I should especially counsel the noble ruler of princely soul to make poetry his delight and to read it attentively — not all poetry, however, but only the most beautiful and majestic, such as we know Homer’s alone to be, and of Hesiod’s the portions akin to Homer’s, and perhaps sundry edifying passages in other poets.”
[2.28] “And so, too, with music,” continued Alexander; “for I should not be willing to learn all there is in music, but only enough for playing the cithara or the lyre when I sing hymns in honour of the gods and worship them, and also, I suppose, in chanting the praises of brave men. It would surely not be becoming for kings to sing the odes of Sappho or Anacreon, whose theme is love; but if they do sing odes, let it be some of those of Stesichorus or Pindar, if sing they must. [29] But perhaps Homer is all one needs even to that end.” “What!” exclaimed Philip, “do you think that any of Homer’s lines would sound well with the cithara or the lyre?” And Alexander, glaring at him fiercely like a lion, said: “For my part, father, I believe that many of Homer’s lines would properly be sung to the trumpet — not, by heavens, when it sounds the retreat, but when it peals forth the signal for the charge, and sung by no chorus of women or maids, but by a phalanx under arms. They are much to be preferred to the songs of Tyrtaeus, which the Spartans use.” [30] At this Philip commended his son for having spoken worthily of the poet and well. “And indeed,” Alexander continued, “Homer illustrates the very point we have just mentioned. He has represented Achilles, for instance, when he was loitering in the camp of the Achaeans, as singing no ribald or even amorous ditties — though he says, to be sure, that he was in love with Briseis; nay, he speaks of him as playing the cithara, and not one that he had bought, I assure you, or brought from his father’s house, but one that he had plucked from the spoils when he took Thebe and slew Eëtion, the father of Hector’s wife. Homer’s words are:
[2.31] ‘To sooth his mood he sang
The deeds of heroes.’
Which means that a noble and princely man should never forget valour and glorious deeds whether he be drinking or singing, but should without ceasing be engaged in some great and some admirable action himself, or in recalling deeds of that kind.”
[2.32] In this fashion Alexander would talk with his father, thereby revealing his innermost thoughts. The fact is that while he loved Homer, for Achilles he felt not only admiration but even jealousy because of Homer’s poesy, just as handsome boys are sometimes jealous of others who are handsome, because these have more powerful lovers. To the other poets he gave hardly a thought; but he did mention [33] Stesichorus and Pindar, the former because he was looked upon as an imitator of Homer and composed a “Capture of Troy,” a creditable work, and Pindar because of the brilliancy of his genius and the fact that he had extolled the ancestor whose name he bore: Alexander, nicknamed the Philhellene, to whom the poet alluded in the verse
[2.32b] “Namesake of the blest sons of Dardanus.”
[2.32c] This is the reason why, when later he sacked Thebes, he left only that poet’s house standing, directing that this notice be posted upon it:
[2.32d] “Set not on fire the roof of Pindar, maker of song.”
Undoubtedly he was most grateful to those who eulogized him worthily, when he was so particular as this in seeking renown.
[2.34] “Well, then, my son,” said Philip, “since I am glad indeed to hear you speak in this fashion, tell me, is it your opinion that the king should not even make himself a dwelling beautified with precious ornaments of gold and amber and ivory to suit his pleasure?” “By no means should he, father,” he replied; “such ornaments should consist rather of spoils and armour taken from the enemy. He should also embellish the temples with such ornaments and thus propitiate the gods. This was Hector’s opinion when he challenged the best of the Achaeans, declaring that if victorious he would deliver the body to the allied host, ‘but the arms,’ said he, ‘I shall strip off and
[2.34b] ‘hang them high
Within the temple of the archer-god Apollo.’
[2.35] For such adornment of sacred places is altogether superior to jasper, carnelian, and onyx, with which Sardanapallus bedecked Nineveh. Indeed, such ostentation is by no means seemly for a king though it may furnish amusement to some silly girl or extravagant woman. [36] And so I do not envy the Athenians, either, so much for the extravagant way they embellished their city and their temples as for the deeds their forefathers wrought; for in the sword of Mardonius and the shields of the Spartans who were captured at Pylos they have a far grander and more excellent dedication to the gods than they have in the Propylaea of the Acropolis and in Olympieum, which cost more than ten thousand talents.” [37] “In this particular, then,” said Philip, “you could not endorse Homer; for he has embellished the palace of Alcinoüs, a Greek and an islander, not only with gardens and orchards and fountains, but with statues of gold also. Nay, more, does he not describe the dwelling of Menelaus, for all that he had just got back from a campaign, as though it were some Persian or Median establishment, almost equalling the palaces of Semiramis, or of Darius and Xerxes? [38] He says, for instance:
[2.35b] ‘A radiance bright, as of the sun or moon.
[2.35c] Throughout the high-roofed halls of Atreus’ son
Did shine.’
[2.35d] ‘The sheen of bronze,
Of gold, of silver, and of ivory.’
[2.39] And yet, according to your conception, it should have shone, not with such materials, but rather with Trojan spoils!” Here Alexander checked him and said, “I have no notion at all of letting Homer go undefended. For it is possible that he described the palace of Menelaus to accord with his character, since he is the only one of the Achaeans whom he makes out to be a faint-hearted warrior. [40] Indeed it is fairly clear that this poet never elsewhere speaks without a purpose, but repeatedly depicts the dress, dwelling, and manner of life of people so as to accord with their character. This is why he beautified the palace of the Phaeacians with groves, perennial fruits, and ever-flowing springs; [41] and again, with even greater skill, the grotto of Calypso, since she was a beautiful and kindly goddess living off by herself on an island. For he says that the island was wonderfully fragrant with the odours of sweetest incense burning there; and again, that it was overshadowed with luxuriant trees; that round about the grotto rambled a beautiful vine laden with clusters, while before it lay soft meadows with a confusion of parsley and other plants; and, finally, that in its centre were four springs of crystal-clear water which flowed out in all directions, seeing that the ground was not on a slope or uneven. Now all these touches are marvellously suggestive of love and pleasure, and to my thinking reveal the character of the goddess. [42] The court of Menelaus, however, he depicts as rich in possessions and rich in gold, as though he were some Asiatic king, it seems to me. And, in fact, Menelaus was not far removed in line of descent from Tantalus and Pelops; which I think is the reason why Euripides has his chorus make a veiled allusion to his effeminacy when the king comes in:
‘And Menelaus,
[2.39b] By his daintiness so clear to behold,
Sprung from the Tantalid stock.’
[2.43] The dwelling of Odysseus, however, is of a different kind altogether; he being a cautious man, Homer has given him a home furnished to suit his character. For he says:
[2.43b] ‘Rooms upon rooms are there: around its court
Are walls and battlements, and folding doors
Shut fast the entrance; no man may contemn
Its strength.’
[2.44] “But there are passages where we must understand the poet to be giving advice and admonition, others where he merely narrates, and many where his purpose is censure and ridicule. Certainly, when he describes going to bed or the routine of daily life, Homer seems a competent instructor for an education that may truthfully be described as heroic and kingly. Lycurgus, for instance, may have got from him his idea of the common mess of the Spartans when he founded their institutions. [45] In fact, the story is that he came to be an admirer of Homer and was the first who brought his poems from Crete, or from Ionia, to Greece. To illustrate my point: the poet represents Diomede as reclining on a hard bed, the ‘hide of an ox that dwelleth afield’; round about him he had planted his spears upright, butts downward, not for the sake of order but to have them ready for use. Furthermore, he regales his heroes on meat, and beef at that, evidently to give them strength, not pleasure. [46] For instance, he is always talking about an ox being slain by Agamemnon, who was king over all and the richest, and of his inviting the chieftains to enjoy it. And to Ajax, after his victory, Agamemnon gives the chine of an ox as a mark of favour. [47] But Homer never represents his heroes as partaking of fish although they are encamped by the sea; and yet he regularly calls the Hellespont fish-abounding, as in truth it is; Plato has very properly called attention to this striking fact. Nay, he does not even serve fish to the suitors at their banquet though they are exceedingly licentious and luxury-loving men, are in Ithaca and, what is more, engaged in feasting. [48] Now because Homer does not give such details without a purpose, he is evidently declaring his own opinion as to what kind of nourishment is best, and what it is good for. If he wishes to commend a feature, he uses the expression ‘might-giving,’ that is to say, ‘able to supply might’ or strength. In the passages in question he is giving instruction and advice as to how good men should take thought even for their table, since, as it happened, he was not unacquainted with food of all kinds and with high living. So true is this that the peoples of to‑day who have fairly gone mad in this direction — the Persians, Syrians and, among the Greeks, the Italiots, and Ionians — come nowhere near attaining the prodigality and luxury we find in Homer.”
[2.49] “But how is it that he does not give the finest possible apparel to his heroes?” Philip enquired. “Why, by Zeus, he does,” replied all, “though it is no womanish or embroidered apparel; Agamemnon is the only one that wears a purple robe, and even Odysseus has but one purple cloak that he brought from home. For Homer believes that a commander should not be mean of appearance or look like the crowd of private soldiers, but should stand out from the rest in both garb and armour so as to show his greater importance and dignity, yet without being a fop or fastidious about such things. [50] He roundly rebuked the Carian, for instance, who decked himself out for war in trappings of gold. These are his words:
[2.49b] ‘who, madly vain,
Went to the battle pranked like a young girl
In golden ornaments. They spared him not
The bitter doom of death; he fell beneath
The hand of swift Aeacides within
The river’s channel. There the great in war,
Achilles, spoiled Nomion of his gold.’
[2.51] Thus he ridicules him for his folly as well as his vanity in that he practically carried to the foemen a prize for slaying him. Homer, therefore, clearly does not approve the wearing of gold, particularly on going into a battle, whether bracelets and necklaces or even such golden head-gear and bridles for one’s horses as the Persians are said to affect; for they have no Homer to be their censor in affairs of war.
[2.52] “By inculcating such conduct as the following, he has made his officers good and his soldiers well disciplined. For instance, he has them advance
[2.53] ‘silently, fearing their leaders’
whereas the barbarians advance with great noise and confusion, like cranes, thus showing that it is important for safety and victory in battle that the soldiers stand in awe of their commanders. For those who are without fear of their own officers would be the first to be afraid of the enemy. [53] Furthermore, he says that even when they had won a victory the Achaeans kept quiet in their camp, but that among the Trojans, as soon as they thought they had gained any advantage, at once there were throughout the night
[2.53b] ‘the sound
Of flutes and fifes, and tumult of the crowd.’
[2.54] implying that here also we have an excellent indication of virtue according as men bear their successes with self-restraint, or, on the contrary, with reckless abandon. [54] And so to me, father, Homer seems a most excellent disciplinarian, and he who tries to give heed to him will be a highly successful and exemplary king. For he clearly takes for granted himself that pre-eminently kingly virtues are two — courage and justice. Mark what he says,
[2.54b] ‘An excellent king and warrior mighty withal.’
[2.55] as though all the other virtues followed in their train.
[2.56] “However, I do not believe that the king should simply be distinguished in his own person for courage and dignity, but that he should pay no heed to other people either when they play the flute or the harp, or sing wanton and voluptuous songs; nor should he tolerate the mischievous craze for filthy language that has come into vogue for the delight of fools; [56] nay, he should cast out all such things and banish them to the uttermost distance from his own soul, first and foremost, and then from the capital of his kingdom — I mean such things as ribald jests and those who compose them, whether in verse or prose, along with scurrilous gibes — then, in addition, he should do away with indecent dancing and the lascivious posturing of women in licentious dances as well as the shrill and riotous measures played on the flute, syncopated music full of discordant turns, and motley combinations of noisy clanging instruments. [57] One song only will he sing or permit to be sung — the song that comports with the God of War, full of vigour, ringing clear, and stirring in the hearer no feeling of delight or languidness, but rather an overpowering fear and tumult; in short, such a song as Ares himself awoke, as he
[2.56b] ‘shrilly yelled, encouraging
The men of Troy, as on the city heights
He stood.’
[2.58] or as Achilles when, at the mere sound of his voice and before he could be seen, he turned the Trojans to flight and thus caused the destruction of twelve heroes midst their own chariots and arms. [58] Or it might be like the triumphal song composed by the Muses for the celebration of victory, like the paean which Achilles bade the Achaeans chant as he brought Hector’s body to the ships, he himself leading:
[2.58b] ‘Now then, ye Achaean youth, move on and chant
A paean, while, returning to the fleet,
We bring great glory with us; we have slain
The noble Hector, whom, throughout their town,
The Trojans ever worshipped like a god.’
[2.59] Or, finally, it might be the exhortations to battle such as we find in the Spartan marching songs, its sentiments comporting well with the polity of Lycurgus and the Spartan institutions:
[2.59b] ‘Up, ye sons of Sparta,
Rich in citizen fathers;
Thrust with the left your shields forth,
Brandish bravely your spears;
Spare not your lives.
[2.59c] That’s not custom in Sparta.’
[2.60] “In conformity with these songs, our king should institute dance movements and measures that are not marked by reeling or violent motions, but are as virile and sober as may be, composed in a sedate rhythm; the dance should be the ‘enoplic,’ the execution of which is not only a tribute to the gods but a drill in warfare as well — the dance in which the poet says Meriones was skilful, for he has put these words into the mouth of a certain Trojan:
[2.60b] ‘Had I but struck thee, dancer though thou art,
Meriones, my spear had once for all
Ended thy dancing.’
[2.61] Or do you think that he can have meant that some other dance was known to the son of Molus, who was accounted one of the best of the Achaeans, and not the military dance of the Kouretes, a native Cretan dance, the quick and light movement designed to train the soldiers to swerve to one side and easily avoid the missile? [62] From these considerations, moreover, it follows that the king should not offer such prayers as other men do nor, on the other hand, call upon the gods with such a petition as Anacreon, the Ionian poet, makes:
[2.61b] ‘O King with whom resistless love
Disports, and nymphs with eyes so dark,
And Aphrodite, fair of hue,
O thou who rangest mountain crests,
Thee do I beseech, do thou
To me propitious come and hear
With kindly heart the prayer I make:
Cleobulus’ confessor be
And this love of mine approve,
O Dionysus.’
[2.63] Nor, by heavens, should he ever utter such prayers as those we find in the ballads and drinking-songs of the Attic symposia, for these are suitable, not for kings, but for country folk and for the merry and boisterous clan-meetings. For instance,
[2.63b] ‘Would that I became a lovely ivory harp,
And some lovely children carried me to Dionysus’ choir!
[2.63c] Would that I became a lovely massive golden trinket,
And that me a lovely lady wore!’
[2.64] He would much better pray as Homer has represented the king of all the Greeks as praying:
[2.64b] ‘O Zeus, most great and glorious, who dost rule
The tempest — dweller of the ethereal space!
[2.64c] Let not the sun go down and night come on
Ere I shall lay the halls of Priam waste
With fire, and give their portals to the flames,
And hew away the coat of mail that shields
The breast of Hector, splitting it with steel.
[2.64d] And may his fellow-warriors, many a one,
Fall round him to the earth and bite the dust.’
[2.65] “There are many other lessons and teachings in Homer, which might be cited, that make for courage and the other qualities of a king, but perhaps their recital would require more time than we now have. I will say, however, that he not only expresses his own judgment clearly in every instance — that in his belief the king should be the superior of all men — but particularly in the case of Agamemnon, in the passage where for the first time he sets the army in array, calls the roll of the leaders, and gives the tale of the ships. [66] In that scene the poet has left no room for any other hero even to vie with Agamemnon; but as far as the bull surpasses the herd in strength and size, so far does the king excel the rest, as Homer says in these words:
[2.65b] ‘And as a bull amid the horned herd
Stands eminent and nobler than the rest,
So Zeus to Agamemnon on that day
Gave to surpass in manly port and mien
The heroes all.’
[2.67] This comparison was not carelessly chosen, so it seems to me, merely in order to praise the hero’s strength and in the desire to demonstrate it. In that case it seems that he would surely have chosen the lion for his simile and thus have made an excellent characterization. No, his idea was to indicate the gentleness of his nature and his concern for his subjects. For the bull is not merely one of the nobler animals; nor does it use its strength for its own sake, like the lion, the boar, and the eagle, which pursue other creatures and master them for their own bellies’ sake. (For this reason one might in truth say that these animals have come to be symbols of tyranny rather than of kingship.) [68] But clearly, in my opinion, the bull has been used by the poet to betoken the kingly office and to portray a king. For the bull’s food is ready to hand, and his sustenance he gets by grazing, so that he never needs to employ violence or rapacity on that score; but he, like affluent kings, has all the necessaries of life, unstinted and abundant. [69] He exercises the authority of a king over his fellows of the herd with good-will, one might say, and solicitude, now leading the way to pasture, now, when a wild beast appears, not fleeing but fighting in front of the whole herd and bringing aid to the weak in his desire to save the dependent multitude from dangerous wild beasts; just as is the duty of the ruler who is a real king and not unworthy of the highest honour known among men. [70] Sometimes, it is true, when another herd appears upon the scene, he engages its leader and strives for victory so that all may acknowledge his superiority and the superiority of his herd. Consider, again, the fact that the bull never makes war against man, but, notwithstanding that nature has made him of all unreasoning animals the best and best fitted to have dominion, he nevertheless accepts the dominion of his superior; and although he acknowledges his inferiority to none as regards strength, spirit, and might, yet he willingly subordinates himself to reason and intelligence. Why should we not count this a training and lesson in kingship for prudent kings, [71] to teach them that while a king must rule over men, his own kind, because he is manifestly their superior, who justly and by nature’s design exercises dominion over them; and while he must save the multitude of his subjects, planning for them and, if need be, fighting for them and protecting them from savage and lawless tyrants, and as regards other kings, if any such there should be, must strive with them in rivalry of goodness, seeking if possible to prevail over them for the benefit of mankind at large; [72] yet the gods, who are his superiors, he must follow, as being, I verily believe, good herdsmen, and must give full honour to their superior and more blessed natures, recognizing in them his own masters and rulers and showing that the most precious possession which God, the greatest and highest king, can have is, first himself and then those who have beenº appointed to be his subjects?
[2.73] “Now we know how wise herdsmen deal with a bull. When he becomes savage and hard to handle, and rules outrageously in violation of the law of nature, when he treats his own herd with contempt and harms it, but gives ground before outsiders who plot against it and shields himself behind the helpless multitude, yet, when there is no peril at hand, waxes overbearing and insolent, now bellowing loudly in a menacing way, now goring with levelled horns any who cannot resist, thus making show of his strength upon the weaker who will not fight, while at the same time he will not permit the multitude of the cattle to graze in peace because of the consternation and panic he inspires — when the owners and the herdsmen, I say, have such a bull, they depose and kill him as not being fit to lead the herd nor salutary to it. [74] That bull, on the other hand, which is gentle towards the kine of his following, but valiant and fearless towards wild beasts, that is stately, proud, and competent to protect his herd and be its leader, while yet submissive and obedient to the herdsmen — him they leave in charge til extreme old age, even after he becomes too heavy of body. [75] In like manner do the gods act, and especially the great King of Kings, Zeus, who is the common protector and father of men and gods. If any man proves himself a violent, unjust and lawless ruler, visiting his strength, not upon the enemy, but upon his subjects and friends; if he is insatiate of pleasures, insatiate of wealth, quick to suspect, implacable in anger, keen for slander, deaf to reason, knavish, treacherous, degraded, wilful, exalting the wicked, envious of his superiors, too stupid for education, regarding no man as friend nor having one, as though such a possession were beneath him, — [76] such a one Zeus thrusts aside and deposes as unworthy to be king or to participate in his own honour and titles, putting upon him shame and derision, as methinks he did with Phalaris and Apollodorus and many others like them. [77] But the brave and humane king, who is kindly towards his subjects and, while honouring virtue and striving that he shall not be esteemed as inferior to any good man therein, yet forces the unrighteous to mend their ways and lends a helping hand to the weak — such a king Zeus admires for his virtue and, as a rule, brings to old age, as, for instance, according to tradition, Cyrus and Deïoces the Mede, Idanthyrsus the Scythian, Leucon, many of the Spartan kings, and some of the earlier kings of Egypt. [78] But if the inevitable decree of fate snatches him away before reaching old age, yet Zeus vouchsafes unto him a goodly renown and praise among all men for ever and ever, as indeed,” concluded Alexander, “he honoured our own ancestor, who, because of his virtue, was considered the son of Zeus — I mean Heracles.”
[2.79] Now when Philip heard all this, he was delighted and said, “Alexander, it wasn’t for naught that we esteemed Aristotle so highly, and permitted him to rebuild his home-town Stagira, which is in the domain of Olynthus. He is a man who merits many large gifts, if such are the lessons which he gives you in government and the duties of a king, be it as interpreter of Homer or in any other way.”

## THE THIRD DISCOURSE ON KINGSHIP

DIO’S PROTEST IN this Discourse that he is not flattering would seem to indicate clearly that he is addressing Trajan — otherwise his words would be meaningless — and many of the things said point to the existence of very cordial relations between the orator and that emperor. Hence it is inferred that the third Discourse is later than the first. Von Arnim suggests that it was delivered before Trajan on his birthday, September 18th, in A.D. 104.
Stoic and Cynic doctrine as to the nature of the true king is set forth. The reference to the sun is of Stoic origin. Then Trajan, the type of the true king, is contrasted with the Persian king to the latter’s disadvantage.
The Third Discourse on Kingship
[3.1] When Socrates, who, as you also know by tradition, lived many years ago, was passing his old age in poverty at Athens, he was asked by someone whether he considered the Persian king a happy man, and replied, “Perhaps so”; but he added that he did not really know, since he had never met him and had no knowledge of his character, implying, no doubt, that a man’s happiness is not determined by any external possessions, such as gold plate, cities or lands, for example, or other human beings, but in each case by his own self and his own character.
[3.2] Now Socrates thought that because he did not know the Persian king’s inner life, he did not know his state of happiness either. I, however, most noble Prince, have been in your company and am perhaps as well acquainted with your character as anyone, and know that you delight in truth and frankness rather than in flattery and guile. [3] To begin with, you suspect irrational pleasures just as you do flattering men, and you endure hardship because you believe that it puts virtue to the test. And when I see you, O Prince, perusing the works of the ancients and comprehending their wise and close reasoning, I maintain that you are clearly a blessed man in that you wield a power second only to that of the gods and nevertheless use that power most nobly. [4] For the man who may taste of everything that is sweet and avoid everything that is bitter, who may pass his life in the utmost ease, who, in a word, may follow his own sweet will, not only without let or hindrance but with the approval of all — [5] when that man, I say, is at once a judge more observant of the law than an empanelled jury, a king of greater equity than the responsible magistrates in our cities, a general more courageous than the soldiers in the ranks, a man more assiduous in all his tasks than those who are forced to work, less covetous of luxury than those who have no means to indulge in luxury, kindlier to his subjects than a loving father to his children, more dreaded by his enemies than are the invincible and irresistible gods — how can one deny that such a man’s fortune is a blessing, not to himself alone, but to all others as well?
[3.6] For in the case of the generality of men, those either in private station or holding some petty office, the individual’s personal fortune is of slight account and concerns himself alone; but let untold cities yield obedience to a man, let countless nations be governed by his judgment, let tribes of men unnumbered and hostile to one another look to his prudence alone, and that man becomes the saviour and protector of men everywhere — that is, if such be his type. [7] For when a man governs and holds sway over all mankind, his prudence avails to help even the imprudent, since he takes thought for all alike; his temperance serves to restrain even the intemperate, since his eye is over all alike; his justice gives of itself even to the unjust; and his courage is able, not only to save the less valiant, but even to fire them with greater courage. [8] For no one is such a coward as not to feel reassured when he follows a general with whom victory is certain, nor so exceeding indifferent as to sit at ease when he sees submitting to take orders that man to whom God has apportioned the right to give orders only, nor, again, so completely lost to a sense of shame that he can watch a man toiling in behalf of another although under no necessity to toil — and yet refuse him aid. [9] This, it seems to me, is exactly Homer’s view as well; for, after speaking of the ideal king, he concludes by saying,
[3.6b] “And virtuous the people beneath him.”
[3.10] Such a king considers virtue a fair possession for others but an absolute necessity for himself. [10] Who, in fact, must exercise greater wisdom than he who is concerned with the weightiest matters; who, a keener sense of justice than he who is above the law; who, a more rigorous self-control than he to whom all things are permissible; who, a stouter courage than he upon the safety of everything depends? [11] And who takes greater delight in the works of virtue than he who has all men as spectators and witnesses of his own soul? — so that nothing he may do can ever be hidden any more than the sun can run its course in darkness; for, in bringing all other things to light, it reveals itself first.
[3.12] These things I say in the full knowledge that my present statements will have to be repeated at greater length; and yet there is no danger of my appearing to speak aught in flattery, since I have given no slight nor fleeting evidence of my sincerity. [13] If, in bygone days when fear made everyone think falsehood a necessity, I was the only one bold enough to tell the truth even at the peril of my life, and yet am lying now when all may speak the truth without incurring danger — then I could not possibly know the time for either frankness or flattery.
[3.14] Again, all who act deliberately do so either for money, for reputation, or for some pleasurable end, or else, I suppose, for virtue’s sake and because they honour goodness itself. [15] But I could never bring myself to accept money from anyone, although many are willing to give it. Nay, little as I had, you will find that I not only shared it with others, but actually squandered it many a time. [16] And what sort of pleasure was I seeking, when even those flatterers who openly follow the business acknowledge that to play the flatterer is of all things most distasteful? For what pleasure is there in praising someone else undeservedly merely to be deservedly blamed one’s self?
[3.17] Furthermore, flattery seems neither reputable nor honourable even when practised to gain distinction, or from some other worthy motive. Nay, of all vices, I may say, flattery will be found to be the meanest. [18] In the first place, it debases a thing most beautiful and just, even praise, so that it no longer appears honest or sincere, and — what is most outrageous — it gives to vice the prizes of virtue. Flatterers, therefore, do much more harm than those who debase the coinage: for whereas the latter cause us to suspect the coinage, the former destroy our belief in virtue.
[3.19] Then again, as I see the matter, we always call the bad man a fool, and so he really is; but for downright folly the flatterer outdoes all, since he is the only perverter of the truth who had the hardihood to tell his lies to the very persons who know best that he is lying. For who does not know his own business? or who is so stupid as not to know whether work or idleness brings him joy, whether he finds pleasure in over-reaching another or in acting justly, and whether he is the slave of pleasure or a lover of noble deeds?
[3.20] And, further, it seems to me that the flatterer fails worst just where he is most confident that he is succeeding — namely, in pleasing those whom he praises. Nay, he is odious rather than pleasing to them unless they be utter fools. [21] For example, he who congratulates a poor man on his wealth not only lies himself, but holds up to scorn the poverty of the man he congratulates. Again, does not he who praises a most ugly person for his beauty simply cast his ugliness in his teeth? Or how could he who calls a cripple able-bodied please him by reminding him of his misfortune? — The man, however, who lauds the fool for his wisdom is perhaps the most convincing of all on account of the stupidity of his hearer and thus does all the greater harm, since he induces the fellow to take his own counsel and not trust to intelligent men. [22] But the man who extols the coward as a hero makes the most justifiable use of the folly of him who is flattered; since, if the craven believes him and attempts to perform heroic deeds, he will come to grief all the more speedily. — [23] Yet, generally speaking, when the flatterer is found out, he is not only condemned, but hated as well, since his words are thought to be mockery; while, if he convinces one of the truth of his words, he gets no very great thanks. For what great favour is he thought to confer by simply telling the truth? [24] Besides, he is a much greater rascal than a lying witness: for the latter does not corrupt the judge, he merely deceives him; but the flatterer corrupts at the same time that he praises.
[3.25] Accordingly, that I may not be open to the charge of flattery by my would‑be detractors, and that you on your part may not be accused of a wanting to be praised to your very face, I shall speak of the ideal king, of what sort he should be, and how he differs from the man who pretends to be a ruler but is in reality far from true dominion and kingship. [26] And if anyone shall say that I always say the same things, this will be the same charge that was laid against Socrates. For the story runs that once Hippias of Elis, who had been listening for some time to the words of Socrates about justice and virtue and to his wonted comparisons with pilots, physicians, cobblers and potters, finally made the exclamation natural to a sophist, [27] “The same things once more, Socrates!” to which the other replied with a laugh, “Yes, and on the same subjects. Now you by reason of your wisdom probably never say the same about the same things, but to me this appears a thing most excellent. We know that liars say many things and all different, while those who stick to the truth cannot find anything else to say than just the truth.” [28] So too with me: if I knew of any subject more serious or more suited to you, that is the subject that I should attempt to handle. But as it is, just as I should say that the proper subject for the physician to listen to or discuss is physical health and disease (indeed, the terms applied to physicians, hygieinoi and iatrikoi, mean “men who are concerned with health and with healing”), and for the navigator, seasons and winds and stars (for navigators are rightly termed kybernetikoi, “men concerned with the steering of ships”), so I maintain that the proper subject for the ruler and king is the government and control of men.
[3.30] So in discussing this subject I shall endeavour to set forth the views of Socrates. After the answer about happiness Socrates’ interrogator put the following question to him: [30] “Socrates,” said he, “you know perfectly well that of all men under the sun that man is most powerful and in might no whit inferior to the gods themselves who is able to accomplish the seemingly impossible — if it should be his will, to have men walk dryshod over the sea, to sail over the mountains, to drain rivers dry by drinking — [31] or have you not heard that Xerxes, the king of the Persians, made of the dry land a sea by cutting through the loftiest of the mountains and separating Athos from the mainland, and that he led his infantry through the sea, riding upon a chariot just like Poseidon in Homer’s description? And perhaps in the same way the dolphins and the monsters of the deep swam under his raft as the king drove along.”
[3.32] “I cannot tell you that either,” replied Socrates; “I mean whether the man who does such things has the greatest power, as you affirm, or the least power, or none at all. If, for example, he was temperate, brave, and just, if all his acts were marked by judgment, I think he was a powerful man and really had the greatest might. [33] But if, on the other hand, he was cowardly, foolish, licentious, and lawless, and understood what he did in wanton insolence, then, on the contrary, I think he was a weaker man than the veriest beggar who has not even a clod of earth to break up with the pick to gain his livelihood — to say nothing of breaking through the highest mountains, the feat of which you speak. [34] For he who cannot check a fit of anger, which is often caused by mere trifles; who cannot conquer a lust for the basest things; who cannot thrust pain aside, imaginary as it often is; who cannot endure toil, even to gain pleasure; who cannot drive fear from his soul, though it avails naught in the midst of alarms but works the greatest mischief — must not such a man be greatly lacking in strength, be weaker than a woman, weaker than a eunuch? [35] Or do you call that man strong who is weaker than the softest of things? — I mean sleep, enchained by which, often without fetters, he cannot help himself, let alone others, nor call to his aid anyone willing to fight in his defence.”
[3.36] On hearing this, the other exclaimed: “However, I presume you know, Socrates, that of the entire inhabited world the Persian king rules over the largest and best part; for, excluding Greece, Italy, and a few other peoples scattered throughout Europe, he has made all the rest subject to him; [37] and of what we call Asia he governs everything as far as the Indies, many of whose people are said to own his sway too, as well as the greater part of Africa; while in Europe he governs Thrace and Macedonia. All these he holds in subjection, and this is the reason that he alone has received the title of ‘The Great King.’”
[3.38] “But I am not absolutely sure even on this point,” replied Socrates, “whether he is king of any city or hamlet at all.” “Have you alone,” interjected the other, “never heard what all the world knows?” “Yes,” he replied, “I do hear many people say just what you are saying — many, both Greeks and barbarians; but what keeps me from forming a definite opinion on the point I raise is this: [39] I do not know, my good sir, whether he is placed in right and lawful authority over all these people and is a man of the stamp I have mentioned time and again. If he is a man of good mind and heart, respects the law, cares for his subjects with an eye to their safety and welfare, and is, to begin with, happy and wise himself, as I have described him, and shares this happiness of his with others, not divorcing his own interest from that of his subjects, but rejoicing most and regarding himself as most prosperous when he sees his subjects prosperous too — then he is most powerful and a king in very truth. [40] If, on the other hand, he loves pleasure and wealth, is overbearing and lawless, and is minded to exalt himself alone to the end that he may get the most wealth and enjoy the most and greatest pleasures, leading an idle and effortless life and looking upon his subjects one and all as but slaves and ministers to his own luxury; [41] if he lacks even the quality of a good shepherd, who takes thought for the shelter and pasturing of his own flock, and, besides, keeps off wild beasts and guards it against thieves; nay, if he is the very first to plunder and destroy them and to grant the same privilege to others as though they were veritable spoil of the enemy — never should I style such a ruler either emperor or king. Much rather should I call him a tyrant and oppressor, as Apollo once called the tyrant of Sicyon — yea, even though he had many tiaras, many sceptres, and many obeyed his behests.”
[3.42] Such was the sage’s habitual message while he constantly incited to virtue and tried to make both rulers and subjects better.
[3.43] In a similar vein his successors have spoken about government and kingship, following his most wise doctrine as closely as they might. [43] And the very terms they use make the distinctions clear at the outset. “Government” is defined as the lawful ordering of men and as oversight over men in accordance with law; “monarchy,” as an irresponsible government where the king’s will is law; [44] “tyrant,” or rather “tyranny,” on the contrary, as the arbitrary and lawless exploitation of men by one regarded as having superior force on his side.
[3.45] The three most conspicuous forms of government — governments based on law and justice and enjoying the favour of heaven and fortune — are expressly named. One is the first to come into existence and the most practicable — that which forms the subject of the present address — where we have a city, or a number of peoples, or the whole world, well ordered by one good man’s judgment and virtue; second, the so‑called “aristocracy,” [46] where not one man, nor a considerable number of men, but a few, and they the best, are in control — a form of government, at length, far from being either practicable or expedient. It seems to me that Homer too had this in mind when he said:
“The rule
[3.46] Of the many is not well. One must be chief
In war, and one the king, to whom the son
Of Cronus, crafty in counsel, the sceptre doth give.”
[3.47] Third, possibly the most impracticable one of all, the one that expects by the self-control and virtue of the common people some day to find an equitable constitution based on law. Men call it “democracy” — a specious and inoffensive name, if the thing were but practicable.
[3.48] To these forms of government — three in number, as I have said — are opposed three degenerate forms not based on law: The first is “tyranny,” where one man’s high-handed use of force is the ruin of others. Next comes oligarchy, harsh and unjust, arising from the aggrandizement of a certain few wealthy rascals at the expense of the needy masses. [49] The next in order is a motley impulsive mob of all sorts and conditions of men who know absolutely nothing but are always kept in a state of confusion and anger by unscrupulous demagogues, just as a wild rough sea is whipped this way and that by the fierce blasts.
[3.50] These degenerate forms I have merely touched on in passing, though I could point to many mischances and disasters that each of them has suffered in the past, [50] but it is my duty to discuss more carefully the happy and god-given polity at present in force. Now there are many close parallels and striking analogies to this form of government to be found in nature, where herds of cattle and swarms of bees indicate clearly that it is natural for the stronger to govern and care for the weaker. However, there could be no more striking or beautiful illustration than that government of the universe which is under the control of the first and best god.
[3.51] A ruler of this character is, to begin with, highly favoured of the gods, seeing that he enjoys their greatest respect and confidence, and he will give the first and chief place to religion, not merely confessing but also believing in his heart that there are gods, to the end that he too may have worthy governors under him. [52] And he believes that his own oversight is advantageous to others just as the rule of the gods is to himself. Furthermore, being firmly resolved in his own heart never to receive a gift from wicked men, he believes that the gods also do not delight in the offerings or sacrifices of the unjust, but accept the gifts made by the good alone. Accordingly, he will be zealous to worship them with these also without stint. Of a truth he will never cease honouring them with noble deeds and just acts. Each one, indeed, of the gods he will propitiate as far as within him lies. [53] Virtue he regards as holiness and vice as utter impiety, being firmly persuaded that not only those who rob temples or blaspheme the gods are sinners and accursed but, much more so, the cowardly, the unjust, the licentious, the fools, and, in general, those who act contrary to the power and will of the gods. [54] Furthermore, he believes not only in gods but also in good spirits and demi-gods, which are the souls of good men that have cast off this mortal nature; and in confirming this belief he does no small service to himself as well.
[3.56] Then, the care bestowed on his subjects he does not consider an incidental thing or mere drudgery, when weighed down, let us say, by cares, but as his own work and profession. And when he is otherwise engaged, he does not feel that he is doing anything worth while or that he is attending to his own business; it is only when he helps men that he thinks he is doing his duty, having been appointed to this work by the greatest god, whom it is not right for him to disobey in aught nor yet to feel aggrieved, believing, as he does, that these tasks are his duty. [56] For no one is so effeminate or enslaved to pleasure as not to like his own occupation even if it chance to be laborious. A sea-captain, for example, never finds his toil at sea irksome, nor a farmer his work in tilling the soil; never is the huntsman wearied by the hardships of the chase; and yet both farming and hunting are most laborious. [57] No indeed, the king does not object to toil and discomfort in behalf of others, nor does he deem his lot any the worse simply because he has to face the most tasks and have the most troubles. For he sees that the sun, too, although inferior to none of the gods, frets not because, to preserve man and life, he must accomplish all his many tasks throughout the ages.
[3.62] And again, he considers courage, self-control, and prudence necessary even for those who disregard justice and wish to play the tyrant, if they are not speedily to perish; nay, he sees that they stand in need of these qualities even more than those others, [59] and that the more such a man is beset by those who hate him and by those who plot against him, while he has no one on whom he can rely or look to for sympathy; so much the more, if he is to remain safe for any time, must he be on the alert and use his wits, guarding against defeat by his enemies and plotting to have full knowledge of the plotters, and so much the more must he abstain from pleasure and refuse to yield under any pressure to the allurement of high living, sloth, and carnal pleasure — yea, much more than the man beloved by all who has no one plotting against him.
Therefore, if the unjust ruler must have the same anxieties as the other — or even more — and much more exacting toil, if he must equally steel himself against pleasure, must equally face danger, how much better it is for him to show justice and virtue rather than wickedness and injustice in doing all this, to win credit rather than censure for his acts, to have the love of men and gods instead of their hate? [61] Besides, man’s present is short and uncertain; the most of his life is filled with remembrance of the past and expectation of the future. Which, therefore, of the two men do we think finds joy in remembrance, and which remorse? Which do we think is encouraged by his expectations and which dismayed? Therefore of necessity the life of the good king is more pleasant also.
Once more, you see that God has everywhere appointed the superior to care for and rule over the inferior: skill, for instance, over unskilfulness, strength over weakness; and for the foolish he has made the wise to have care and thought, to watch and plan; and with all these responsibilities governing is by no means easy; nay, it is laborious and does not get the greater share of relaxation and ease, but rather of care and toil. [63] Thus, on board ship the passengers may disregard the sea and not even look at it; yes, not even know “where on earth they are,” as the saying is — and many do sail the sea after this fashion in fair weather, some gambling, some singing, some feasting the livelong day. Then when a storm comes on, they wrap themselves up and await the event, while some few retire and do not rise from their beds until they reach port. [64] But the pilot — he must look out to sea, must scan the sky, must see the land in time; nay, nor should what is in the depths escape him either, else he will unexpectedly strike submerged rocks or hidden reefs. [65] He is the only one who during the night has less chance to sleep than the night-watch; while by day, if he does by any chance snatch a wink of sleep, even this is anxious and fitful, since he shouts out frequently, “Furl the sail,” or “Hard on the tiller,” or gives some other nautical command. And so, even when dozing, he has more thought for the ship than any of the others who are widest awake.
[3.66] To take another illustration: On a campaign, the individual soldier sees to weapons and food for himself alone, and besides, does not furnish them himself but expects to find them ready at hand. It is only his own health, only his own safety that he has to think of. [67] But it is the general’s duty to see that all are well equipped, that all are provided with shelter, and to furnish sufficient food not only for the men but for the horses as well; and if all do not have their supplies, he is much more vexed than he would be if ill himself; while the safety of his men he considers just as important as his own. Indeed, victory is impossible if the soldiers be not saved, and to win victory many good men choose even to die.
[3.68] Again, the body of each one of us, being devoid of intelligence, is not in a position to help itself, nor by its very nature can it take thought for itself; indeed, when the soul departs, it cannot endure even a short time, but suffers immediate decay and dissolution; whereas the soul feels every care in its behalf, is troubled by every fancy when it is hurt, and is greatly distressed. [69] Only when the soul is present is the body sensitive to pain; but the soul is distressed before the pain comes; often, too, through foreboding when it is not going to come. As for death, the body never feels it, but the soul understands it and suffers greatly, now rescuing the body from disease, now from war, rescuing it from storms and rescuing it from the sea. So, while from every point of view the soul is more subject to hardship and suffering than the body, yet it is the more divine and regal part.
[3.70] Then compare the lots of man and woman. Now everyone would admit that man is stronger than woman and more fitted to lead. Consequently, to her falls the larger share of the household tasks, and, for the most part, she remains unacquainted with storms and wars, unacquainted with dangers in general; [71] while it is the man’s part, on the other hand, to serve in the army, to sail the sea, and to do the hard outdoor work. Yet no one would on that account deem women happier than men. [72] Nay, every man whose weakness and lack of virility have led him to emulate their life, as Sardanapallus did, is to this day branded with the shame of it.
[3.73] But this is the best illustration: You see how greatly the sun, being a god, surpasses man in felicity and yet throughout the ages does not grow weary in ministering to us and doing everything to promote our welfare. [74] For what else would one say that the sun accomplishes throughout the ages except what man stands in need of? Does he not cause and mark out the seasons, give growth and nourishment to all living creatures and to all plant life? Does he not lavish upon us the fairest and most delightful of visions, even his light, without which we should have no profit of the other beautiful things, be they in heaven or on earth; nay, not even of life itself? And he never grows weary in showering these blessings upon us. [75] Verily one might say that he endures a servitude most exacting; for, if he were to be careless but for a moment and leave his appointed track, absolutely nothing would prevent the whole heavens, the whole earth, and the whole sea from going to wrack and ruin, and all this fair and blissful order from ending in the foulest and most dread disorder. [76] But now, as though touching the strings of the lyre with an artist’s touch, he never swerves from his pure and exquisite harmony, ever moving along his one recurrent track. [77] And since the earth needs warmth to bring forth her produce, to give it increase, and to bring it to perfection, since animals need it likewise both for the preservation of their bodies and for their natural pleasure, and since we, being so utterly dependent in our helplessness, need it above all others, he brings on summer step by step as he approaches nearer and nearer to our habitation, that he may give growth to everything, nourish everything, perfect everything, and spread a divine and wondrous feast of good cheer before man.
[3.78] But when, on the other hand, we and all other things come to need the opposite temperature — for our bodies need to be braced up by cold, plants need hardening, and the earth needs rain — he goes away from us again, withdrawing a moderate distance; [79] and with such perfect nicety of adjustment does he observe his bounds with respect to our advantage that, if in his approach he got a little nearer, he would set everything on fire, and if he went a little too far in his departure, everything would be stiffened with frost. [80] And since a sudden change would be too much for our weakness, he brings all this to pass gradually, and in a way he accustoms us insensibly in the spring to endure the heat of summer and in the late autumn gives preliminary training to support the chill of winter — in the one case taking off the chill of winter little by little, in the other, reducing the heat of summer, so that we reach either extreme without discomfort.
[3.81] And furthermore, since it is so great a pleasure to see the light and impossible to do anything without it, and since, when we are asleep, we do absolutely nothing and make no use of the light, he has made day the time requisite for our waking hours, and turned into night the time necessary for sleep, making a complete revolution around the earth and sending now these men to rest or awakening them, now those: departing from them who no longer need his light and appearing to those who need it again in their turn. And he never grows weary of bringing these things to pass throughout the ages.
[3.82] But where a god, the fairest and most conspicuous of all, does not neglect his eternal watch over man, can it possibly be right for man, intelligent object of the god’s care, to feel oppressed by similar duties? Should he not, so far as in him lies, imitate the god’s power and goodness? [83] Reasoning thus, the good king endures without repining. He realizes too that toil brings health and salvation and goodly report as well; while, on the other hand, luxurious ease brings quite the opposite. Then again, toil endured ever grows less and easier to support, the while it makes pleasure greater and less harmful if it follows the toil. Ease, on the other hand, makes toil appear more and more difficult in that it lessens pleasure and blunts its edge. [84] The man who lives in the lap of luxury and never puts his hand to a single task, ends by being unable to endure any task or to feel any pleasure at all, however intense. [85] Consequently, he who loves to toil and exercises self-control is not only better qualified to be king but is able to live a much more pleasant life than those in the opposite case.
[3.86] Friendship, moreover, the good king holds to be the fairest and most sacred of his possessions, believing that the lack of means is not so shameful or perilous for a king as the lack of friends, and that he maintains his happy state, not so much by means of revenues and armies and his other sources of strength, as by the loyalty of his friends. [87] For no one, of and by himself, is sufficient for a single one of even his own needs; and the more and greater the responsibilities of a king are, the greater is the number of co-workers that he needs, and the greater the loyalty required of them, since he is forced to entrust his greatest and most important interests to others or else to abandon them. [88] Furthermore, the law protects the private individual from being easily wronged by men with whom he enters into business relations, either by entrusting them with money, or by making them agents of an estate, or by entering into partnership with them in some enterprise; and it does so by punishing the offender. A king, however, cannot look to the law for protection against betrayal of a trust, but must depend upon loyalty. [89] Naturally, those who stand near the king and help him rule the country are the strongest, and from them he has no other protection than their love. Consequently, it is not a safe policy for him to share his power carelessly with the first men he meets; but the stronger he makes his friends, [90] the stronger he becomes himself.
[3.91] Once more, necessary and useful possessions do not in all cases afford their owner some pleasure, nor does it follow that because a thing is pleasing it is also profitable. On the contrary, many pleasant things prove to be unprofitable. [92] Fortifications, for example, arms, engines, and troops are possessions necessary for a ruler, since without them his authority cannot be maintained, but I do not see what gratification they afford — at least, apart from their utility; [93] and on the other hand, beautiful parks, costly residences, statues, paintings in the exquisite early style, golden bowls, inlaid tables, purple robes, ivory, amber, perfumes, everything to delight the eye, delightful music, both vocal and instrumental, and besides these, beautiful maidens and handsome boys — all these evidently subserve no useful purpose whatever, but are obviously the inventions of pleasure. [94] To friendship alone has it have been given to be both the most profitable of all and the most pleasurable of all. To illustrate: I presume that our greatest necessities, arms, walls, troops, and cities, without friends to control them, are neither useful nor profitable; nay, they are exceedingly precarious; while friends, even without these, are helpful. Besides, these things are useful in war only, [95] while for men who are going to live in unbroken peace — if such a thing be possible — they are a useless burden. Without friendship, however, life is insecure even in peace.
[3.97] Once more, the pleasures I have mentioned afford more delight when shared with friends; to enjoy them in solitude is the dreariest thing imaginable, and no one could endure it. But it would be still more disagreeable if you had to share them with people who disliked you. [97] Nay, what festivity could please unless the most important thing of all were at hand, what symposium could delight you if you lacked the good-will of the guests? What sacrifice is acceptable to the gods without the participants in the feast? [98] Indeed, are not even those love relations the pleasantest and least wanton which are based on the affection of the lovers, and which men whose object is good-will experience in the society of boys or women? [99] Many are the names applied to friendship just as its services undoubtedly are many; but where youth and beauty enter in, there friendship is rightly called love and is held to be the fairest of the gods.
[3.100] Again, salutary drugs are salutary to the sick, but of no use to the well. Of friendship, however, men stand ever in the greatest need, whether in health or in sickness: it helps to defend wealth and relieves poverty; it adds lustre to fame and dims the glare of infamy. [101] It is this alone that makes everything unpleasant seem less so and magnifies everything good. For what misfortune is not intolerable without friendship, and what gift of fortune does not lose its charm if friends be lacking? And although solitude is cheerless and of all things the most terrible, it is not the absence of men that we should consider as solitude, but the absence of friends; for often complete solitude is preferable to the presence of persons not well-disposed. [102] For my part, I have never regarded even good fortune to be such if attended by no friend to rejoice with me, since the severest strokes of misfortune can more easily be borne with friends than the greatest good fortune without them. For with good right I judge that man most wretched who in misfortune has the largest number to gloat over him but in good fortune no one to rejoice with him. [103] When a man has hosts of excellent friends and his foes areº very few in number — if he has any foe at all — when he has many who love him, still more who admire him, and no one who can censure him, is he not perfectly happy? For such a man has multitudes to share his joy but not one to gloat over him in misfortune, and for this reason he is fortunate in all things, in that he has hosts of friends but not a single enemy.
[3.104] If eyes, ears, tongue, and hands are worth everything to a man that he may be able merely to live, to say nothing of enjoying life, then friends are not less but more useful than these members. [105] With his eyes he may barely see what lies before his feet; but through his friends he may behold even that which is at the ends of the earth. With his ears he can hear nothing save that which is very near; but through those who wish him well [106] he is without tidings of nothing of importance anywhere. With his tongue he communicates only with those who are in his presence, and with his hands, were he never so strong, he can not do the work of more than two men; but through his friends he can hold converse with all the world and accomplish every undertaking, since those who wish him well are saying and doing everything that is in his interest. [107] The most surprising thing of all, however, is that he who is rich in friends is able, although but one man, to do a multiplicity of things at the same time, to deliberate about many matters simultaneously, to see many things, to hear many things, and to be in many places at once — a thing difficult even for the gods — with the result that there is nothing remaining anywhere that is bereft of his solicitude.
[3.108] Once more, the happy experiences of his friends are bound to delight a good man no less than some joy of his own. For is that man not most blessed who has many bodies with which to be happy when he experiences a pleasure, many souls with which to rejoice when he is fortunate? [109] And if glory be the high goal of the ambitious, he may achieve it many times over through the eulogies of his friends. If wealth naturally gladdens its possessor, he can be rich many times over who shares what he has with his friends.
[3.110] Then, too, while it is a pleasure to show favours to good men and true when one’s means are ample, it is also a pleasure to receive gifts when they are deserved and for merit. Hence, he who shows his friends a favour rejoices both as giver and as receiver at the same time. Old, in sooth, is the proverb which says that “Common are the possessions of friends.” Therefore, when the good have good things, these will certainly be held in common.
[3.111] Now, while in any other matter, such as leisure, ease, and relaxation, our good king does not wish to have unvarying advantage over private citizens and, indeed, would often be satisfied with less, in the one matter of friendship he does want to have the larger portion; [112] and he doubtless thinks it in no wise peculiar or strange — nay, he actually exults because young people love him more than they do their parents, and older men more than they do their children, because his associates love him more than they do their peers, and those who know him only by hearsay love him more than they do their nearest neighbours. [113] Extremely fond of kith and kin though he may be, yet, in a way, he considers friendship a greater good than kinship. For a man’s friends are useful even without the family tie, but without friendship not even the most nearly related are of service. So high a value does he set on friendship as to hold that at no time has anyone been wronged by a friend, and that such a thing belongs to the category of the impossible; [114] for the moment one is detected doing wrong, he has shown that he was no friend at all. Indeed, all who have suffered any outrage have suffered it at the hands of enemies — friends in name, whom they did not know to be enemies. Such sufferers must blame their own ignorance and not reproach the name of friendship. [115] Furthermore, it is not impossible for a father to be unjust to a son and for a child to sin against its parents; brother, too, may wrong brother in some way; but friendship our king esteems as such an altogether sacred thing that he tries to make even the gods his friends.
Now, while it may be gathered from all that has been said that tyrants suffer all the ills that are the opposites of the blessings we have enumerated, this is especially true as regards the matter we are now discussing. For the tyrant is the most friendless man in the world, since he cannot even make friends. [117] Those like himself he suspects, since they are evil, and by those unlike himself, and good, he is hated; and the hated man is an enemy to both the just and the unjust. For some men do justly hate him; while others, because they covet the same things, plot against him. [118] And so the Persian king had one special man, called the “king’s eye” — not a man of high rank, but just an ordinary one. He did not know that all the friends of a good king are his eyes.
[3.118] And should not the ties of blood and kinship be especially dear to a good king? For he regards his kith and kin as a part of his own soul, [120] and sees to it that they shall not only have a share of what is called the king’s felicity, but much more that they shall be thought worthy to be partners in his authority; and he is especially anxious to be seen preferring them in honour, not because of their kinship, but because of their qualifications. And those kinsmen who live honourable lives he loves beyond all others, but those who do not so live he considers, not friends, but relatives. [121] For other friends he may cast off when he has discovered something objectionable in them, but in the case of his kinsmen, he cannot dissolve the tie; but whatever their character, he must allow the title to be used. [122] His wife, moreover, he regards not merely as the partner of his bed and affections, but also as his helpmate in his counsel and action, and indeed in his whole life.
[3.123] He alone holds that happiness consists, not in flowery ease, but much rather in excellence of character; virtue, not in necessity but in free-will; while patient endurance, he holds, does not mean hardship but safety. His pleasures he increases by toil, and thereby gets more enjoyment out of them, while habit lightens his toil. [124] To him “useful” and “pleasurable” are interchangeable terms; for he sees that plain citizens, if they are to keep well and reach old age, never give nourishment to an identical and inactive body, but that a part of them work first at trades, some of which — such as smithing, shipbuilding, the construction of houses — are very laborious; [125] while those who own land first toil hard at farming, and those who live in the city have some city employment; [126] he sees the leisured class crowd the gymnasia and wrestling-floors — some running on the track, others again wrestling, and others, who are not athletes, taking some form of exercise other than the competitive — in a word, everyone with at least a grain of sense doing something or other and so finding his meat and drink wholesome. [127] But the ruler differs from all these in that his toil is not in vain, and that he is not simply developing his body, but has the accomplishment of things as his end and aim. He attends to some matter needing his supervision, he acts promptly where speed is needed, accomplishes something not easy of accomplishment, reviews an army, subdues a province, founds a city, bridges rivers, or builds roads through a country.
[3.133] He does not count himself fortunate just because he can have the best horses, the best arms, the best clothing, and so forth, but because he can have the best friends; and he holds that it is far more disgraceful to have fewer friends among the private citizens than any one of them has. [129] For when a man can select his most trustworthy friends from among all men — and there is scarcely a man who would not gladly accept his advances — surely it is ridiculous that he does not have the best. Most potentates have an eye only for those who get near them no matter how, and for those who are willing to flatter, while they hold all others at a distance and the best men more especially. [130] The true king, however, makes his choice from among all men, esteeming it perverse to import horses from the Nisaean plains because they surpass the Thessalian breed, or hounds from India, and only in the case of men to take those near at hand; [131] since all the means for making friends are his. For instance, the ambitious are won over to friendliness by praise, those who have the gift of leadership by participation in the government, the warlike by performing some sort of military service, those having executive ability by the management of affairs, and, assuredly, those with a capacity for love, by intimacy. [132] Now, who is more able to appoint governors? Who needs more executives? Who has it in his power to give a part in greater enterprises? Who is in a better position to put a man in charge of military operations? Who can confer more illustrious honours? Whose table lends greater distinction? And if friendship could be bought, who has greater means to forestall every possible rival?
Since nature made him a man, and man of exalted station in life, he too needs some distraction as it were to relieve his more serious duties; and it is this, alas! which for many has proved to be the source of many ignoble and soul-destroying vices — vices which also destroy the high esteem in which royalty is held. [134] One king, having become enamoured of singing, spent his time warbling and wailing in the theatres and so far forgot his royal dignity that he was content to impersonate the early kings upon the stage; another fell in love with flute-playing; [135] but the good king never makes a practice even of listening to such things. He considers hunting the best recreation and finds his greatest delight therein. It makes his body stronger, his heart braver, and affords a field for the practice of every military activity. [136] For he must ride, run, in many cases meet the charge of the big game, endure heat and withstand cold, often be tortured by hunger and thirst, and he becomes habituated to enduring any hardship with pleasure through his passion for the chase. But he does not hold this opinion of the Persian chase. [137] Those people would enclose the game in parks and then, whenever they listed, slaughter it as if it were in a pen, showing that they neither sought hard work nor ran any risk since their quarry was weak and broken in spirit. But they robbed themselves alike of the joy of uncovering the game, of the excitement in running it down, and of the struggle on coming to close quarters. [138] It is just as if they had claimed to be fond of war and then, letting slip the chance to engage their enemy, had seized the prisoners at home and put them to death.

## THE FOURTH DISCOURSE ON KINGSHIP

IN THE FOURTH Discourse Alexander the Great is represented as conversing with Diogenes, who tells him that the real king is a son of Zeus even as Homer says. Then he goes on to give the Cynic doctrine that this sonship is evidenced by qualities of mind and character, not by military power and wide dominion. He concludes by picturing graphically the spirit of avarice, the spirit of the love of pleasure, and the spirit of ambition, which rule the lives of ordinary men.
The reference at the very end to the happy fortune of those who received a good daimon or genius at their birth has led to the reasonable conjecture that this address was delivered before Trajan on his birthday, September 18th in A.D. 103.
The Fourth Discourse on Kingship
[4.1] They tell us that once upon a time Alexander when not over busy met Diogenes, who had an abundance of time on his hands. For the one was king of Macedonia and many other countries beside, while there was an exile from Sinope; and there are many who in speaking and writing of this encounter give no less admiration and credit to Alexander than to Diogenes because, although he was ruler over so many people and had greater power than any other man of his day, he did not disdain to converse with a poor man who had intelligence and the power of endurance. [2] For all men without exception are naturally delighted when they see wisdom honoured by the greatest power and might; hence they not only relate the facts in such cases but add extravagant embellishments of their own; nay more, they strip their wise men of all else, such as wealth, honours, and physical strength, so that the high regard in which they are held may appear to be due to their intelligence alone. [3] And so I should like on this occasion to tell what in all likelihood was the nature of their conversation, since it happens too that I have nothing else that demands my attention.
[4.4] Now it should be explained that Alexander was by common report the most ambitious of men and the greatest lover of glory. He was anxious to leave his name the greatest among the Greeks and barbarians and longed to be honoured, not only — as one might put it — by mankind the world over, but, if it were at all possible, by the birds of the air and the beasts of the mountains. [5] Moreover, he looked down upon all other men and thought that no one was a dangerous rival in this matter — neither the Persian king nor the Scythian nor the Indian nor any man or city among the Greeks. [6] For he perceived that they had all been well-nigh ruined in soul by luxury and idleness and were the slaves of money and pleasure. But as to Diogenes, when Alexander heard of the words which this man spoke and of the deeds which he did and how he bore his exile, though at times he despised the man for his poverty and shabbiness, quite naturally, as he himself was young and had been reared in royal luxury, [7] yet often he would admire and envy the man for his courage and endurance, and especially for his great reputation, because all the Greeks knew and admired him for what he was, and no one else could match him in point of distinction. [8] He himself needed his Macedonianº phalanx, his Thessalian cavalry, Thracians, Paeonians, and many others if he was to go where he wished and get what he desired; but Diogenes went forth unattended in perfect safety by night as well as by day whithersoever he cared to go. [9] Again, he himself required huge sums of gold and silver to carry out any of his projects; and what is more, if he expected to keep the Macedonians and the other Greeks submissive, must time and again curry the favour of their rulers and the general populace by words gifts; [10] whereas Diogenes cajoled no men by flattery, but told everybody the truth and, even though he possessed not a single drachma, succeeded in doing as he pleased, failed in nothing he set before himself, was the only man who lived the life he considered the best and happiest, and would not have accepted Alexander’s throne or the wealth of the Medes and Persians in exchange for his own poverty.
[4.11] Therefore Alexander, being nettled to think that anyone living so easy and care-free a life was going to surpass himself and in addition should be no less famous, and thinking perhaps too that he would receive some benefit from an interview with the man, had long desired to behold him and converse with him; [12] and when he had come to Corinth and had received the Greek embassies and regulated the affairs of the allies as well, he told his attendants that he wished to have a little leisure and went off — I will not say to the court of Diogenes, for he had no court either great or small, nor house nor hearth of his own as the well-to-do have, [13] but he made the cities his home and used to live there in the public buildings and in the shrines, which are dedicated to the gods, and took for his hearth-stone the wide world, which after all is man’s common hearth and nourisher. [14] On that day it happened that Diogenes was all alone in the Craneion, for he had no pupils at all nor any such crowd about him as the sophists and flue-players and choral masters have. So the king came up to him as he sat there and greeted him, whereat the other looked up at him with terrible glare like that of a lion and ordered him to step aside a little, for Diogenes happened to be warming himself in the sun. [15] Now Alexander was at once delighted with the man’s boldness and composure in not being awestruck in his presence. For it is somehow natural for the courageous to love the courageous, while cowards eye them with misgiving and hate them as enemies, but welcome the base and like them. And so to the one class truth and frankness are the most agreeable things in the world, to the other, flattery and deceit. The latter lend a willing ear to those who in their intercourse seek to please, the former, to those who have regard for the truth.
[4.16] Then after a brief pause Diogenes asked the king who he was and what object he had in coming to him. “Was it,” he said, “to take some of my property?” “Why, have you any property?” replied the other; “do you own anything that you might share with one?” “Much indeed,” he replied, “and very valuable, in which I do not at all feel sure that you will ever be able to have a share. Yet it is not glaives or cauldrons or mixing-bowls or couches and tables such as Darius is reported by some writers to possess in Persia that I happen to own.” [17] “What,” retorted the other, “do you not know Alexander the king?” “I hear many speak his name, to be sure,” said he, “like so many jackdaws flitting about, but the man I know not, for I am not acquainted with his mind.” “But now,” came the answer, “you shall know his mind also, since I have come for the very purpose of letting you know me thoroughly and of seeing you.” [18] “Well, it would be hard for you to see me,” rejoined the other, “just as it is for men with weak eyes to see the light. But tell me this: are you the Alexander whom they call a bastard?” At this the king flushed and showed anger, but he controlled himself and regretted that he had deigned to enter into conversation with a man who was both rude and an impostor,º as he thought. [19] Diogenes, however, marking his embarrassment, would fain change his throw just like men playing at dice. So when the king said, “What gave you the idea of calling me a bastard?” he replied, “What gave it? Why, I hear that your own mother says this of you. Or is it not Olympias who said that Philip is not your father, as it happens, but a dragon or Ammon or some god or other or demigod or wild animal? And yet in that case you would certainly be a bastard.”
[4.20] Thereupon Alexander smiled and was pleased as never before, thinking that Diogenes, so far from being rude, was the most tactful of men and the only one who really knew how to pay a compliment. “Well then,” said he, “do you think the story is true or false?” [21] “It is uncertain,” was the reply; “for if you are self-controlled and know the royal art of Zeus, nothing prevents your being a son of Zeus; [22] for this is what they claim Homer says: that Zeus is the father, not only of gods but of men as well, though not of slaves nor of any mean and ignoble man. If, however, you are cowardly and love luxury and have a servile nature, then you are in no way related to the gods or to good men. [23] Why, methinks of old the ‘Sown men,’ as they were called, of Thebes had what seemed a spear mark on their bodies as a sign of their origin, and he who did not have this mark was not regarded as one of the ‘Sown men.’ And do you not think that in the souls of the offspring of Zeus also a sign is to be found by which those who have the power to judge will know whether they are of his seed or not?” Of course Alexander was greatly delighted with this thought.
[4.24] Hereupon he put the following question to Diogenes. “How,” said he, “could one be the best king?” At this the other, eyeing him sternly, answered, “But no one can be a bad king any more than he can be a bad good man; for the king is the best one among men, since he is most brave and righteous and humane, and cannot be overcome by any toil or by any appetite. [25] Or do you think a man is a charioteer if he cannot drive, or that one is a pilot if he is ignorant of steering, or is a physician if he knows not how to cure? It is impossible, nay, though all the Greeks and barbarians acclaim him as such and load him with many diadems and sceptres and tiaras like so many necklaces that are put on castaway children lest they fail of recognition. Therefore, just as one cannot pilot except after the manner of pilots, so no one can be a king except in a kingly way.”
[4.26] Then Alexander in alarm, lest after all he might be found ignorant of the science of kingship, said, “And who, think you, imparts this art, or where must one go to learn it?” [27] To which Diogenes replied, “Well, you know it if the words of Olympias are true and you are a son of Zeus, for it is he who first and chiefly possesses this knowledge and imparts it to whom he will; and all they to whom he imparts it are sons of Zeus and are so called. [28] Or do you think that it is the sophists who teach kingship? Nay, the most of them do not even know how to live, to say nothing of how to be king. [29] Do you not know,” he continued, “that education is of two kinds, the one from heaven, as it were, the other human? Now the divine is great and strong and easy, while the human is small and weak and full of pitfalls and no little deception; and yet it must be added to the other if everything is to be right. [30] This human sort, however, is what most people call ‘education’ — meaning thereby something for children, I suppose — and they have the notion that he who knows the most literature, Persian or Greek or Syrian or Phoenician, and has read the most books is the wisest and best educated person; but again, when people find any knaves or cowards or avaricious men among these, then they say the fact is as insignificant as the individual. The other kind men sometimes call simply education, at other times, ‘true manhood’ and ‘high-mindedness.’ [31] And it was for that reason that men of old called those persons ‘sons of Zeus’ who received the good education and were manly of soul, having been educated after the pattern of the great Heracles. Whoever, then, being noble by nature, possesses that higher education, readily acquires this other also, having only to learn a few things in a few lessons, merely the greatest and most important things, and is already initiated and treasures them in his soul. [32] And thenceforth nothing can rob him of any of these things, neither time nor any tricky sophist, nay, not even one who would fain burn them out by fire. But if the man were burned, as Heracles is said to have burned himself, yet his principles would abide in his soul just as, I believe, the teeth of bodies that have been cremated are said to remain undestroyed though the rest of the body has been consumed by the fire. [33] For he does not have to learn but merely to recall; after that he at once knows and recognizes, as having had these principles in his mind at the beginning. And furthermore, if he comes upon a man who knows the road, so to speak, this man easily directs him, and on getting the information he at once goes his way. If, however, he falls in with some ignorant and charlatan sophist, the fellow will wear him out by leading him hither and thither, dragging him now to the east and now to the west and now to the south, not knowing anything himself but merely guessing, after having been led far afield himself long before by impostors like himself. [34] It is just the same as in hunting. When dogs that are untrained and unruly catch no scent and do not pick up the trail, they mislead others by barking and behaving as if they knew and saw, and many, chiefly the most foolish, follow those dogs that bark at random, [35] and of this pack those which make no outcry and keep silent are merely deceived themselves, but the most impetuous and foolish dogs, imitating the first ones, raise a din and strive to deceive others. Around the so‑called sophists, likewise, you will sometimes find such a great accompanying throng of simpletons, and you will discover that your sophist does not differ one whit from a lecherous eunuch.”
[4.36] On hearing this, Alexander wondered what his reason was for likening the sophist to a eunuch and asked him. “Because,” came the reply, “the most wanton eunuchs, protesting their virility and their passion for women, lie with them and annoy them, and yet nothing comes of it, not even if they stay with them night and day. [37] So too in the schools the sophists you will find many growing old in their ignorance, wandering about in their discussions far more helplessly than Homer says Odysseus ever did upon the deep, and any one of them might sooner find his way to Hades as that hero did than become a good man by talking and listening. [38] And you, since you have been born with the right nature, if you come upon a man of understanding, will find a single day sufficient to get a grasp of his subject and art, and you will no longer have any need of subtle claptrap and discussions. But if you are not so fortunate as to have a disciple of Zeus or one like Zeus for your teacher to tell you forthwith and clearly what your duty is, then nothing comes of it for you, even if you waste your whole life in sleepless study and fasting in the schools of the miserable sophists. [39] I am not the first man to say this, but Homer said it before me. Or are you not acquainted with the Homeric poems?”
[4.40] Now Alexander prided himself very greatly on knowing by right the whole of the one poem, the Iliad, and much of the Odyssey likewise. And so he said in surprise, “Pray, where has Homer discoursed about these things?” “In the passage,” came the reply, “where he calls Minos the consort of Zeus. [40] Or does not ‘to consort’ mean ‘to associate’? Well then, he says that he was an associate of Zeus, which would virtually be calling him his disciple. Now do you imagine that he associated with Zeus as a pupil with any other object than to learn justice and the duties of a king? For mark you, Minos is said to have been the most righteous man in the world. [41] Once more, when he says that kings are ‘nurtured of Zeus’ and ‘dear unto Zeus,’ do you think that he means any other nurture than the teaching and instruction which I called divine? Or do you believe that he means that kings are nourished by Zeus as by a nurse, on milk and wine and various foods, and not on knowledge and truth? [42] And in the same way he means that friendship also is nothing else than identity of wish and of purpose, that is, a kind of likemindedness. For this, I presume, is the view of the world too: that friends are most truly likeminded and are at variance in nothing. [43] Can anyone, therefore, who is a friend of Zeus and is likeminded with him by any possibility conceive any unrighteous desire or design what is wicked and disgraceful? Homer seems to answer this very question clearly also when in commending some king he calls him a ‘shepherd of peoples.’ [44] For the shepherd’s business is simply to oversee, guard, and protect flocks, not, by heavens, to slaughter, butcher, and skin them. It is true that at times a shepherd, like a butcher, buys and drives off many sheep; but there is a world of difference between the functions of butcher and shepherd, practically the same as between monarchy and tyranny. [45] For instance, when Xerxes and Darius marched down from Susa driving a mighty host of Persians, Medes, Sacae, Arabs, and Egyptians into our land of Greece to their destruction, were they functioning as kings or as butchers in driving this booty for future slaughter?”
[4.46] And Alexander said: “Apparently you do not hold even the Great King to be a king, do you?” And Diogenes with a smile replied, “No more, Alexander, than I do my little finger.” “But shall I not be a great king,” Alexander asked, “when once I have overthrown him?” “Yes, but not for that reason,” replied Diogenes; [47] “for not even when boys play the game to which the boys themselves give the name ‘kings’ is the winner really a king. The boys, anyhow, know that the winner who has the title of ‘king’ is only the son of a shoemaker or a carpenter — and he ought to be learning his father’s trade, but he has played truant and is now playing with the other boys, and he fancies that now of all times he is engaged in a serious business — [48] and sometimes the ‘king’ is even a slave who has deserted his master. Now perhaps you kings are also doing something like that: each of you has playmates — the eager followers on his side — he his Persians and the other peoples of Asia, and you your Macedonians and the other Greeks. And just as those boys try to hit one another with the ball, and the one who is hit loses, so you now are aiming at Darius and he at you, and perhaps you may hit him and put him out; for I think you are the better shot. [49] Then, those who were on his side at first will be on yours and will do you obeisance, and you will be styled king over all.”
[4.50] Now Alexander was again hurt and vexed, for he did not care to live at all unless he might be king of Europe, Asia, Libya, and of any islands which might lie in the ocean. [50] His state of mind, you see, was the opposite of what Homer says was that of Achilles’ ghost. For that hero said that he preferred to live in bondage to
[4.50b] Some man of mean estate, who makes scant cheer,
Rather than reign o’er all who have gone down
To death.”
[4.51] But Alexander, I doubt not, would have chosen to die and govern even a third part of the dead rather than become merely a god and live for ever — unless, of course, he became king over the other gods. [51] Perhaps, too, Zeus is the only one for whom he would have shown no contempt, and that because men call him king. This is the reason why Diogenes was bent on reproving him thoroughly.
[4.52] The king replied, “Diogenes, you seem to be joking. If I capture Darius and the hand of the Indians to boot, there will be nothing to prevent my being the greatest king that ever lived. For what is left for me when I have once become master of Babylon, Susa, Ecbatana, and the Empire of the Indies?” [52] And the other, observing that he was aflame with ambition and that with all his heart he was being borne at full stretch in that direction, just as the cranes when flying stretch themselves out in whatever direction they are speeding, exclaimed, [53] “Nay, in the state of mind in which you are, you will have not one whit more than anyone else, nor will you really be a king, no, not even if you leap over the walls of Babylon and capture the city in that way, instead of breaking through the walls from without or sapping them from beneath, 54º nor even if you imitate Cyrus and glide in like a water-snake by the river-route, and in the same way get inside the walls of Susa and Bactra, no, not even though you swim across the ocean and annex another continent greater than Asia.”
[4.55] “And what enemy have I still left,” said he, “if I capture those peoples I have mentioned?” “The most difficult of all to conquer,” he answered, “one who does not speak Persian or Median as Darius does, I presume, but Macedonian and Greek.” At this Alexander was troubled and sore distressed for fear the other knew of someone in Macedonia or Greece who was preparing to make war on him, [56] and asked, “Who is this enemy of mine in Greece or Macedonia?” “Why, do you not know,” said he, “you who think that you know more than anyone else?” “In that case will you please tell me?” he asked; “do not conceal it.” “I have been trying to tell you for a long time, but you do not hear that you are yourself your own bitterest foe and adversary as long as you are bad and foolish. And this is the man of whom you are more ignorant than of any other person. [57] For no foolish and evil man knows himself; else Apollo would not have given as the first commandment, ‘Know thyself!’ regarding it as the most difficult thing for every man. [58] Or do you not think that folly is the greatest and most serious of all ailments and a blight to those that have it, and that a foolish man is his own greatest bane? Or do you not admit that he who is most harmful to a man and causes him the most ills is that man’s greatest foe and adversary? In view of what I say rage and prance about,” said he, [59] “and think me the greatest blackguard and slander me to the world and, if it be your pleasure, run me through with your spear; for I am the only man from whom you will get the truth, and you will learn it from no one else. For all are less honest than I and more servile.”
[4.60] Thus spoke Diogenes, counting it as nothing that he might be chastised, yet quite convinced that nothing would happen. For he knew that Alexander was a slave of glory and would never make a bad move where it was at stake. [61] So he went on to tell the king that he did not even possess the badge of royalty. And Alexander said in amazement, “Did you not just declare that the king needs no badges?” “No indeed,” he replied; “I grant that he has no need of outward badges such as tiaras and purple raiment — such things are of no use — [62] but the badge which nature gives is absolutely indispensable.” “And what badge is that?” said Alexander. “It is the badge of the bees,” he replied, “that the king wears. Have you not heard that there is a king among the bees, made so by nature, who does not hold office by virtue of what you people who trace your descent from Heracles call inheritance?” “What is this badge?” inquired Alexander. [63] “Have you not heard farmers say,” asked the other, “that this is the only bee that has no sting, since he requires no weapon against anyone? For no other bee will challenge his right to be king or fight him when he has this badge. I have an idea, however, that you not only go about fully armed but even sleep that way. [64] Do you not know,” he continued, “that it is a sign of fear in a man for him to carry arms? And no man who is afraid would ever have a chance to become king any more than a slave would.” At these words Alexander came near hurling his spear.
[4.65] With these words Diogenes strove to encourage him to put his trust in well-doing and devotion to righteousness and not in arms.
[4.66] “But you,” he continued, “also carry in your soul a keen-whetted temper, a goad difficult to restrain, as we see, and compelling. [66] Will you not throw off this armour which you now wear, don a worker’s tunic, and serve your betters, instead of going about wearing a ridiculous diadem? And perhaps before long you will grow a comb or tiara as cocks do? Have you never heard about the Sacian feast held by the Persians, against whom you are now preparing to take the field?” [67] And Alexander at once asked him what it was like, he wished to know all about the Persians. “Well, they take one of their prisoners,” he explained, “who has been condemned to death, set him upon the king’s throne, give him the royal apparel, and permit him to give orders, to drink and carouse, and to dally with the royal concubines during those days, and no one prevents his doing anything he pleases. But after that they strip and scourge him and then hang him. [68] Now what do you suppose this is meant to signify and what is the purpose of this Persian custom? Is it not intended to show that foolish and wicked men frequently acquire this royal power and title and then after a season of wanton insolence come to a most shameful and wretched end? [69] And so, when the fellow is freed from his chains, the chances are, if he is a fool and ignorant of the significance of the procedure, that he feels glad and congratulates himself on what is taking place; but if he understands, he probably breaks out into wailing and refuses to go along without protesting, but would rather remain in fetters just as he was. [70] Therefore, O perverse man, do not attempt to be king before you have attained to wisdom. And in the meantime,” he added, “it is better not to give orders to others but to live in solitude, clothed in a sheepskin.”
[4.71] “You,” he objected, “do you bid me, Alexander, of the stock of Heracles, to don a sheepskin — me, the leader of the Greeks and king of the Macedonians?” [71] “Surely,” he replied, “just as your ancestor did.” “What ancestor?” he asked. “Archelaus. Was not Archelaus a goatherd and did he not come into Macedonia driving goats? Now do you think he did this clad in purple rather than in a sheepskin?” And Alexander calmed down, laughed, and said, “Do you refer to the story about the oracle, Diogenes?” [72] The other puckered his face and said, “Oracle indeed! All I know is that Archelaus was a goatherd. But if you will drop your conceit and your present occupations, you will be a king, not in word maybe, but in reality; and you will prevail over all women as well as all men, as did Heracles, whom you claim as an ancestor of yours.” [73] Alexander said, “Women indeed! Or am I to understand that you refer to the Amazons?” “Nay, it was no hard matter to overcome them,” he replied. “I refer to women of another kind, who are extremely dangerous and savage. Have you not heard the Libyan myth?” And the king replied that he had not. [74] Then Diogenes told it to him with zest and charm, because he wanted to put him in a good humour, just as nurses, after giving the children a whipping, tell them a story to comfort and please them.
[4.75] “Be assured,” he continued, “that you will never be king until you have propitiated your attendant spirit and, by treating it as you should, have made it commanding, free-spirited and kingly, instead of, as in your present state, slavish, illiberal, and vicious.” [76] Then was Alexander amazed at the courage and fearlessness of the man; yet deeming him to have greater knowledge than other men, he urgently besought him not to say him nay but to explain what his attendant spirit was and how he must propitiate it. For he assumed that he would hear some deity’s name and of certain sacrifices or purifications that he would have to perform. [77] So when Diogenes perceived that he was greatly excited and quite keyed up in mind with expectancy, he toyed with him and pulled him about in the hope that somehow he might be moved from his pride and thirst for glory and be able to sober up a little. [78] For he noticed that at one moment he was delighted, and at another grieved, at the same thing, and that his soul was as unsettled as the weather at the solstices when both rain and sunshine come from the very same cloud. He realized, too, that Alexander despised the way in which he argued with him, due to the fact that the prince had never heard a real master of discourse but admired the style of the sophists, as being lofty and distinguished. [79] So wishing to win his favour and at the same time to show that he was quite able, whenever he chose, to make his discourse step out like a well-trained and tractable horse, he spoke to him as follows about attendant spirits, showing that the good and the bad spirits that bring happiness and misery are not outside the man, [80] and that each one’s intelligence — this and nothing more — is the guiding spirit of its owner, that the wise and good man’s spirit is good, the evil man’s evil, and likewise the free man’s is free, the slave’s slavish, the kingly and high-minded man’s kingly, the abject and base man’s abject. [81] “However, not to provoke a tedious discussion,” he continued, “by taking up each separate point, I shall mention the commonest and most noticeable spirits by which everybody, generally speaking, is actuated — tyrants and private citizens, rich and poor, whole nations and cities.” Thereupon he let out all his sails and delivered the following discourse with great loftiness and courage.
[4.82] “Many, thou son of Philip, are the vices and corrupting influences that in all circumstances beget wretched man, and they are well-nigh more numerous than tongue can tell. For in truth, as the poet says,
[4.82b] “No word is there so fraught with fear to speak,
Nor sorrow, nor calamity god-sent,
But mortal man might bear the weight thereof.”
[4.83] “Now as there are, roughly speaking, three prevailing types of lives which the majority usually adopt, not after thoughtful consideration and testing, I assure you, but because they are carried away by chance and thoughtless impulse, we must affirm that there is just the same number of spirits whom the great mass of foolish humanity follows and serves — some men one spirit and some another — just as a wicked and wanton troop follows a wicked and frenzied leader. [84] Of these types of lives which I have mentioned, the first is luxurious and self-indulgent as regards bodily pleasures, the second, in its turn, is acquisitive and avaricious, while the third is more conspicuous and more disordered than the other two — I mean the one that loves honour and glory — and it manifests a more evident and violent disorder or frenzy, deluding itself into believing that it is enamoured of some noble ideal.
[4.85] “Therefore, come, let us imitate clever artists. They put the impress of their thought and art upon practically everything, representing not only the various gods in human forms but everything else as well. Sometimes they paint rivers in the likeness of men and springs in certain feminine shapes, yes, and islands and cities and well-nigh everything else, like Homer, who boldly represented the Scamander as speaking beneath his flood, [86] and though they cannot give speech to their figures, nevertheless do give them forms and symbols appropriate to their nature, as, for example, their river gods recline, usually naked, and wear long flowing beards and on their heads crowns of tamarisk or rushes. [87] Let us then show ourselves to be no whit worse or less competent in the field of discourse than they in their several arts as we mould and depict the characters of the three spirits of the three lives, therein displaying an accomplishment the reverse of and complementary to the skill and prophetic power of the physiognomists, as they call them. [88] These men can determine and announce a man’s character from his shape and appearance; while we propose to draw from a man’s habits and acts, a type and shape that will match the physiognomist’s work — that is, if we shall succeed in getting hold rather of the average and lower types. [89] Since our purpose is to show the absurdity existing in human lives, there is no impropriety or objection to our being seen imitating poets or artists or, if need be, priests of purification and to our striving to furnish illustrations and examples from every source, in the hope of being able to win souls from evil, delusion, and wicked desires and to lead them to love virtue and to long for a better life; [90] or else we might follow the practice of some of those who deal with initiations and rites of purification, who appease the wrath of Hecate and undertake to make a person sound, and then before the cleansing process, as I understand, set forth and point to the many and various visions that, as they claim, the goddess sends when angry.
[4.91] “Well, then, the avaricious spirit craves gold, silver, lands, cattle, blocks of houses, and every kind of possession. Would it not be represented by a good artist as downcast and gloomy of appearance, humble and mean of dress — aye, as squalid and ragged, loving neither children nor parents nor native land, and recognizing no kinship but that of money, and considering the gods as nothing more than that which reveals to him many vast treasures or the deaths of certain kinsfolk and connections from whom he might inherit, regarding our holy festivals as sheer loss and useless expense, never laughing or smiling, [92] eyeing all with suspicion and thinking them dangerous, distrusting everybody, having a rapacious look, ever twitching his fingers as he computes his own property, I take it, or that of someone else — a spirit not only without appreciation or capacity for any other thing, but scoffing at education and literature except when they have to do with estimates and contracts, the still blinder lover of wealth, which is rightly described and portrayed as blind; [93] mad about every kind of possession and thinking that nothing should be thrown away; unlike the magnetic stone, which they say attracts iron to itself, but amassing copper and lead as well, yes, even sand and rock if anyone gives them, and everywhere and in almost every case regarding possession as more profitable and better than non-possession. He is most frantic and eager, however, to get money, simply because success here is quickest and cheapest, since money goes on piling up day and night and outstrips, I ween, the circuits of the moon. [94] He recks naught of dislike, hate, and curses and, besides, holds that while other kinds of possessions may be pretty baubles wherewith to amuse oneself, money, to put it succinctly, is the very essence of wealth. [95] This, therefore, is what he seeks and pursues from any and every source, never concerning himself at all to ask whether it is acquired by shameful or by unjust means, except insofar as, observing the punishments meted out to footpads, he lets cowardice get the better of him and becomes cautious. For he has the soul of a worthless cur, that snatches up things when it expects not to be noticed, and looks on other morsels with longing eyes but keeps away from them, though reluctantly, because the guards are by. [96] So let him be a man insignificant in appearance, servile, unsleeping, never smiling, ever quarrelling and fighting with someone, very much like a pander, who in garb as well as in character is shameless and niggardly, dressed in a coloured mantle, the finery of one of his harlots. [97] A foul and loathsome spirit is this, for he brings every possible insult and shame upon his own friends and comrades, or, rather, his slaves and underlings, whether he find them in the garb of private citizens or in that of royalty. [98] Or is it not plain to see that many who are called kings are only traders, tax-gatherers, and keepers of brothels? Shall we assert that Dromon and Sarambus, because they keep shops in Athens and are called shopkeepers by the Athenians, come fairly by the name, but that the elder Darius, who kept a shop in Babylon and in Susa, and whom the Persians still to this day call a shopkeeper, has not deserved this name? [99] Moreover, there is one peculiarity about this spirit, not shared by the others: although he sometimes rules and masters the soul, yet sometimes he seems to be compliant, the reason being that wealth is the handmaid and the willing ministrant to every appetite and interest. [100] I, however, am now speaking of the spirit that takes the lead himself and dominates the faculties of his unhappy possessor; he has neither pleasure nor glory as the motive for the acquisition of wealth, and does not intend to spend or to use what he has gotten together, but keeps his wealth out of circulation and useless, actually locked up in secret and sunless vaults.
[4.101] “So far so good. The second man and the attendant spirit of that man is the one which proclaims the orgies of Pleasure and admires and honours this goddess, a truly feminine being. He is of many hues and shapes, insatiable as to things that tickle nostril and palate, and further, methinks, as to all that pleases the eye, and all that affords any pleasure to the ear, as to all things that are soothing and agreeable to the touch, such as warm baths taken daily, or rather, twice a day, anointings that are not for the relief of weariness [102] and, besides, the wearing of soft sweeping robes, bolstered repose, and attentive service for every appetite and desire. He is passionately devoted to all these things, but especially and most unrestrainedly to the poignant and burning madness of sexual indulgence, through intercourse both with females and with males, and through still other unspeakable and nameless obscenities; after all such indiscriminately he rushes and also leads others, abjuring no form of lust and leaving none untried.
[4.103] “At present, it should be explained, we are treating as one this spirit which is afflicted with all these maladies and excesses of the soul; for we do not want to assemble a huge gallery of lecherous, gluttonous, and bibulous spirits and others unnumbered, but to treat as simply one that spirit which is incontinent and enslaved to pleasure, [104] which — if only there is from some source an inflow of inexhaustible means, whether from royal coffers or from great private estate — wallows in a deep and boundless slough of debauchery until old age comes; failing such resources, the man speedily squanders the fortune he began with, or is reduced to impotent and licentious penury, and in deprivation combined with craving falls terribly short of his desires. [105] And, further, this spirit has sometimes changed those possessed by it to the life and the garb of women, just as the myths relate of those who transformed human beings into birds or beasts, if they were unfortunate enough to have become enslaved to an appetite of such a nature.
[4.106] “But here again we find a contrast in our examples. [106] There is, first in this class, the weak and unventuresome spirit, which easily leads men into effeminate vices and other kinds of misconduct which involve loss and disgrace, but, where certain indulgences are followed by punishments that inflict upon the culprit death or imprisonment or heavy fines, altogether avoids inciting the victim to those extremes. [107] There is, however, the more aggressive and audacious spirit, which compels its victim to overleap absolutely all bounds, both human and divine. Now while the weak and unventuresome spirit no sooner gets involved than he acknowledges his shameful weakness by taking up no manly occupation, but leaving social and civic activities to those who have lived a better life, [108] the bold and impetuous spirit, after enduring many a rebuff and humiliation, by a sudden turn of fortune’s wheel, as they say, emerged as a general or as a popular leader with shrill and piercing voice, and, like actors on the stage, discards his feminine attire for the time being and then, having seized that of a general or an orator, stalks about as a blackmailer and an object of terror, looking all the world in the eye.
[4.109] “Now does a manly and grave appearance befit such a spirit, or rather a weak and effeminate one? Therefore we shall dress him up in his proper attire, not in the brave and awe-inspiring clothes which he often assumes when playing a part. [110] So, by heavens, let him step forth luxurious, breathing of myrrh and wine, in a saffron robe, with much inordinate laughter, resembling a drunken reveller in a wanton midday riot and wearing faded garlands on his head and about his neck, reeling in his gait, dancing and singing an effeminate and tuneless song. Let him be led by brazen, dissolute women, [111] known as certain of the sensual lusts, each pulling him her own way, and he rebuffs none of them nor says her nay, but follows readily and eagerly enough. [112] And let them, with a great din of cymbals and flutes, come eagerly forth, escorting the frenzied fellow. And from the midst of the women let him utter shriller and more passionate cries than they; he is pale and effeminate in appearance, unacquainted with heaven’s air or honest toil, lets his head droop, and leers lasciviously, with his watery eyes ever studying his fleshy self, but heedless of the soul and her mandates. [113] Whether a statuary or a painter compelled to represent this man, he could create no better likeness of him than that of the Syrian king, who spent his life in his harem with eunuchs and concubines without ever a sight of army or war or assembly at all. [114] Let his steps also be guided by Delusion, a very beautiful and enticing maid, decked out in harlot’s finery, smiling and promising a wealth of good things and making him believe that she is leading him to the very embrace of happiness, till unexpectedly she drops him into the pit, into a morass of foul mud, and then leaves him to flounder about in his garlands and saffron robe. [115] In servitude to such a tyrant and suffering such tribulation those souls wander through life which, craven and impotent in the face of hardships, enslaved to pleasure, pleasure-loving, and carnally-minded, go on living a disgraceful and reprehensible life, not from choice, the because they have drifted into it.
[4.116] “And now, leaving this spirit, my discourse is eager, as in a contest, to bring in the third spirit, as the herald to bring in a chorus — I mean the ambitious one. He is not so very eager at present to contest, although he is naturally emulous about everything and demands to be first. However, the present trial is not concerned with the question of any fame or honour that may come to him, but with his abundant and merited dishonour. [117] So come, what garb and appearance shall we give to the ambitious spirit? Or is it manifest that he shall be winged and buoyant in keeping with his character and ambition, floating along with the breezes like those sons of Boreas whom artists have conceived and painted, lightly poised on high and running in company with their father’s breezes? [118] But while they used to display a power of their own whenever they pleased, yet for a time they went voyaging with the other heroes on the Argo, serving as their shipmates and performing the regular tasks as much as anyone. But the spirit who presides over men who love glory is always aspiring and never touches the earth or anything lowly; no, he is high and lifted up [119] as long as he enjoys a calm and clear sky or a gently blowing zephyr, feeling ever happier and happier and mounting to the very heavens, but often he is enwrapped in a dark cloud when accompanied by some unpopularity or censure from the many people whom he courts and honours and has appointed to the mastery over his own happiness.
[4.120] “As to his safety, this spirit is not at all to be classed with either eagles or cranes or any other feathered species; nay, one might rather liken his flight to the violent and unnatural soaring of Icarus, whose father undertook to contrive a device that proved disastrous. [121] So then the lad, moved by the conceit of youth and desiring to soar above the stars, was safe enough for a short time, but when the fastenings became loose and the wax ran, he gave his name from this circumstance to the sea where he fell to be seen no more. [122] Just so with this spirit of ambition: When he also puts his faith in weak and truly airy wings — I mean at honours and plaudits bestowed at haphazard by the general crowd — he floats away on his perilous and unsteady voyage, taking with him the man, his admirer and henchman, who now appears to many to be high and blessed, but now again seems low and wretched, not only to others, but first and foremost to himself. [123] But if there be anyone who does not care to conceive of and portray him as winged, let him liken him to Ixion, constrained to cruel and violent gyrations as he is rapidly whirled round and round on a wheel. Indeed, the comparison of the wheel with reputation would not be unfitting nor far inferior in truth to the clever and brilliant metaphors of the rhetoricians: by its shifting movement it very readily turns round, and in its revolutions forces the soul to assume all kinds of shapes, more truly than the potter’s wheel affects the things that are being shaped upon it. [124] Such a man, ever turning and revolving, a flatterer of peoples and crowds, whether in public assemblies or lecture halls, or in his so‑called friendship with tyrants or kings and his courting of them — who would not feel pity for his character and manner of living? I am not speaking of the man, however, who, having managed his own life admirably, endeavours by the persuasion of speech combined with goodwill and a sense of justice to train and direct a great multitude of men and to lead them to better things.
[4.125] “Let us, then, come to an end with this spirit, too, for I should prefer at the present time not to provide him with clothing and shape, and his other appurtenances, and thus add a great and endless throng of words. [126] Put briefly, then, he could be characterized as contentious, foolish, and conceited, and a prey to vainglory, jealousy, and all such difficult and savage emotions. For it is quite inevitable that all these unsociable and savage and difficult feelings should accompany the honour-seeking type of soul, [127] and it is natural that he should change his mind often and be inconsistent — inasmuch as he serves and courts so fickle a thing — alternating between joy and sorrow more often and continuously than hunters are said to do. For they say this is their especial and most continuous experience, when they sight the game and then lose it again. [128] So it is with the ambitious: When good repute and praise come their way, their souls are magnified and swell and show a wondrous burgeoning, just like the shoot of the sacred olive that they tell of at Athens, which swelled and grew to full size in a single day. But, alas! they soon wither again and droop and die when censure and obloquy overtake them. [129] And Delusion, the most convincing thing imaginable, besets this spirit also. For while the miser’s delusion and the hedonist’s were not able to promise them definitely a brilliant fruition, and did not open the door for their dupes to exalted and splendid destinies, but merely whispered and suggested to them the names of the blessings in prospect, it is otherwise with the Delusion of ambition. Fascinating her victim with her charms and spells, she tells him he is a lover of all that is good and leads him towards notoriety as to some virtue or fair renown. [130] So I shall be tempted here again to make a second allusion to the same story of Ixion. ’Tis said that in his eagerness for the blissful union with Hera he embraced a dark and dismal cloud and became the parent of a useless and monstrous brood, the curious hybrid race of the centaurs. [131] And in the same way he who has been disappointed in his love for true fame and has then dallied with a lust for notoriety has in reality been consorting with a cloud without knowing it instead of enjoying intercourse with the divine and august. And from such associations and unions nothing useful or serviceable can come, but only strange irrational creations that resemble the centaurs — [132] I mean the political acts of certain demagogues and the treatises of the sophists; for both sophists and demagogues are purely mercenary leaders. But in saying this I distinguish the generals and educators and statesmen from those whom I have just mentioned, all of whom may well be assigned to that spirit of ambition and be counted in its faction and following.
[4.133] “And now I have described those who are under the sway of each of the spirits named; but very often two or all of them get hold of the same individual, make conflicting demands upon him, and threaten that, if he does not obey, they will inflict severe penalties upon him. [134] The pleasure-loving spirit bids him to spend money on pleasures and to spare neither gold nor silver nor anything else he has, while the avaricious and parsimonious spirit objects, and checks him and threatens that it will destroy him with hunger, thirst, and utter beggary and want, so surely as he heeds the other. [135] Again, the spirit that loves distinction counsels and encourages him to sacrifice all that he has for the sake of honour, but the other spirit opposes and blocks this one. And indeed, the lover of pleasure and the lover of fame can never be in accord or say the same thing; for the one despises fame, thinks it nonsense, and often cites the lines of Sardanapallus:
[4.133b] ‘What I have eaten and wantoned, the joys I have had of my amours,
These alone have I now. The rest of my blessings have vanished.’
[4.136] And especially does this spirit ever keep death before his eyes, warning him that when dead he will be able to enjoy no pleasures any longer. But the spirit that courts fame leads, yea, drags him away from pleasure by keeping him in mind of the censure and reproach that will be his. [137] Not knowing, therefore, what to do or whither to turn and hide himself, he often runs away into the darkness and under its cover tries to please and serve the second spirit, [138] but the other finds him out and drags him into the open, and his soul, thus torn and distracted and ever in battle and ceaseless strife with itself, cannot but end its course in utter misery. For just as a complication of maladies, that often seem to conflict with one another, make the cure difficult and well-nigh hopeless, so, in my opinion, must the situation be when different affections of the soul are mingled and entwined into one.
[4.139] “But come, let us attain a pure harmony, better than that which we enjoyed before, and extol the good and wise guardian spirit or god — us who the kindly Fates decreed should receive Him when we should have gained a sound education and reason.”

## THE FIFTH DISCOURSE: A LIBYAN MYTH

IT HAS BEEN suggested by some that the Libyan myth told in the fifth Discourse was one of a collection of myths ascribed to a certain Cybissus, a Libyan. Others discredit this view and hold that we have here one of the many stories told about Lamia, a fabulous she-monster, the daughter of Scylla, who devoured the flesh of children and young men. Hirzel, in his book Der Dialog, suggests that this myth was invented by Dio himself. The same myth seems to be referred to in the seventy-third section of the fourth Discourse, and von Arnim believes it formed an alternative ending for it and that Arethas (archbishop of Caesarea in Cappadocia in the first part of the tenth century A.D.) supplied it with an introduction of his own and made it a separate Discourse.
A similar story is told by Lucian in Vera Historia, II.76.
The Fifth Discourse: A Libyan Myth
[5.1] To develop a Libyan myth and to fritter away one’s industry upon such a subject is not a promising undertaking, — indeed not, since these themes do not incline the most able men to imitation. Nevertheless, we must not refrain because of their contempt from dallying with such themes. For perhaps we ourselves should derive no small benefit if the myth in some way were given the right turn and became a parable of the real and the true. [2] Now when one employs his powers to such an end, he suggests to me the farmer’s treatment of plant-life, when it is successful. Sometimes by grafting cultivated and fruit-bearing scions on wild and barren stocks and making them grow there, he changes a useless and unprofitable plant into a useful and profitable one. [3] And in just the same way, when some useful and edifying moral is engrafted on an unprofitable legend, the latter is saved from being a mere idle tale. Perhaps, too, those who composed these tales in the first place composed them for some such purpose, using allegory and metaphor for such as had the power to interpret them aright. [4] So much by way of prelude to my ode, as someone has said. It still remains to recite and sing the ode itself, that is, the myth which tells to what we may best liken the human passions.
[5.5] Once upon a time, so runs the story, there was a dangerous and savage species of animal whose main haunt was in the uninhabited regions of Libya. For that country even to this day seems to produce all sorts of living creatures, reptiles as well as other kinds. [6] Now among them was the species with which this story has to deal. It had a body that, in general, was a composite thing of the most incongruous parts, an utter monstrosity, and it used to roam as far as the Mediterranean and the Syrtis in search of food. [7] For it hunted both the beasts of prey such as the lion and the panther, even as those hunt the deer and the wild asses and the sheep, but took the most delight in catching men; and this is why it used to come near the settlements even as far as the Syrtis. [8] The Syrtis is an arm of the Mediterranean extending far inland, a three days’ voyage, they say, for a boat unhindered in its course. But those who have once sailed into it find egress impossible; [9] for shoals, cross-currents, and long sand-bars extending a great distance out make the sea utterly impassable or troublesome. For the bed of the sea in these parts is not clean, but as the bottom is porous and sandy it lets the sea seep in, there being no solidity to it. [10] This, I presume, explains the existence there of the great sand-bars and dunes, which remind one of the similar condition created inland by the winds, though here, of course, it is due to the surf. The surrounding country is very much the same — a lonely stretch of sandy dunes. [11] However that may be, if shipwrecked mariners came inland or any Libyans were compelled to pass through or lost their way, the beasts would make their appearance and seize them.
[5.12] The general character and appearance of their body were as follow: the face was that of a woman, a brief woman. The breast and bosom, and the neck, too, were extremely beautiful, the like of which no mortal maid or bride in the bloom of youth could claim, nor sculptor or painter will ever be able to reproduce. The complexion was of dazzling brightness, the glance of the eyes aroused affection and yearning in the souls of all that beheld. [13] The rest of the body was hard and protected by scales, and all the lower part was snake, ending in the snake’s baleful head. Now the story does not say that these animals were winged like the sphinxes — nor that they, like them, spoke or made any sound whatever except a hissing noise such as dragons make, very shrill — but that they were the swiftest of all land creatures, so that no one could ever escape them. [14] And while they overcame other creatures by force, they used guile with man, giving them a glimpse of their bosom and breasts and at the same time they infatuated their victims by fixing their eyes upon them, and filled them with a passionate desire for intercourse. Then the men would approach them as they might women, while they on their part stood quite motionless, often dropping their eyes in the manner of a decorous woman. [15] But as soon as a man came within reach they seized him in their grasp; for they had clawlike hands too, which they had kept concealed at first. Then the serpent would promptly sting and kill him with his poison; and the dead body was devoured by the serpent and the rest of the beast together.
[5.16] Now this myth, which has not been invented for a child’s benefit to make it less rash and ungovernable, but for those whose folly is greater and more complete, may perhaps, now that we have brought it into this context, be able to show adequately the character of the passions, that they are irrational and brutish and that, by holding out the enticement of some pleasure, they win over the foolish by guile and witchery and bring them to a most sad and pitiable end. [17] These things we should always keep before our eyes to deter us — even as those terrifying images deter children when they want food or play or anything else unseasonably — whenever we are in love with luxury, or money, or sensual indulgence, or fame, or any other pleasure, lest, coming too near to these unscrupulous passions, we be seized by them for the most shameful destruction and ruin conceivable. [18] And, indeed, to interpret the rest of the myth in this way would not be a difficult task for a clever man who perhaps has more time at his disposal than he should have.
[5.19] For this is what they add to the myth. A certain king of Libya attempted to destroy this breed of animals, angered as he was at the destruction of his people. And he found that many of them had established themselves there, having taken possession of a dense wild wood beyond the Syrtis. [19] So he mustered a mighty host and found their dens. For they were not difficult to detect owing to the trails left by their serpents’ tails and to the terrible stench that emanated from the dens. He thus surrounded them on all sides and hurled fire in upon them, so that, being cut off, they perished with their young. As for the Libyans, they fled with all haste from the region, resting neither night nor day, until, thinking they had gained a great start, they halted for rest beside a certain river. [20] But those of the creatures who had been away hunting, as soon as they learned of the destruction of their dens, pursued the army to the river, and finding some asleep and others exhausted by the toil, destroyed them one and all. [21] At that time, then, the task of destroying this brood was not completed by the king. Later, however — so the story continues — Heracles, while clearing the whole earth of wild beasts and tyrants, came to this place too, set it on fire, and when the creatures were escaping from the flames, slew with his club all that attacked him, and with his arrows those that tried to run away.
[5.22] Now perhaps the myth is an allegory to show that, when the majority of men try to clear the trackless region of their souls, teeming with savage beasts, by rooting out and destroying the brood of lusts in the hope of then having got rid of them and escaped, and yet have not one this thoroughly, they are soon afterwards overwhelmed and destroyed by the remaining lusts; [23] but that Heracles, the son of Zeus and Alcmene, carried the task through to completion and made his own heart pure and gentle or tame; and that this is what is meant by his taming, that is, civilizing the earth.
[5.24] Would you care, then, to have me gratify the younger people among you by giving a brief additional portion of the myth? For they believe so thoroughly in it and are so convinced of its truth as to assert that one of this brood appeared to the oracle of Ammon under the escort of a strong force of cavalry and archers. [25] They saw what seemed to be a woman, reclining on a pile of sand; she wore a sheepskin thrown over her head after the manner of the Libyan women, but displayed her bosom and breasts and lay with her head thrown back. They supposed that she was one of the professional harlots from some village who was on her way thither to join their company. [26] Accordingly, a certain two young men, greatly taken with her appearance, approached her, one outstripping the other. When the creature seized this one, she dragged him into a hole in the sand and devoured him. [27] The other young man, rushing past her, saw this and cried aloud so that the rest of the party came to his assistance. But the creature hurled itself at the young man with the snake part foremost, and after killing him disappeared with a hissing sound. They add that the body was found rotten and putrefying, and that the Libyans who were acting as guides permitted no one to touch the body lest all should perish.

## THE SIXTH DISCOURSE: DIOGENES, OR ON TYRANNY

VON ARNIM HAS proved quite conclusively that the sixth, eighth, ninth, and tenth Discourses belong to the period when Dio was a wanderer in exile. For example, many things that Dio speaks of Diogenes doing, such as going through armies safely without a herald’s staff, fit better the experience of Dio himself, and many of the references to the Persian king would apply just as well to Domitian, who banished Dio. No doubt the speaker’s audiences would understand his veiled allusions quite easily.
In these Discourses Dio sets forth certain tenets of the Cynical philosophy, using Diogenes as his mouthpiece. His subject is Contentment.
The Sixth Discourse: Diogenes, or On Tyranny
[6.1] When Diogenes of Sinope was exiled from that place, he came to Greece and used to divide his time between Corinth and Athens. And he said he was following the practice of the Persian king. For that monarch spent the winters in Babylon and Susa, or occasionally in Bactra, which are the warmest parts of Asia, and the summers in Median Ecbatana, where the air is always very cool and the summer is like the winter in the region of Babylon. [2] So he too, he said, changed his residence according to the seasons of year. For Attica had no high mountains, nor rivers running through it as had the Peloponnese and Thessaly; its soil was thin and the air so dry that rain rarely fell, and what did fall was not retained. Besides, it was almost entirely surrounded by the sea; from which fact indeed it got its name, since Attica is a sort of beach-land. [3] The city, moreover, was low-lying and faced to the south, as shown by the fact that those sailing from Sunium could not enter the Peiraeus except with a south wind. Naturally, therefore, the winters were mild. In Corinth, on the other hand, the summer was breezy, since currents of air always met there on account of the bays that dented the shore. The Acrocorinthus, too, overshadows it, and the city itself rather inclines toward the Lechaeum and the north. [4] Diogenes thought that these cities were far more beautiful than Ecbatana and Babylon, and that the Craneion, and the Athenian acropolis with the Propylaea were far more beautiful structures than those abodes of royalty, yielding to them only in size. And yet the circumference of Athens was two hundred stades, now that the Peiraeus and the connecting walls had been added to the compass of the city — for this whole area was not inhabited in ancient times — so that Athens was one-half as large as Babylon, if we could take as true what was said of things there. [5] Moreover, in respect to the beauty of the harbours, and, further, to the statues, paintings, the works in gold, silver, and bronze, in respect to the coinage, the furnishings, the splendour of the houses, he thought that Athens was far superior; only he, for his part, did not care much about such things.
[6.6] Besides, the king had a very long distance to travel in changing residences; he had to spend pretty much the larger part of the winter and summer on the road. He himself, on the other hand, by spending the night near Megara, could very easily be in Athens on the following day — or else, if he preferred, at Eleusis; otherwise, he could take a shorter way through Salamis, without passing through any deserts. So he had an advantage over the king and enjoyed greater luxury, since his housing arrangements were better. [7] This is what he was wont to say jestingly, and yet he meant to bring to the attention of those who admired the wealth of the Persian and his reputed happiness that there was nothing in his actual life such as they imagined. For some things were of no use at all and other things were within the reach of even the very poor.
[6.8] In fact, Diogenes was not neglectful of his body as certain foolish people thought; but when they saw him often shivering and living in the open and going thirsty, they imagined that he was careless of his health and life, whereas this rigorous regime gave him better health than fell to the lot of those who were ever gorging themselves, better than fell to the lot of those who stayed indoors and never experienced either cold or heat. [9] And he got more pleasure, too, out of sunning himself and more pleasure in eating his food than they did. But the seasons were by far his greatest delight. On the one hand, he rejoiced as the summer approached and was already dissolving the cold air; and on the other, he felt no regret as it drew to its close, since this brought him relief from its excessive heat; and by keeping pace with the seasons and growing accustomed to them gradually, he met either extreme without discomfort. [10] He rarely made use of heat, shade, or shelter in anticipation of the proper seasons for them, nor did he do as others do, who, because they may light a fire any time and are well supplied with clothes and own houses, run away at once from the open air at the least sensation of cold, thus enfeebling their bodies and making them incapable of enduring the winter’s cold, [11] or, on the other hand, because it is possible for them to enjoy abundant shade in the summer-time and drink all the wine they wish, on that account never expose themselves to the sun, never experience a natural thirst, keep to the house just as much as women do, are inactive and sluggish of body, and have their souls steeped in a drunken stupor. This is why they devise for themselves both unwholesome menus and baths to counteract the bad effects of these, and within the same twenty-four hours they often want both a breeze and heavy clothing; they want ice and fire at one and the same time, and — what is most absurd of all — they long for both hunger and thirst. [12] And though they are incontinent, they find no delight in love because they do not wait till they desire it naturally; consequently the pleasures they seek are devoid of satisfaction and are joyless.
[6.13] Diogenes, however, always waited until he was hungry or thirsty before he partook of nourishment, and he thought that hunger was the most satisfactory and pungent of appetizers. And so he used to partake of a barley cake with greater pleasure than others did of the costliest of foods, and enjoyed a drink from a stream of running water more than others did their Thasian wine. [13] He scorned those who would pass by a spring when thirsty and move heaven and earth to find where they could buy Chian or Lesbian wine; and he used to say that such persons were far sillier than cattle, since these creatures never pass by a spring or a clear brook when thirsty or, when hungry, disdain the tenderest leaves or grass enough to nourish them. [14] He also said that the most beautiful and healthful houses were open to him in every city: to wit, the temples and the gymnasia. And one garment was all he needed for both summer and winter, for he endured the cold weather easily because he had become used to it. [15] He never protected his feet, either, because they were no more sensitive, he claimed, than his eyes and face. For these parts, though by nature most delicate, endured the cold very well on account of their constant exposure; for men could not possibly walk after binding their eyes as they did their feet. He used to say, too, that rich men were like new-born babes; both were in constant need of swaddling-clothes. [16] That for which men gave themselves the most trouble and spent the most money, which caused the razing of many cities and the pitiful destruction of many nations — this he found the least laborious and most inexpensive of all things to procure. [17] For he did not have to go anywhere for his sexual gratification but, as he humorously put it, he found Aphrodite everywhere, without expense; and the poets libelled the goddess, he maintained, on account of their own want of self-control, when they called her “the all-golden.” And since many doubted this boast, he gave a public demonstration before the eyes of all, saying that if men were like himself, Troy would never have been taken, nor Priam, king of the Phrygians and a descendant of Zeus, been slain at the altar of Zeus. [18] But the Achaeans had been such fools as to believe that even dead men found women indispensable and so slew Polyxena at the tomb of Achilles. Fish showed themselves more sensible than men almost; for whenever they needed to eject their sperm, they went out of doors and rubbed themselves against something rough. [19] He marvelled that while men were unwilling to pay out money to have a leg or arm or any other part of their body rubbed, that while not even the very rich would spend a single drachma for this purpose, yet on that one member they spent many talents time and again and some had even risked their lives in the bargain. [20] In a joking way he would say that this sort of intercourse was a discovery made by Pan when he was in love with Echo and could not get hold of her, but roamed over the mountains night and day till Hermes in pity at his distress, since he was his son, taught him the trick. So Pan, when he had learned his lesson, was relieved of his great misery; and the shepherds learned the habit from him.
[6.21] In such language he at times used to ridicule the victims of conceit and folly, though it was against the sophists, who wanted to be looked up to and thought they knew more than other men, that he railed in particular. He used to say that men, owing to their softness, lived more wretched lives than the beasts. [22] For these took water for their drink and grass for their food, were most of them naked from one end of the year to the other, never entered a house nor made any use of fire, and yet they lived as long as nature had ordained for each, if no one destroyed them, and all alike remained strong and healthy, and had no need of doctors or of drugs. [23] Men, however, who are so very fond of life and devise so many ways to postpone death, generally did not even reach old age, but lived infested by a host of maladies which it were no easy task even to name, and the earth did not supply them with drugs enough, but they required the knife and cautery as well. [24] Nor were Cheiron and Asclepius’ sons, with all their healing power, nor prophetic seers nor priestly exorcists of any use to them at all because of their excesses and wickedness. [25] Men crowded into the cities to escape wrong from those outside, only to wrong one another and commit all sorts of the most dreadful misdeeds as though that had been the object of their coming together. And the reason, in his opinion, why the myth says that Zeus punished Prometheus for his discovery and bestowal of fire was that therein lay the origin and beginning of man’s softness and love of luxury; for Zeus surely did not hate men or grudge them any good thing.
[6.26] When some people urged that it is impossible for man to live like the animals owing to the tenderness of his flesh and because he is naked and unprotected either by hair, as the majority of beasts are, or by feathers and has no covering of tough skin, [27] he would say in reply that men are so very tender because of their mode of life, since, as a rule, they avoid the sun and also avoid the cold. It is not the nakedness of the body that causes the trouble. He would then call attention to the frogs and numerous other animals much more delicate than man and much less protected, and yet some of them not only withstand the cold air but are even able to live in the coldest water during the winter. [28] He also pointed out that the eyes and the face of man himself have no need of protection. And, in general, no creature is born in any region that cannot live in it. Else how could the first human beings to be born have survived, there being no fire, or houses, or clothing, or any other food than that which grew wild? Nay, man’s ingenuity and his discovering and contriving so many helps to life had not been altogether advantageous to later generations, [29] since men do not employ their cleverness to promote courage or justice, but to procure pleasure. And so, as they pursue the agreeable at any cost, their life becomes constantly less agreeable and more burdensome; and while they appear to be attending to their own needs, they perish most miserably, just because of excessive care and attention. And for these reasons Prometheus was justly said to have been bound to the rock and to have had his liver plucked by the eagle.
[6.31] Things, therefore, that were costly or demanded constant attention and worry he rejected and showed to be injurious to those who used them; but whatever could readily and without effort help the body to withstand the winter’s cold or hunger or to satisfy some other appetite of the body, he would never forgo; nay, he would choose localities that were healthful in preference to the unhealthy, and those that were adapted to the different seasons, [31] and he took care to have a sufficient supply of food and moderate clothing, but from public affairs, lawsuits, rivalries, wars, and factions he kept himself clear. He tried especially to imitate the life of the gods, for they alone, as Homer asserts, live at ease, implying that the life of man is full of labour and hardship. Even the lower animals, he claimed, understand this sort of thing clearly. [32] The storks, for example, leave the heat of the summer and migrate to a temperate climate, and after spending as long a time there as is most congenial to them, depart in flocks, retreating before the winter; while cranes, which stand the winter fairly well, come at seeding time and for the food they pick up. [33] Deer and hares come down from the mountains into the plains and valleys in the cold weather and find shelter there in comfortable nooks away from the wind, but in the hot season withdraw into the woods and the most northerly regions. [34] When, therefore, he observed how other men were harassed throughout their whole lives, ever plotting against one another, ever encompassed by a thousand ills and never able to enjoy a moment’s rest, nay, not even during the great festivals nor when they proclaimed a truce; and when he beheld that they did or suffered all this simply in order to keep themselves alive, and that their greatest fear was lest their so‑called necessities should fail them, and how, furthermore, they planned and strove to leave great riches to their children, he marvelled that he too did not do the like, but was the only independent man in the world, and that nobody else had any comprehension of his own highest happiness.
[6.35] For these reasons he refused to compare himself any farther with the king of the Persians, since there was a great difference between them. In fact, the king was, he said, the most miserable man alive, fearing poverty in spite of all his gold, fearing sickness and yet unable to keep away from the things that cause it, in great dread of death and imagining that everybody was plotting against him, even his own sons and his brothers. [36] So the despot could neither eat with pleasure, though the most tempting dishes were placed before him, nor drown his troubles in wine. Not a day did he pass “at ease” in which he looked about without suffering torments. When sober, he longed for intoxication in the belief that he would then have relief from his misfortunes, and when drunk, he imagined himself to be ruined just because he was unable to help himself. [37] And further, when awake, he prayed for sleep that he might forget his fears, but when asleep he would immediately leap up, imagining that his very dreams were killing him; and neither the golden plane-tree, nor the mansions of Semiramis, nor the walls of Babylon were of any help to him. [38] The most absurd thing of all, however, was that, though he feared unarmed persons, yet he entrusted himself to his armed guards, that though he searched those who approached him to see if any had a weapon, yet he lived surrounded by men who carried weapons. He was forever fleeing from the unarmed to the armed and from the armed to the unarmed; from the people he protected himself by means of his bodyguard and from his bodyguard by means of his eunuchs. He had no one that he could trust, nor refuge to which he could turn so that he might live a single day without fear. [39] He suspected everything he ate or drank, and had men to sample things for him like so many scouts on a road beset by the enemy. Nay, he could not place confidence in his nearest and dearest, whether children or wife. Yet, difficult and grievous as the position of monarch was, he never wanted to get rid of it, nor could be.
[6.40] “Still, all human ills admit of this one consolation,” continued Diogenes— “they may possibly come to an end. The prisoner in chains expects some time to be set free; it is not impossible for the exile to return to his home; and he who is sick can hope until the end comes for recovery. But the tyrant may not escape his condition; no, he cannot even so much as pray except it be for something else. Anyone who has suffered the loss of a friend by death believes in his heart that time will eventually heal his grief; but tyrants, on the contrary, find their troubles growing worse and worse; [41] since it is not easy for a tyrant to reach old age, and a tyrant’s old age is grievous, unlike that of the horse in the proverb. For his victims as well as those who despise him have multiplied, and he, owing to his own infirmities, cannot defend himself.
[6.42] “Now all calamities are naturally more alarming in anticipation than they are grievous in experience, as is true of hunger, exile, imprisonment, or loss of civil rights; [42] but if the fear of death were removed, then no further distress remains. For death in itself is so far from troubling those who have experienced it, that they have no further grief at all. Fear of it, however, is so intense that many have anticipated the event. People on a storm-tossed ship have not waited for it to go down but have taken their own lives first; others have done the same when surrounded by the enemy, although they well knew that nothing worse than death awaited them. [43] This is the evil plight that despots are ever in, both by day and by night. For condemned criminals a stated day is set on which they must die, but tyrants are uncertain whether death will come soon or the hour has already struck. No moment, not even the most fleeting, is free from this dread, but whether eating or sacrificing to the gods the tyrant must live in this fear. [44] And if ever it occurs to such a ruler to seek diversion, even in the enjoyments of love, no matter how intense the passion, his mind dwells on death, imagining that perhaps he will be slain by the very object of his love, and with this fear he must quaff his wine and with it must lay himself down to sleep. [45] And so, in my opinion, the tyrant is happy only at the moment when he is struck down, since it is then that he is freed from his greatest evil.
[6.46] “But the most absurd thing of all is this: Other men realize that their condition is hopeless and so do not suffer long when death is possible for them; but tyrants, though suffering from the greatest evils, imagine that they are surrounded by the greatest blessings, presumably because they are deceived by the opinions of others who have not had experience of ruling. [46] God has inflicted tyrants with this ignorance that they may hold out under their punishment. Again, to the prosperous life seems more worth living and death correspondingly more bitter, [47] while those in adversity seem to find life harder to endure and to welcome death more gladly. But for tyrants both are harder than for others, since in life they have far less happiness than those who eagerly long to die, and yet they fear death as if they were getting the greatest enjoyment out of life. [48] And if things pleasurable naturally afford greater delight when they are rare but become repulsive to those who have the continuous enjoyment of them, and if evils that never cease are naturally harder to bear; then we may almost say that both these — the pleasurable and the painful — are always with the tyrant in such a way that he rarely finds relief from pain and is never conscious of pleasure. [49] Besides, he continually dreads the power of the rich and the craving of the poor for riches. Again, despots are the only persons who receive no thanks for the favours they bestow; since people never think they get enough, while those who fail to get what they want hate them above all others.
[6.50] “The most disliked man, too, is he who has acquired great wealth unjustly; hence no man is more disliked than a tyrant. And furthermore, he is obliged to show favours to those about him, otherwise he will perish most speedily. But it is not easy to give to many repeatedly without taking from others. Accordingly, the men whom he despoils are his enemies, while his beneficiaries eye him with suspicion and seek to be rid of him as soon as possible. What is far removed from him he fears because of its remoteness; what is near, because it is close to him; from those at a distance he looks for war, from those near at hand, treachery. [51] Peace he considers undesirable because it leaves men idle, and war, because he is obliged to disturb his subjects by raising money and compelling them to take the field as well. So when there is a war, tyrants want peace; and when peace has been made, they at once scheme for war. [52] When the people have all the comforts of life, they fear their insolence; when hard times come, they fear their wrath. They feel that it is safe neither to leave the country nor to stay the home, neither to appear in public nor to live in seclusion, nay, not even to set foot where they may do so in safety, and that plotting and treachery menace them on every side. [53] Every one of them calls to mind the deaths of tyrants and all the conspiracies that have ever been formed against them; he imagines that they are all coming his way, and is terror-stricken as if he were doomed to all those deaths; and he is always wanting to look on every side and to turn around, as though he might be struck from any quarter; but this is the very thing he may not do from shame and fear at once. [54] For the more apparent the tyrant’s fear, the more do men conspire against him through scorn of his cowardice. He lives, therefore, like one shut up in a narrow cell with swords hanging over his head and others, just touching the skin, fixed all about him. [55] So closely indeed about the tyrant’s soul as well as his body are the swords set that Tantalus in Hades has a far easier time of it, Tantalus, who is said
[6.50b] ‘to dread the rock that sways above his head.’
[6.50c] Tantalus at least has no further dread of death, while the tyrant suffers in life that fate which men ascribe to Tantalus in the other world.
[6.56] “Now for those who have made themselves tyrants of but a single city or a small country it is not impossible to flee from their realm and live in seclusion elsewhere — yet no one has any fondness for a tyrant, but only hatred and suspicion, and everyone is ready to surrender him to his victims — those, however, who rule over many cities and peoples and over a boundless territory, as the Persian king does, cannot escape, even though they come to comprehend their evil plight and some god remove their ignorance from them. [57] It seems, then, that the tyrant’s life would never be safe, not even if he were to become bronze or iron, but that even then he would be destroyed by being broken to pieces or melted down.
[6.58] “If you talk with him boldly, he is angered and fears your frankness; if you converse with him meekly and deferentially, he suspects your meekness. [58] He feels that he is being insulted by those who treat him as an equal and deceived by those who are more obsequious. Censure, too, stings him far more than it does others because he, a sovereign, is spoken ill of; nor is he pleased with praise either, [59] for he does not think that the speaker is sincere in his praise. Then, of the fairest and most useful of all treasures he has the greatest lack; for friendship and good-will he can expect from no one; nay, keepers of savage lions will love these brutes sooner than they who court and approach tyrants will love them.
[6.60] “I, however,” says Diogenes, “go by night whithersoever I will and travel by day unattended, and I am not afraid to go even through an army if need be, without the herald’s staff, yea, and amid brigands; for I have no enemy, public or private, to block my way. If all the gold, all the silver, and all the copper should give out, that would not injure me in the least. [61] And if an earthquake lays all the houses low as happened once in Sparta, and all the sheep are killed so that not a single man has wherewithal to clothe himself, and want overwhelms not only Attica but Boeotia as well and the Peloponnesus and Thessaly, as it is said to have done aforetime, I shall fare none the worse nor be the more destitute. [62] For how much more naked shall I be than I am now, how much more homeless? I shall find all the food I need in apples, millet, barley, vetches, the cheapest of lentils, acorns roasted in the ashes, and cornel-berries, on which Homer says Circe feasted Odysseus’ comrades and on which even the largest animals can subsist.”

## THE SEVENTH OR EUBOEAN DISCOURSE

THE SEVENTH DISCOURSE belongs to the later period of Dio’s life, as the reference to himself as an old man and the style show. It seems to have been delivered in Rome.
This Discourse falls naturally into two parts: first, the story of the simple hunters in the wilds of Euboea — a very popular one that at an early period was separated from the rest of the Discourse — second, a description of the life Dio would have the poor lead in the cities and the difficulties they have to contend with, and, finally, of the social evils that should be remedied.
The portrayal of the conditions in the country and in the cities of his time is very instructive for the historian who would become acquainted with that period of history and gain some insight into the causes that led to the downfall of the Roman Empire.
The Euboean Discourse, or The Hunter
[7.1] I shall now relate a personal experience of mine; not merely something I have heard from others. Perhaps, indeed, it is quite natural for an old man to be garrulous and reluctant to drop any subject that occurs to him, and possibly this is just as true of the wanderer as of the old man. The reason, I dare say, is that both have had many experiences that they find considerable pleasure in retelling. Anyhow I shall describe the character and manner of life of some people that I met in practically the centre of Greece.
[7.2] It chanced that at the close of the summer season I was crossing from Chios with some fishermen in a very small boat, when such a storm arose that we had great difficulty in reaching the Hollows of Euboea in safety. The crew ran their boat up a rough beach under the cliffs, where it was wrecked, and then went off to a company of purple-fishers whose vessel was anchored in the shelter of the spur of rocks near by, and they planned to stay there and work along with them. [3] So I was left alone, and not knowing of any town in which to seek shelter, I wandered aimlessly along the shore on the chance that I might find some boat sailing by or riding at anchor. I had gone on a considerable distance without seeing anybody when I chanced upon a deer that had just fallen over the cliff and lay in the wash of the breakers, lapped by the waves and still breathing. And soon I thought I heard the barking of dogs above, but not clearly owing to the roar of the sea. [4] On going forward and gaining an elevated position with great difficulty, I saw the dogs baffled, running to and fro, and inferred that their quarry, being hard pressed by them, had jumped over the cliff. Then, soon after, I saw a man, a hunter, to judge by his appearance and dress; he wore a beard on his healthy face, and not simply hair at the back of his head in mean and base fashion, as Homer says the Euboeans did when they went again Troy, mocking and ridiculing them, it seems to me, because, while the other Greeks there made a good appearance, they had hair on only half the head.
[7.5] Now this man hailed me, saying, “Stranger, have you see a deer running anywhere hereabouts?” And I replied, “Yonder it is this minute, in the surf,” and I took him and showed it to him. So he dragged it out of the sea, ripped off the skin with his knife while I lent a helping hand as best I could. Then, after cutting off the hind quarters, he was about to carry them away along with the hide, when he invited me to come along and dine upon the venison with him, adding that his dwelling was not far away. [6] “And then in the morning,” he continued, “after you have rested with us, you shall come back to the sea, since the present is no weather for sailing. Yet do not worry about that,” he continued, “I should be content to have the wind die down after full five days, but that is not likely when the peaks of the Euboean mountains are so capped with clouds as you see them now.” And at the same time he asked me whence I came, how I had landed there, and whether the boat had not been wrecked. “It was a very small one,” I replied, “belonging to some fishermen who were crossing over, and I, their only passenger, sailed with them on urgent business, [7] but all the same it ran aground and was wrecked.” “Well, it could not easily have been otherwise,” he replied; “for see, how wild and rugged the part of the island is that faces the sea. These are what they call the Hollows of Euboea, where a ship is doomed if it is driven ashore, and rarely are any of those aboard saved either, unless, of course, like you they sail in a very light craft. But come and have no fear. To‑day you shall rest after your trying experience, but to‑morrow we shall do our best to get you out safely, now that we have come to know you. [8] You look to me like a man from the city, not a sailor or worker on the land, nay, you seem to be suffering from some grievous infirmity of body, to judge by your leanness.”
[7.9] I followed him gladly without fear of any treachery, since I had nothing but a shabby cloak. [9] Now I had often found in other situations like this — for I was continually roaming about — and I certainly did in this one, that poverty is in reality a sacred and inviolable thing and no one wrongs you; yes, much less than they wrong those who carry the herald’s wand. And so I followed without misgiving on this occasion. [10] And it was about five miles to his place.
[7.11] As we proceeded on our way he told me of his circumstances and how he lived with his wife and children. “There are two of us, stranger,” he said, “who live in the same place. Each is married to a sister of the other, and we have children by them, sons and daughters. [11] We live by the chase for the most part and work but a small bit of land. You see, the place does not belong to us: we did not inherit it or get it by our own efforts. Our fathers, though free, were just as poor as we are — hired herdsmen tending the cattle of a wealthy man, one of the residents of the island here, a man who owned many droves of horses and cattle, many flocks, many good fields too and many other possessions together with all these hills. [12] Now when he died and his property was confiscated — they say he was put to death by the emperor for his wealth — they at once drove off his stock to be butchered, and in addition to his stock our own few cattle, and, as for our wages, no one has ever paid them. [13] At that time, then, we stayed of necessity at the place where he happened to have had our cattle and had built certain huts and an enclosure of palings for the calves, not very large or strong — just what would do for the summer, I suppose; for in the winter we grazed our cattle in the flat lands, where we had plenty of pasturage and a good deal of hay put up; but in the summer we would drive them into the hills. [14] It was in this place especially that our fathers made their steadings; for the place sloped in from both sides, forming a ravine, deep and shaded; through the centre flowed a quiet stream in which the cows and calves could wade with perfect ease; the water was abundant and pure, bubbling up from a spring near by; and in the summer a breeze always blew through the ravine. Then the glades round about were soft and moist, breeding never a gadfly or any other cattle pest. [15] Many very beautiful meadows stretched beneath tall sparse trees, and the whole district abounded in luxuriant vegetation throughout the entire summer, so that the cattle did not range very far. For these reasons they regularly established the herd there.
[7.16] “Now our fathers remained in the huts at that time, hoping to hire out or find some work, and they lived on the produce of a very small piece of land which they happened to have under cultivation near the cattle-yard. [16] This was quite enough for them as it was well manured. And having nothing more to do with cattle they turned to hunting, sometimes going alone and at other times with dogs; for two of those which had followed the cattle, after going a long distance and not seeing the herdsmen, had left the herd and returned to the place. These at first merely followed as if out for some other purpose than hunting, and though, when he saw wolves, they would give chase for a distance, yet to boars or deer they would pay no attention whatever. [17] But whenever they sighted a bear, whether early or late, they would rally to the attack, barking and fending him off, as if they were fighting a man. And so, from tasting the blood of boars and deer and often eating their flesh, they changed their habits late in life and learned to like meat instead of barley-bread, gorging themselves with it whenever any game was caught and going hungry otherwise, till they finally gave more attention to the chase, pursued with equal zest every animal they sighted, began to pick up the scent and trails in some way or other, and thus changed from shepherd dogs into a sort of late-trained and rather slow hunting dogs.
[7.18] “Then when winter came on, there was no work in sight for the men whether they came down to town or to a village. So after making their huts tighter and the yard fence closer, they managed to get along and worked the whole of that plot, and the winter hunting proved easier. [19] The tracks were naturally clearer, because printed on the damp ground, and the snow made them visible at a great distance, so that there was no need of a troublesome search, since a high-road, as it were, led to them, and the quarry was sluggish and waited longer. It is possible, besides, to catch hares and gazelles in their lairs. [20] In this way, then, our fathers lived from that time on, no longer having any desire for a different kind of life. And they married us their sons to wives, each giving his own daughter. The two old men died about a year ago, counting the many years they had lived, but being still strong and youthful and vigorous of body. Of the mothers mine is yet living.
[7.21] “Now the other one of us has never yet been to town, though he is fifty years old, and I only twice — once when I was still a boy, with my father, when we had the cattle; and later on a man came demanding money, under the impression that we had some, and bade us follow him to the city. Now we had no money and swore on oath that we had not, adding that otherwise we would have given it. [22] We entertained him as best we could and gave him two deerskins, and I followed him to the city, for he said it was necessary for one of us to go and explain this matter.
[7.23] “Now, as on my former trip, I saw many large houses and a strong surrounding wall with a number of lofty square structures on the wall and many boats lying in complete calm at anchor in a lake as it were. [23] There is nothing like that anywhere here where you put in, and that is why the ships are wrecked. Now that is what I saw, and a big crowd herded in together and a tremendous uproar and shouting, so that I thought they were all fighting with one another. Well, he brought me before certain magistrates and said with a laugh, ‘This is the man you sent me for. He has nothing but his long hair and a hut of very strong timber.’ [24] Then the officials went into the theatre and I with them. The theatre is hollow like a ravine, except that it is not long in two directions but semi-circular, and not natural but built of stone. But perhaps you are laughing at me for telling you what you know perfectly well.
[7.25] “Now at first the crowd deliberated on other matters for a considerable while, and they kept up a shouting, at one time in gentle fashion and all of them in cheerful mood, as they applauded certain speakers, but at other times with vehemence and in wrath. [25] This wrath of theirs was something terrible, and they at once frightened the men against whom they raised their voices, so that some of them ran about begging for mercy, while others threw off their cloaks for fear. I too myself was once almost knocked over by the shouting, as though a tidal wave or thunder-storm had suddenly broken over me. [26] And other men would come forward, or stand up where they were, and address the multitude, sometimes using a few words, at other times making long speeches. To some of these they would listen for quite a long time, but at others they were angry as soon as they opened their mouths, and they would not let them so much as cheep.
[7.27] “But when they finally settled down and there was quiet, they brought me forward. [27] And some cried out, ‘This man, sirs, is one of the fellows who have been enjoying the use of our public land for many years, and not only he but his father before him. They graze their cattle on our mountains, farm and hunt, have built many houses, have set out vines, and enjoy many other advantages without paying rent to anybody for the land or ever having received it from the people as a gift. [28] For what, pray, would they ever have received it? And though they occupy what is ours and are wealthy, yet they have never performed any public service, nor do they pay any tax on what they make, but live free from taxes and public services as though they were benefactors of the city. Yes, and I believe,’ he continued, ‘that they have never come here before.’ [29] I shook my head, and the crowd laughed when they saw. This laughing enraged the speaker and he abused me roundly. Then turning toward the audience once more, he said, ‘Well, then, if these doings meet with your approval, we had all better lose no time in looting the public property, some of us taking the city’s money, just as certain individuals are even now doing, no doubt, and others squatting upon the land without your consent, if you are going to let these backwoodsmen hold without payment more than 250 acres of the best land, from which you might get three Attic measures of grain per head.’
[7.30] “When I heard this, I laughed as loud as I could. The crowd, however, did not laugh as before but became very noisy, while the fellow grew angry, and giving me a fierce look, said, ‘Do you see the deceitfulness and impudence of the scamp and how insolently he mocks me? I have a mind to have him and his partner dragged off to prison; for I understand that there are two ringleaders of this gang that has seized practically all the land in the mountains. [31] Yes, and I do not believe they keep their hands off the wrecks that are cast up from time to time, living as they do almost above the rocks above Cape Caphereus. Where, otherwise, did they get such valuable fields, nay, rather, entire villages, and such numbers of cattle and draught animals and slaves? [32] Perhaps, too, you note how poor his blouse is and the skin he put on to come here in order to deceive you with the notion that he is evidently a beggar and has nothing. For my part, said he, when I look at him, I am almost frightened, as I fancy I should be if I saw Nauplius come from Caphereus. I believe he flashes mariners a signal from the heights so as to decoy them on to the rocks.’ [33] While he said this and much more besides, the crowd grew ugly, while I was sore perplexed and afraid they might do me some mischief.
[7.34] “Then another person came forward, a good kindly man, to judge from the words he spoke and from his appearance. He first asked the people to be silent, and they became silent, and then in a quiet tone he said that they who tilled the country’s idle land and got it into shape did no wrong, but, on the contrary, deserved commendation. [34] They should not be angry at those who built upon public land and planted trees upon it, but at those who injured it. ‘At this moment, sirs,’ he said, ‘almost two-thirds of our land is a wilderness because of neglect and lack of population. I too own many acres, as I imagine some others do, not only in the mountains but also on the plains, and if anybody would till them, I should not only give him the chance for nothing but gladly pay money besides. [35] For it is plain that they become more valuable to me, and at the same time the sight of land occupied and under cultivation is a pleasing one, while waste lands are not only a useless possession to those who hold them, but very distressing evidence of some misfortune of their owners. [36] Wherefore, I advise you rather to encourage all the other citizens you can to take some of the public land and work it, those who have some capital taking more, and the poorer citizens as much as each is able to handle, that your land may be in use, and the citizens who accept may be free from two very great evils, idleness and poverty. [37] So let these men have it free for ten years, and after that period let them agree to pay a small portion from their produce but nothing from their cattle. If any alien takes up land, let him likewise pay nothing for the first five years, but after that twice as much as the citizens. And let any alien who shall put fifty acres under cultivation be made a citizen, in order to encourage as many as possible.
[7.38] “ ‘At the present moment even the land just outside the city gates is quite wild and terribly unattractive, as though it were in the depths of a wilderness and not in the suburbs of a city, while most of the land inside the walls is sown or grazed. It is therefore surprising that orators trump up charges against the industrious people of Caphereus in the remote parts of Euboea, and yet hold that the men farming the gymnasium and grazing cattle in the market-place are doing nothing out of the way. [39] You can doubtless see for yourself that they have made your gymnasium into a ploughed field, so that the Heracles and numerous other statues are hidden by the corn,º some those of heroes and others statues of gods. You see too, day after day, the sheep belonging to this orator invade the market-place at dawn and graze about the council chamber and the executive buildings. Therefore, when strangers first come to our city, they either laugh at it or pity it.’ Now on hearing this they burst into a rage against that first speaker in his turn and made a great uproar.
[7.40] “ ‘Yet though the accuser does such things, he thinks that humble and needy citizens ought to be haled off to prison, so that no one, forsooth, may do any work hereafter, but that those outside the city may live by brigandage and those within by thievery. I move,’ he continued, ‘that we leave these men in possession of what they themselves have created, provided they pay a moderate tax hereafter, and that we cancel all arrears to date, since they tilled land that had been wild and valueless and gained possession in that way. If, however, they wish to pay a price for their farm, let us sell to them at a cheaper figure than to anybody else.’
[7.41] “When he had thus concluded, that first speaker again spoke in reply, and the two stormed at each other for a long time. But finally I was bidden to day whatever I wished.
[7.42] “ ‘And what ought I to say?’ I asked. ‘Reply to what has been said,’ cried one from his seat. ‘Well then, I declare,’ said I, ‘that there is not one word of truth in what he has said. And as for me, sirs,’ I continued, ‘I thought I was dreaming when he prated about fields and villages and such like. We have no village or horses or asses or cattle. I wish we might possess all the good things he described, that we might not only have given to you but might also belong to the wealthy class ourselves! Yet what we even now have is sufficient for us, and do you take whatever you wish of it. Even if you want all, we shall replace it.’ At these words they applauded.
[7.43] “Thereupon the magistrate asked me what we would be able to give to the people, to which I replied, ‘Four deer pelts of excellent quality.’ Here the majority laughed and the magistrate was vexed at me. ‘That is because the bear skins are rough,’ I continued, ‘and the goat skins are not as good as they. Some are old and some are small. But take these too, if you wish.’ Then he was vexed once more and said that I was a downright landloper, [44] and I replied, ‘Do I again hear mention of lands, and from you? Did I not tell you that we have no lands?’
[7.45] “He asked next whether we would agree each to give an Attic talent, and I replied, ‘We do not weigh our meat, but we will give whatever we have. There is a little salted down, but the rest is smoked and not much inferior to the other. There are sides of bacon and venison and other excellent meats.’ [45] Then they did raise an uproar and called me a liar. The man also asked me if we had any grain and about how much. I told him the exact amount. ‘Three bushels of wheat,’ said I, ‘six of barley, and the same amount of millet, but only four quarts of beans, since there were none this year. Now do you take the wheat and the barley,’ said I, ‘and leave us the millet. But if you need millet, take it too.’
[7.46] “ ‘And do you not make any wine?’ another asked. ‘We make it,’ I said, ‘so that if any one of you comes, we will hand it over, but be sure to bring some kind of wineskin with you, since we haven’t any.’ ‘Now, just how many vines have you?’ ‘Two,’ I replied, ‘outside our doors, twenty in the yard, the same number across the river that we set out recently. They are of very fine quality and yield large clusters when the passers‑by leave them alone. [47] But to spare you the trouble of asking about every detail, I will tell you what else we have: eight she-goats, a mulley cow with a very pretty calf, four sickles, four grub hoes, three spears, and each of us owns a hunting knife. As for the crockery — why should one mention that? We have wives too, and children by them. We live in two pretty huts, and we have a third where the grain and the pelts are kept.’
[7.48] “ ‘Yes by heavens,’ said the orator, ‘where you bury your money too, I suspect.’ ‘Well then,’ said I, ‘come and dig it up, you fool! Who buries money in the ground? It certainly does not grow.’ Then everybody laughed, and it was at him, I thought.
[7.49] “ ‘That is what we have; and now, if you want everything, we are willing to give it to you voluntarily. There is no need for you to take it from us by force as though it belonged to foreigners or rogues; [49] for, mark you, we are citizens too of this city, as I used to hear my father say. And once he too came here just when a grant of money was being made, as it happened, and got some too along with the rest. Therefore we are raising our children to be your fellow-citizens; and should you ever need them, they will help you against brigands and foreign foes. Just now there is peace; but if ever such a crisis does arise, you will pray heaven that the majority be like ourselves. For do not imagine that this talker will fight for you then, unless, indeed, it be to scold like a woman. [50] Besides, whenever we catch any game, we will give you a part of the meat and of the skins; only send someone to get them. Then if you bid us raze our huts, we will do so if they trouble you. But you must give us housing here; else how shall we endure the winter’s cold? You have many empty houses inside the city walls; one of them will be enough for us. Yet if we choose to live elsewhere than here and thus avoid adding to the congestion caused by so many people being huddled together, that surely is no reason for moving us.
[7.51] “ ‘Then as to that ghoulish and wicked practice in case of wrecked vessels which the speaker had the hardihood to accuse us of — and I almost forgot to speak of it, although I should have done so at the very start — who among you could possibly believe him? Not to mention the impiety of it, it is impossible to salvage anything at all there. Indeed, all the timber you can find there is the splinters, so very small are the fragments cast up. Besides, that is the most inaccessible beach in existence. [52] And the oar-blades which I once found cast ashore — why, I nailed them to the sacred oak that grows by the sea. Pray god I may never get or earn any profit like that from human misfortune! Why, I have never made anything out of it, but many is the time I have pitied shipwrecked travellers who have come to my door, taken them into my hut, given them to eat and to drink, helped them in any other way that I could, and accompanied them until they got out of the wilderness. [53] Yet who of them is there who will testify for me now? And I never did that to win a testimonial or gratitude; why, I never knew where the men came from even. I pray that none of you may ever undergo such an experience.’
[7.54] “While I was thus speaking, a man rose in their midst, and I thought to myself that perhaps he was another of the same sort who was going to slander me, [54] but he said: ‘Sirs, for a long time I have been wondering whether I knew this man, but nevertheless was inclined to think that I did not. But now that I have clearly identified him, it seems to me that it would be dreadful, or rather a crime against heaven, for me not to corroborate his statements as far as I can, or express my gratitude in words after having in very deed received the greatest kindness at his hands. [55] I am,’ he continued, ‘a citizen here, as you are aware, and so is this man,’ pointing to his neighbour, who thereupon rose also. ‘Two years ago we happened to be sailing in Socles’ boat when it was lost off Caphereus and only a handful of us were saved out of a large number. Now some were sheltered by purple-fishers, for a few had money in their wallets; but we who were cast ashore destitute tramped along a path, hoping to find some shelter among shepherds or herdsmen, for we were in danger of perishing from hunger and thirst. [56] And after much hardship we did finally reach some huts and stopped and hallooed, when this man here came out, brought us in, and made a low fire which he gradually increased. Then he himself rubbed one of us, and his wife the other, with tallow, they had no olive oil. Finally, they poured warm water over us until they brought us around, chilled to the bone as we had been. [57] Then, after making us recline and throwing about us what they had, they put wheaten loaves before us to eat while they themselves ate millet porridge. They also gave us wine to drink, they themselves drinking water, and they roasted venison in abundance, while some of it they boiled. And though we wanted to go away on the morrow, they held us back for three days. [58] Then they escorted us down to the plains and gave us meat when we left them, as well as a very handsome pelt for each of us. And when this man here saw that I was still ill from my trying experience, he put on me a little tunic which he took from his daughter, and she girded a bit of cloth about herself instead. This I gave back when I reached the village. So, next to the gods, we owe our lives to this man especially.’
[7.59] “While he was thus speaking, the people listened with pleasure and showed me their approval, and I recalled it all and cried out, ‘Hello, Sotades!’ And I approached and kissed him and the other man. However, the people laughed heartily because I kissed them. Then I understood that in the cities people do not kiss one another.
[7.60] “Then that kind and good man who had spoken in my behalf at the beginning came forward and said, ‘I move, sirs, that we invite this man to dine in the town-hall. If he had saved one of our townsfolk in battle by covering him with his shield, would he not have received many large gifts? But now, when he has saved two citizens, and perhaps others who are not here, is he entitled to no honour at all? [61] For the tunic which he stripped from his daughter and gave to his fellow-townsman in distress, let the city give him a tunic and a cloak as an inducement to others to be righteous and to help one another. Further, let it vote that they and their children have the use of the farm free from molestation, and that the man himself be given one hundred drachmas for equipment; and as for this money, I offer it out of my own pocket on behalf of the city.’
[7.62] “For this he was applauded and the motion was carried. The clothes and the money were also brought into the theatre at once. But I was loath to accept, whereupon they said, ‘You cannot dine in the skin.’ ‘Well then,’ said I, ‘I shall go without dinner to‑day.’ However, they put the tunic on me and threw the cloak over my shoulders. Then I wanted to throw my skin on top of all, but they would not let me. [63] The money I absolutely refused and swore that I would not take it. ‘But if you are hunting for somebody who will take it,’ said I, ‘give it to that orator that he may bury it, for he knows all about that evidently.’ And from that day nobody has bothered us.”
[7.64] Now he had hardly ended when we were at the huts, and laughing I said, “But you have hidden from your fellow-citizens one thing, the fairest of your possessions.” “What is that?” said he. “This garden,” I replied, “very pretty indeed with all its vegetables and trees.” “There was not any then,” he said; “we made it afterwards.”
[7.65] Then we entered and feasted the rest of the day, we reclining on boughs and skins the made a high bed and the wife sitting beside her husband. But a daughter of marriageable age served the food and poured us a sweet dark wine to drink; and the boys prepared the meat, helping themselves as they passed it around, so that I could not help deeming these people fortunate and thinking that of all the men that I knew, they lived the happiest lives. [66] And yet I knew the homes and tables of rich men, of satraps and kings as well as of private individuals; but then they seemed to me the most wretched of all; and though they had so appeared before, yet I felt this the more strongly as I beheld the poverty and free spirit of the humble cottagers and noted that they lacked naught of the joy of eating and drinking, nay, that even in these things they had, one might almost say, the better of it.
[7.67] We were almost already well enough supplied when that other man entered, accompanied by his son, a prepossessing lad who carried a hare. The latter on entering commenced to blush; and while his father was welcoming us, he himself kissed the maiden and gave her the hare. The child then ceased serving and sat down beside her mother while the boy served in her stead. [68] “Is she the one,” I enquired of my host, “whose tunic you took off and gave to the shipwrecked man?” “No,” said he with a smile, “that daughter was married long ago and already has grown‑up children. Her husband is a rich man living in a village.” “And do they help you when you need anything?” I enquired. “We do not need anything,” replied the wife, [69] “but they get game from us whenever we catch any, and fruit and vegetables, for they have no garden. Last year we borrowed some wheat just for seed, but we repaid them as soon as harvest time was come.” “Tell me,” said I, “do you intend to marry this girl also to a rich man that she too may lend you wheat?” At this the two blushed, the girl as well as the boy.
[7.70] “She will have a poor man for a husband,” said the father, “a hunter like ourselves,” and with a smile he glanced at the young man. And I said, “But why do you not give her away at once? Must her husband come from some village or other?” “I have an idea,” he replied, “that he is not far off; nay, he is here in this house, and we shall celebrate the marriage when we have picked out a good day.” “And how do you determine the good day?” said I. And he replied, “When the moon is not in a quarter; the air must be clear too, and the weather fine.” [71] And then I said, “Tell me, is he really a good hunter?” “I am,” cried the youth; “I can run down a deer and face the charge of a boar. You shall see to‑morrow, stranger, if you wish it.” “And did you catch this hare?” said I. “Yes,” he replied, laughing— “with my net during the night, for the sky was very beautiful, and the moon was never so big before.” [72] Then the two men laughed, not only the girl’s father but his also. As for him, he felt ashamed and became silent.
[7.73] Then the girl’s father said, “Well, my boy, it is not I who am delaying you, but your father is waiting until he can go and buy a victim, for we must sacrifice to the gods.” At this point the girl’s younger brother interrupted, saying, “Why, this fellow got a victim long ago. It is being fattened in there behind the hut, and a fine animal it is.” [73] “Is it really so?” they asked him, and he said “Yes.” “And where did you get it?” they enquired. “When we caught the wild sow that had the young ones, they all escaped but one. They ran more swiftly than the hare,” he added. “One, however, I hit with a stone, caught, and covered with my leather jerkin. I exchanged it in the village and got a young pig for it. Then I made a sty out behind and raised it.” [74] “So that is the reason why your mother would laugh,” exclaimed the father, “when I used to wonder on hearing the pig grunt, and you were using the barley so freely.” “Well,” he replied, “the chestnuts were not enough to fatten her, supposing she had been willing to eat nuts without anything else. But if you wish to see her, I will go and fetch her in.” And they bade him do so. So he and the boys were off at once on the run full of glee. [75] Meanwhile the girl had risen and brought from another hut some sliced sorb-apples, medlars, winter apples, and swelling clusters of fine grapes, and placed them on the table after wiping off the stains from the meat with leaves and putting some clean fern beneath. Then the boys came in laughing and full of fun, leading the pig, [76] and with them followed the young man’s mother and two small brothers. They brought white loaves of wheaten bread, boiled eggs in wooden platters, parched chickpeas.
[7.77] After the woman had greeted her brother and her niece, his daughter, she sat down beside her husband and said, “See, there is the victim which that boy has long been feeding for his wedding day, and everything else is ready on our side. The barley and wheaten flour have been ground; only perhaps we shall need a little more wine. This too we can easily get from the village.” [77] And close beside her stood her son, glancing at his future father-in‑law. He smiled at the lad and said, “There is the one who is holding things up. I believe he wants to fatten the pig a bit more.” The young man replied, “Why, she is ready to burst with fat.” [78] And wishing to help him, I said, “take care that your young man doesn’t get thin while the pig gets fat.” “Our guest speaks well,” said the mother, “for he has already grown thinner than I have ever seen him before; and I noticed a short time ago that he was wakeful in the night and went out of the hut.” “The dogs were barking,” the young man interrupted, “and I went out to see.” [79] “No, you did not,” said she, “but you were walking around distraught. So don’t let us permit him to be tortured any longer.” And throwing her arms about the girl’s mother she kissed her; and the latter, turning to her husband, said, “Let us do as they wish.” This they decided to do and said, “Let us have the wedding the day after to‑morrow.” They also invited me to stay over, [80] and I did so gladly, at the same time reflecting on the character of weddings and other things among the rich, on the matchmakers, the scrutinies of property and birth, the dowries, the gifts from the bridegroom, the promises and deceptions, the contracts and agreements, and, finally, the wranglings and enmities that often occur at the wedding itself.
[7.81] Now I have not told this long story idly or, as some might perhaps infer, with the desire to spin a yarn, but to present an illustration of the manner of life that I adopted at the beginning and of the life of the poor — an illustration drawn from my own experience for anyone who wishes to consider whether in words and deeds and in social intercourse the poor are at a disadvantage in comparison with the rich on account of their poverty, or in every way have the advantage. [82] And really, when I consider Euripides’ words and ask myself whether as a matter of fact the entertainment of strangers is so difficult for them that they can never welcome or succour anyone in need, I find this by no means to be true of their hospitality. They light a fire more promptly than the rich and guide one on the way without reluctance — indeed, in such matters a sense of self-respect would compel them — and often they share what they have more readily. When will you find a rich man who will give the victim of a shipwreck his wife’s or his daughter’s purple gown or any article of clothing far cheaper than that: a mantle, for example, or a tunic, though he has thousands of them, or even a cloak from one of his slaves?
[7.83] Homer too illustrates this, for in Eumaeus he has given us a slave and a poor man who can still welcome Odysseus generously with food and a bed, while the suitors in their wealth and insolence share with him but grudgingly even what belongs to others, and this, I think, is just what Odysseus himself is represented as saying to Antinous when he upbraids him for his churlishness.
[7.83b] “Thou wouldst not give a suppliant even salt
In thine own house, — thou who, while sitting here,
Fed at another’s table, canst not bear
To give me bread from thy well-loaded board.”
[7.84] But granted that such meanness on the suitors’ part was in accord with their general depravity, yet how was it with Penelope? Though she was an excellent woman, overjoyed to talk with Odysseus and learn about her husband, Homer does not say that even she gave him a cloak as he sat beside her in a bare tunic, but that she merely promised him one if it turned out that he was telling the truth about Odysseus in saying that he would arrive within the month. [85] And afterwards, when he asked for the bow, and the suitors, who could not draw it, were angry at him because he had the hardihood to vie with them in prowess, she urged that it be given to him, adding that of course her promise of marriage could not apply to him; but she promised to give him a tunic, cloak, and shoes, if he succeeded in stretching the bow and shooting through the axes; [86] as though he had to bend the bow of Eurytus and become the enemy of all those young men, and perhaps lose his life at their hands then and there, if he was to receive tunic and shoes, or else must produce Odysseus in person, who had not been seen anywhere for twenty years, and within a stated time at that, with the alternative, in case he could do neither, of departing in the same rags out of the presence of the good and prudent daughter royal of Icarius!
[7.87] Other words of about the same purport Telemachus too addresses to the swineherd regarding Odysseus when he bids the latter to send him to the city as soon as possible that he may beg for alms there, and not to feed him at the steading any longer. And even if this had been agreed upon between them, yet the swineherd feels no surprise at the treatment and its inhumanity, [88] as though it were the regular procedure to deal with needy strangers thus strictly and meanly and to welcome open-heartedly with gifts and presents only the rich, from whom, of course, the host expected a like return, very much as the present custom is in selecting the recipients of our kindly treatment and preferment; [89] for what seem to be acts of kindliness and favours turn out, when examined rightly, to be loans, and that too at a high rate of interest as a usual thing, if, by heavens, conditions to‑day are not worse than they used to be, just as is the case with every other evil. [90] Furthermore, I could state in regard to the Phaeacians also and their generosity, in case anyone imagines that their behaviour towards Odysseus was neither ungenerous nor unworthy of their wealth, just what motives and reasons induced them to be so open-handed and splendid in their generosity. But what I have said so far about this matter is more than sufficient.
[7.91] It is certainly clear that wealth does no great service to its owners as regards the entertainment of strangers or otherwise. On the contrary, it is more likely to make them stingy and parsimonious, generally speaking, than poverty is. Even if some man of wealth may be found — one perhaps in a million — who is liberal and magnanimous in character, this by no means conclusively proves that the majority do not become worse in this regard than those whose means are limited. [92] A poor man, if he be of strong character, finds the little that he has sufficient both to enable him to regain his health when his body has been attacked by an illness not too severe — when, for example, he is visited by the sort of malady that usually attacks hard-working people whenever they overeat — and also to give acceptable gifts to strangers when they come — gifts willingly given that do not arouse the recipient’s suspicion or give him offence — [93] perhaps not silver bowls, or embroidered robes, or a four-horse chariot, which were the gifts of Helen and Menelaus to Telemachus. For the poor man would be unlikely to have such guests to welcome as satraps or kings, for instance, unless they were very temperate and good men in whose eyes no gift is inadequate which is prompted by affection. But guests that are dissolute and tyrannical they would neither be able, I suppose, to serve acceptably nor, perhaps, would they care to extend such hospitality. [94] For it surely did not turn out any better for Menelaus that he was able to receive the wealthiest prince of Asia as a guest and that nobody else in Sparta was equal to entertaining the son of King Priam. [95] For, mark you, that prince despoiled his home, appropriated his wife as well as his treasures, left the daughter motherless, and sailed away. And after that Menelaus wasted a great deal of time travelling all over Greece bewailing his misfortunes and begging every king in turn to help him. He was forced also to implore his brother to give his daughter to be sacrificed at Aulis. [96] Then for ten years he sat fighting in Troy-land, where again both he and his brother kept cajoling the leaders of the army. When this was not done, the soldiers would grow angry and on every occasion would threaten to sail for home. Besides, he endured many hardships and dire perils, after which he wandered about and was able to reach his home only after infinite trouble.
[7.97] Is it not, then, most unfitting to admire wealth as the poet does and regard it as really worth seeking? He says that its greatest good lies in giving to guests and, when any who are used to luxury come of the one’s house, being in a position to offer them lodging and set such tokens of hospitality before them as would please them most. [98] And in advancing these views we cite the poets, not to gainsay them idly nor because we are envious for their reputation for wisdom that they have won by their poems; no, it is not for these reasons we covet the honour of showing them to be wrong, but because we think that it is in them especially that we shall find the thought and feeling of men generally, just what the many think about wealth and the other objects of their admiration, and what they consider would be the greatest good derived from each of them. [99] For it is evident that men would not love the poets so passionately nor extol them as wise and good and exponents of the truth if the poetry did not echo their own sentiments nor express their own views. [100] Since, then, it is not possible to take each member of the multitude aside and show him his error or to cross-question everybody in turn by saying, “How is it, sir, that you fear poverty so exceedingly and exalt riches so highly?” and again, “What great profit do you expect to win if you happen to have amassed wealth or, let us say, to have turned merchant or even become a king?” Such a procedure would involve infinite trouble and is altogether impracticable. [101] Therefore, because we must, let us go to their prophets and spokesmen, the poets, with the conviction that we shall find among them the beliefs of the many clearly put and enshrined in verse; and in truth I do not think that we fall very far short of our object in so doing. [102] And our present procedure, I believe, is the usual one even with men wiser than myself. Indeed, one very great philosopher has expressly contradicted the sentiments contained in these same lines of Euripides, and he is a man whom I think no one would ever accuse of contradicting them and Sophocles’ words about wealth in any spirit of captiousness. He objects briefly in the former instance but in more detail in the case of Sophocles, and yet not at great length as we are now doing, since he was not discussing the question ex tempore with an orator’s full privilege but was writing in a book.
[7.103] Now so much for the life of the farmer, the hunter, and the shepherd. Perhaps I have spent more time on this theme than I should have done, but I desired to show in some way or other that poverty is no hopeless impediment to a life and existence befitting free men who are willing to work with their hands, but leads them on to deeds and actions that are far better and more useful and more in accordance with nature than those to which riches are wont to attract most men. [104] Well then, it would now be our duty to consider the life and occupations of poor men who live in the capital or some other city, and see by what routine of life and what pursuits they will be able to live a really good life, one not inferior to that of men who lend out money at excessive rates of interest and understand very well the calculation of days and months, nor to that of those who own large tenement houses and ships and slaves in great numbers!
[7.105] For the poor of this type suitable work may perhaps be hard to find in the cities, and will need to be supplemented by outside resources when they have to pay house-rent and buy everything they get, not merely clothes, household belongings, and food, but even the wood to supply the daily need for fire, and even any odd sticks, leaves, or other most trifling thing they need at any time, [106] and when they are compelled to pay money for everything but water, since everything is kept under lock and key, and nothing is exposed to the public except, of course, the many expensive things for sale. It will perhaps seem hard for men to subsist under such conditions who have no other possession than their own bodies, especially as we do not advise them to take any kind of work that offers or all kinds indiscriminately from which it is possible to make some money. [107] So perhaps we shall be forced in our discussion to banish the respectable poor from the cities in order to make our cities in reality cities “well-inhabited,” as Homer calls them, where only the prosperous dwell, and we shall not allow any free labourer, apparently, within the walls. But what shall we do with all these poor people? Shall we scatter them in settlements in the country as the Athenians are said to have been spread all over Attica in early times and again later when Peisistratus became tyrant? [108] That mode of life did not prove disadvantageous to the Athenians of that time, nor did it produce a degenerate breed of citizens either, but men in every way better and more temperate than those who later on got their living in the city as ecclesiasts, jurymen, and clerks — a lazy and at the same time ignoble crowd. It will not, therefore, cause any great and dire peril if all these respectable poor shall become by any end and every means rustics, but nevertheless I think that even in the city they will not fail to make a living.
[7.109] But let us see what the variety and nature of the occupations are which they are to follow in order to live in what we believe is the proper way and not be often compelled to turn to something unworthy because they are out of work. The occupations and trades in the city, if all are taken into consideration, are many and of all kinds, and some of them are very profitable for those who engage in them if one thinks of money when he says “profitable.” [110] But it is not easy to name them all separately on account of their multitude, and equally because that would be out of place here. Therefore, let this brief criticism and praise of them suffice: All which are injurious to the body by impairing its health or by preventing the maintenance of its adequate strength through their inactive or sedentary character, or which engender in the soul either turpitude or illiberality or, in general, are useless and good for nothing since they owe their origin to the silly luxury of the cities — these cannot properly be called trades or occupations at all; for Hesiod, a wise man, would never have commended all occupations alike if he had thought that any evil or disgraceful thing was entitled to that name — [111] so where any of these evils, be it what it may, is attached to these activities, no self-respecting and honourable man should himself have anything to do with them or know anything about them or teach them to his sons, for he knows that he will not be what either Hesiod or we mean by “workman” if he engages in any such business, but will incur the shameful reproach of being an idler living on disgraceful gains and hear himself bluntly called sordid, good for nothing, and wicked. [112] But, on the other hand, where the occupations are not unbecoming to those who follow them and create no evil condition in their souls nor injure their health by inducing, among other diseases, physical weakness in particular, sluggishness, and softness on account of the almost complete lack of exercise, and, further, enable one to make a satisfactory living — [113] the men who engage zealously and industriously in any of these will never lack work and a living from it, nor will they give the rich any justification for calling them the “poor class,” as is their wont; on the contrary, they will be rather purveyors to the rich and lack practically nothing that is necessary and useful.
[7.114] Now without describing in detail each and every occupation, but simply offering a general outline, let us mention in these two classes the kinds we do not approve of, giving our reasons, and the kinds we urge men to undertake without hesitation. Let them pay no heed to those idle objectors who are wont often to sneer obviously not only at a man’s occupation when it has nothing at all objectionable in it, but even at that of his parents, when, for instance, his mother was once on occasion someone’s hired servant or a harvester of grapes, or was a paid wet-nurse for a motherless child or a rich man’s, or when his father was a schoolmaster or a tutor. Let them, I say, feel no shame before such persons but go right ahead. [115] For if they refer to such things, they will simply be mentioning them as indications of poverty, evidently abusing and holding up poverty itself as something evil and unfortunate, and not any of these occupations. Therefore, since we maintain that to be poor is no worse and no more unfortunate than to be rich, and perhaps no less advantageous to many, the sneer at one’s occupation ought not to give any greater offence than the sneer at one’s poverty. [116] You see, if, without mentioning the thing with which they found fault, they had to bring up and denounce the things it caused from day to day, they would have a great many more and really disgraceful things caused by the possession of wealth to bring up, and not least of all what in Hesiod is adjudged the greatest shame, namely, the charge of idleness, and exclaim, “Sir,
[7.114b] “Never a delver did the gods make thee, nor a ploughman,”
[7.114c] adding, “In vain hast thou hands; soft and tender are they like those of the suitors.”
[7.117] Now what I have to say next is, I imagine, apparent to every man and perhaps often remarked — that dyeing and perfumery, along with the dressing of men’s and women’s hair — nearly the same for both sexes to‑day — and practically all adorning, not only of clothing, but even of the hair and skin by the use of alkanet, white lead, and all kinds of chemicals in the attempt to counterfeit youthfulness make a spurious image of the person, and further, the decorating of the roofs, walls, and floor of houses, now with paints, now with precious stones, here with gold and there with ivory, [118] and, again, with carving of the walls themselves — that as for these occupations, the best thing would be that cities should admit none of them at all, but that for us in our present discussion the next best thing would be to rule that none of our poor should adopt any such trade; for we are at present contending against the rich as if with a chorus, and the contest is not for happiness — that is not the prize set before poverty, or before wealth either, but is the especial reward of virtue alone — no, it is for a certain manner of life and moderation therein.
[7.120] Furthermore, we shall not permit our poor to become tragic or comic actors or creators of immoderate laughter by means of certain mimes, or dancers or chorus-men either. We except, however, the sacred choruses, but not if they represent the sorrows of Niobe or Thyestes by song or dance. Nor shall the poor become harpers or flute-players contending for victory in the theatres, even if we shall offend certain distinguished cities by so doing, cities such as Smyrna or Chios, for example, and, of course, Argos too, for not permitting the glory of Homer and Agamemnon to be magnified, at least so far as we can help it. [120] Perhaps the Athenians also will have a grievance because they believe that we are disparaging their poets, tragic and comic, when we deprive them of their assistants, claiming that there is nothing good in their calling. It is likely that the Thebans too will be resentful, on the ground that indignity is being offered their victory in flute-playing which was awarded them by Greece. [121] They cherished that victory so dearly that when their city had been destroyed — almost as it remains to‑day except for a small part, the Cadmea, which is still inhabited — they cared nothing for the other things that had disappeared, for the many temples, many columns and inscriptions, but the Hermes they hunted out and set up again because the inscription about the contest in flute-playing was engraved upon it.
[7.120b] “Greece awarded to Thebes the victory in playing on flute-pipes.”
[7.122] And now in the middle of the old market-place stands this one statue surrounded by ruins. [122] But we shall have no fear of any of these people nor of those who will charge us with disparaging the things which the Greeks cherish as most important, but shall declare that all such activities have no place with self-respecting or free men, holding that many evils are due to them, the greatest of which certainly is shamelessness, that overweening pride on the part of the populace, for which arrogance would be a better name.
[7.123] Neither should our poor become auctioneers or proclaimers of rewards for the arrest of thieves or runaways, shouting in the streets and market-place with great vulgarity, or scriveners who draw up contracts and summonses or, in general, documents that have to do with trials and complaints, and claim knowledge of legal forms; nor must they be learned and clever pettifogging lawyers, who pledge their services to all alike for a fee, even to the greatest scoundrels, and undertake to defend unblushingly other men’s crimes, and to rage and rant and beg mercy for men who are neither their friends nor kinsmen, though in some cases these advocates bear a high report among their fellow-citizens as most honourable and distinguished men. No, we shall allow none of our poor to adopt such professions but shall leave these to the other sort. [124] For though some of them must of necessity become handcraftsmen, there is no necessity that they should become tongue-craftsmen and law-craftsmen.
[7.125] Still, if any of the occupations of which I have been speaking, and shall yet speak, seem to have their useful place in our cities as they do in these now existing, such as perhaps the registering of judgments and contracts, and perhaps certain proclamations, it is not now the place for us to determine how and by whom these needs shall be met with the least harm. [125] For we are not at present mapping out the form of government that would be best, or better than many, but we did set out to discuss poverty and to show that its case is not hopeless, as the majority think, but that it affords many opportunities of making a living that are neither unseemly nor injurious to men who are willing to work with their hands. [126] Indeed, it was with that very premise that we were led to tell that quite lengthy tale at the beginning about life among farmers and hunters, and to speak now about city occupations, defining those that are befitting and not harmful to men who are not to live on the lowest plane, and those which degrade the men who are employed in them.
[7.127] Further, if much that I have said is, in general, serviceable in moulding public policy and assisting in a proper choice, then there is the greater reason for pardoning the length of my discourse, because I have not dragged it out in idle wandering or talk about useless things. For the study of employments and trades and, in general, of the life fitting or otherwise for ordinary people has proved to be, in and of itself, worthy of a great deal of very careful research. [128] The hearer should therefore not be annoyed at digressions even if they do seem excessively long, if only they are not about trivial or unworthy or irrelevant things, since the speaker has not abandoned the real theme of the whole provided he treats of the matters that are essential and pertinent to philosophy. [129] Probably if we imitated the hunter in this we should not go far astray. When he picks up his first trail and, following it, all at once comes upon another that is clearer and fresher, he does not hesitate to follow up this latter and then, after bagging his game, goes back to the first trail. [130] Neither should we, perhaps, find fault with a man who set out to discuss the just man and justice and then, having mentioned a city for the sake of illustration, expatiated at much greater length on the constitution of a state and did not grow weary until he had enumerated all the variations and the kinds of such organizations, setting forth very clearly and magnificently the features characteristic of each; [131] even though he does find critics here and there who take him to task for the length of his discussion and the time spent upon “the illustration, forsooth!” But if the criticism be that his remarks on the state have no bearing on the matter in hand and that not the least light has been thrown on the subject of investigation which led him into the discussion at the start — for these reasons, if for any, it is not altogether unfair to call him to task. [132] So if we too shall be found to be expounding matters that are not pertinent or germane to the question before us, then we might be found guilty of prolixity. But, strictly speaking, it is not fair on other grounds to commend or to criticize either length or brevity in a discourse.
[7.127b] Now we must confidently go on and finish our discussion of the other activities of city life, mentioning some of them and leaving others unmentioned and unrecorded.
[7.133] In dealing with brothel-keepers and their trade we must certainly betray no weakness as though something were to be said on both sides, but must sternly forbid them and insist that no one, be he poor or be he rich, shall pursue such a business, thus levying a fee, which all the world condemns as shameful, upon brutality and lust. Such men bring individuals together in union without love and intercourse without affection, and all for the sake of filthy lucre. They must not take hapless women or children, captured in war or else purchased with money, and expose them for shameful ends in dirty booths which are flaunted before the eyes in every part of the city, at the doors of the houses of magistrates and in market-places, near government buildings and temples, [134] in the midst of all that is holiest. Neither barbarian women, I say, nor Greeks — of whom the latter were in former times almost free but now live in bondage utter and complete — shall they put in such shameful constraint, doing a much more evil and unclean business than breeders of horses and of asses carry on, not mating beasts with beasts where both are willing and feel no shame, but mating human beings that do feel shame and revulsion, with lecherous and dissolute men in an ineffectual and fruitless physical union that breeds destruction rather than life. Yes, and they respect no man nor god — [135] not Zeus, the god of family life, not Hera, the goddess of marriage, not the Fates, who bring fulfilment, not Artemis, protectress of the child-bed, not mother Rhea, not the Eileithyiae, who preside over human birth, not Aphrodite, whose name stands for the normal intercourse and union of male and female. [136] No, we must proclaim that neither magistrate nor lawgiver shall allow such merchandising or legalize it, whether our cities are to house a people of the highest virtue or to fall into a second, third, fourth, or any other class, so long as it is in the power of any one of them to prevent such things. [137] But if old customs and diseases that have become entrenched in the course of time fall to the care of our ruler, he shall by no means leave them without attention and correction, but, with an eye to what is practicable, he shall curb and correct them in some way or other. For evils are never wont to remain as they are; they are ever active and advancing to greater wantonness if they meet no compelling check.
[7.138] It is our duty, therefore, to give some heed to this and under no condition to bear this mistreatment of outcast and enslaved creatures with calmness and indifference, not only because all humanity has been held in honour and in equal honour by God, who begat it, having the same marks and tokens to show that it deserves honour, to wit, reason and the knowledge of evil and good, but also because of the following consideration, which we must always remember: that for flagrant wrong fostered by licence it is difficult to set a limit that it will no longer, through fear of the consequences, dare to transgress. Indeed, beginning with practices and habits that seem trivial and allowable, it acquires a strength and force that are uncontrollable, and no longer stops at anything.
[7.139] Now at this point we must assuredly remember that this adultery committed with outcasts, so evident in our midst and becoming so brazen and unchecked, is to a very great extent paving the way to hidden and secret assaults upon the chastity of women and boys of good family, such crimes being only too boldly committed when modesty is openly trampled upon, and that it was not invented, as some think, to afford security and abstinence from these crimes.
[7.140] Perhaps now someone may say, rather rudely, something like this: “O you wise rulers and lawgivers, who tolerated such practices in the beginning and imagined you had actually discovered some wondrous elixir to produce chastity in our cities, your motive being to keep these open and unbarred brothels from contaminating your barred homes and inner chambers, and keep men who practise their excesses abroad and openly at little cost from turning to your free-born and respected wives with their many bribes and gifts!” For men do grow weary of what is excessively cheap and freely permitted, but pursue in fear and at great expense what is forbidden simply because it is forbidden. [141] I think you will see this more clearly if you just consider. For where men condone even the matter of adultery in a somewhat magnificent fashion and the practice of it finds great and most charitable consideration, where husbands in their simplicity do not notice most things and do not admit knowledge of some things but suffer the adulterers to be called guests and friends and kinsmen, at times even entertaining these themselves and inviting them to their tables at festivals and sacrifices as, I imagine, they might invite their bosom friends, [142] and display but moderate anger at actions that are most glaring and open — where, I say, these intrigues of the married women are carried on with such an air of respectability, in that community it will not be easy to feel quite sure of the maidenhood of the unmarried girls or ever to be confident that the words of the wedding song sung at the marriage of the girls are truthful and honest. [143] Is it not inevitable that in these cities many things occur which are like the old legends? — omitting, of course, the angry and meddlesome fathers — that a great many persons copy the storied amours of the gods and gold pours down in showers through the roofs (and with little difficulty, since the chambers are not of brass or stone), [144] and yes, by heavens, that silver trickles in no small stream nor into the laps of the maidens alone, but into those of mothers also and nurses and tutors — to say nothing of many other handsome gifts which sometimes enter stealthily through the roof and sometimes openly no doubt at the very bedside! [145] Is it not likely, too, that much occurs in rivers and beside springs which is like those happenings of ancient times that the poets describe? Only perhaps they do not occur in the open publicly, but in homes of truly great felicity, at costly lodges in parks and city suburbs, in luxurious artificial bowers and in splendid groves; for it is not a question of poor daughters of penniless kings, the kind that carry water and play on beaches beside the rivers, bathing in cool water, or on wide-spreading beaches of the sea; no, they are the wealthy daughters of wealthy parents in princely establishments that possess all these things in private far surpassing anything in public splendour and magnificence.
[7.146] But perhaps they would nevertheless be expecting children to be born in that city, children of the kind that Homer refers to when he mentions Eudorus, son of Hermes and Polydora, and makes use of an euphemism, as I see it, in referring to his birth:
[7.146b] “Virgin’s son whom bore Polydora, fair in the chorus.”
[7.147] I suspect that at Sparta as well some boys of a similar paternity received this appellation, since quite a number are called Parthenians. Consequently, if the majority born in such immoral cities did not perish through utter lack, I imagine, of divine protection, then nothing would save the world from being overrun by demigods. [148] But as it is, some die at birth, while those that do survive live on to old age in obscurity in the status of slaves, since those who gave them being can give them no further support.
[7.149] Now then, in a city where the girls’ condition is as bad as we have described, [149] what are we to expect the boys to be? What education and training should we expect them to receive? Is there any possibility that this lecherous class would refrain from dishonouring and corrupting the males, making their clear and sufficient limit that set by nature? Or will it not, while it satisfies its lust for women in every conceivable way, find itself grown weary of this pleasure, and then seek some other worse and more lawless form of wantonness? [150] Yes, the seduction of women — especially, one might almost say, of the freeborn and virgins — has been found easy and no task for a man who pursues that kind of game with money; and even against the highly respected wives and daughters of men really respected, the libertine who attacks with the device of Zeus and brings gold in his hands will never fail. [151] But the further developments, I presume, are perfectly evident, since we see so many illustrations. The man whose appetite is insatiate in such things, when he finds there is no scarcity, no resistance, in this field, will have contempt for the easy conquest and scorn for a woman’s love, as a thing too readily given — in fact, too utterly feminine — and will turn his assault against the male quarters, eager to befoul the youth who will very soon be magistrates and judges and generals, [152] believing that in them he will find a kind of pleasure difficult and hard to procure. His state is like that of men who are addicted to drinking and wine-bibbing, who after long and steady drinking of unmixed wine, often lose their taste for it and create an artificial thirst by the stimulus of sweatings, salted foods, and condiments.

## THE EIGHTH DISCOURSE, ON VIRTUE

THE SUBJECT OF the eighth Discourse is “The Real Athlete,” and the speech was evidently delivered during Dio’s period of exile. The reference to Diogenes’ exile at the beginning is no accident. When the latter was represented as telling how he endured hunger, thirst, and poverty, and narrating the labours of Heracles, Dio’s audience naturally thought of the speaker himself; and when Eurystheus, who tyrannized over Heracles, they thought of Domitian, who banished Dio.
The Eighth Discourse: Diogenes or On Virtue
[8.1] When Diogenes was exiled from his native Sinope, he came to Athens, looking like the veriest beggar; and there he found a goodly number still of Socrates’ companions: to wit, Plato, Aristippus, Aeschylus, Antisthenes, and Eucleides of Megara; but Xenophon was in exile on account of his campaign with Cyrus. Now it was not long before he despised them all save Antisthenes, whom he cultivated, not so much from approval of the man himself as of the words he spoke, which he felt to be alone true and best adapted to whether mankind. [2] For when he contrasted the man Antisthenes with his words, he sometimes made this criticism, that the man himself was much weaker; and so in reproach he would call him a trumpet because he could not hear his own self, no matter how much noise he made. Antisthenes tolerated this banter of his since he greatly admired the man’s character; [3] and so, in requital for being called a trumpet, he used to say that Diogenes was like the wasps, the buzz of whose wings is slight but the sting very sharp. Therefore he took delight in the outspokenness of Diogenes, just as horsemen, when they get a horse that is high-strung and yet courageous and willing to work, do not object to the difficult temper of the animal, but dislike and have no use for the lazy and slow. [4] Sometimes, therefore, he used to key Diogenes up, while at other times he tried to relax his tension, just as those who twist strings for musical instruments stretch the strings, taking care, however, not to break them.
[8.4] After Antisthenes’ death he moved to Corinth, since he considered none of the others worth associating with, and there he lived without renting a house or staying with a friend, but camping out in the Craneion. [5] For he observed that large numbers gathered at Corinth on account of the harbours and the hetaerae, and because the city was situated as it were at the cross-roads of Greece. Accordingly, just as the good physician should go and offer his services where the sick are most numerous, so, said he, the man of wisdom should take up his abode where fools are thickest in order to convict them of their folly and reprove them.
[8.6] So, when the time for the Isthmian games arrived, and everybody was at Isthmus, he went down also. For it was his custom at the great assemblies to make a study of the pursuits and ambitions of men, of their reasons for being abroad, and of the things on which they prided themselves. [7] He gave his time also to any who wished to interview him, remarking that he was surprised by the fact that had he claimed to be a physician for the teeth, everybody would flock to him who needed to have a tooth pulled; yes, and by heavens, had he professed to treat the eyes, all who were suffering from sore eyes would present themselves, and similarly, if he had claimed to know of a medicine for diseases of the spleen or for gout or for running of the nose; [8] but when he declared that all who should follow his treatment would be relieved of folly, wickedness, and intemperance, not a man would listen to him or seek to be cured by him, no matter how much richer he might become thereby, as though he were less inconvenienced by these spiritual complaints than by the other kind, or as though it were worse for a man to suffer from an enlarged spleen or a decayed tooth than from a soul that is foolish, ignorant, cowardly, rash, pleasure-loving, illiberal, irascible, unkind, and wicked, in fact utterly corrupt.
[8.9] That was the time, too, when one could hear crowds of wretched sophists around Poseidon’s temple shouting and reviling one another, and their disciples, as they were called, fighting with one another, many writers reading aloud their stupid works, many poets reciting their poems while others applauded them, many jugglers showing their tricks, many fortune-tellers interpreting fortunes, lawyers innumerable perverting judgment, and peddlers not a few peddling whatever they happened to have. [10] Naturally a crowd straightway gathered about him too; no Corinthians, however, for they did not think it would be at all worth their while, since they were accustomed to see him every day in Corinth. The crowd that gathered was composed of strangers, and each of these, after speaking or listening for a short time, went his way, fearing his refutation of their views. [11] Just for that reason, said Diogenes, he was like the Laconian dogs; there were plenty of men to pat them and play with them when they were shown at the popular gatherings, but no one was willing to buy any because he did not know how to deal with them.
[8.12] And when a certain man asked whether he too came to see the contest, he said, “No, but to take part.” Then when the man laughed and asked him who his competitors were, [12] he said with that customary glance of his: “The toughest there are and the hardest to beat, men whom no Greek can look straight in the eye; not competitors, however, who sprint, or wrestle or jump, not those that box, throw the spear, and hurl the discus, but those that chasten a man.” [13] “Who are they, pray?” asked the other. “Hardships,” he replied, “very severe and insuperable for gluttonous and folly-stricken men who feast the livelong day and snore at night, but which yield to thin, spare men, whose waists are more pinched in than those of wasps. [14] Or do you think those pot-bellies are good for anything? — creatures whom sensible people ought to lead around, subject to the ceremony of purification, and then thrust beyond the borders, or, rather, kill, quarter, and use as food just as people do with the flesh of large fish, don’t you know, boiling it in brine and melting out the fat, the way our people at home in Pontus do with the lard of pigs when they want to anoint themselves. For I think these men have less soul than hogs. [15] But the noble man holds his hardships to be his greatest antagonists, and with them he is ever wont to battle day and night, not to win a sprig of parsley as so many goats might do, nor for a bit of wild olive, or of pine, but to win happiness and virtue throughout all the days of his life, and not merely when the Eleans make proclamation, or the Corinthians, or the Thessalian assembly. He is afraid of none of those opponents nor does he pray to draw another antagonist, [16] but challenges them one after another, grappling with hunger and cold, withstanding thirst, and disclosing no weakness even though he must endure the lash or give his body to be cut or burned. Hunting, exile, loss of reputation, and the like have no terrors for him; nay, he holds them as mere trifles, and while in their very grip the perfect man is often as sportive as boys with their dice and their coloured balls.
[8.17] “Of course,” he continued, “these antagonists do seem terrible and invincible to all cravens; but if you treat them with contempt and meet them boldly, you will find them cowardly and unable to master strong men, in this greatly resembling dogs, which pursue and bite people who run away from them, while some they seize and tear to pieces, but fear and slink away from men who face them and show fight, and in the end wag their tails when they come to know them. [18] Most people, however, are in mortal terror of these antagonists, always avoiding them by flight and never looking them in the face. And indeed, just as skilful boxers, if they anticipate their opponents, are not hit at all, but often actually end by winning the bout themselves, but if, on the contrary, they give ground through fear, they receive the heaviest blow; in the same way, if we accept our hardships in a spirit of contempt for them and approach them cheerfully, they avail very little against us; but if we hang back and give way, they appear altogether greater and more severe. [19] You can see that the same thing applies to fire also: if you attack it most vigorously, you put it out; but if with caution and fear, you get badly burned, just as children do when in sport they sometimes try to put out a fire with their tongues. The adversaries of this class are a good deal like the pancratiasts, who strike, choke, rend, and occasionally kill.
[8.20] “But there is another battle more terrible and a struggle not slight but much greater than this and fraught with greater danger, I mean the fight against pleasure. Nor is it like that battle which Homer speaks of when he says,
[8.20b] Fiercely then around the ships
The struggle was renewed.
[8.21] With halberds and with trenchant battle-axe
They fought, with mighty sword and two-edged spear.
[8.22] No, it is no such battle, for pleasure uses no open force but deceives and casts a spell with baneful drugs, just as Homer says Circe drugged the comrades of Odysseus, and some forthwith became swine, some wolves, and some other kinds of beasts. Yes, such is this thing pleasure, that hatches no single plot but all kinds of plots, and aims to undo men through sight, sound, smell, taste, and touch, with food too, and drink and carnal lust, tempting the waking and the sleeping alike. [22] For it is not possible to set guards and then lie down to sleep as in ordinary warfare, since it is just then of all times that she makes her attack, at one time weakening and enslaving the soul by means of sleep itself, at another, sending mischievous and insidious dreams that suggest her.
[8.24] “Now work is carried on by means of touch for the most part and proceeds in that way, but pleasure assails a man through each and every sense that he has; and while he must face and grapple with work, to pleasure he must give the widest berth possible and have none but unavoidable dealings with her. [24] And herein the strongest man is indeed strongest, one might almost say, who can keep the farthest away from pleasures; for it is impossible to dwell with pleasure or even to dally with her for any length of time without being completely enslaved. Hence when she gets the mastery and overpowers the soul by her charms, the rest of Circe’s sorcery at once follows. With a stroke of her wand pleasure coolly drives her victim into a sort of sty and pens him up, [25] and now from that time forth the man goes on living as a pig or a wolf. Pleasure also brings divers and deadly vipers into being, and other crawling things that attend constantly upon her as they lie about her doors, and though yearning for pleasure and serving her, they yet suffer a thousand hardships all in vain. [26] For pleasure, after overpowering and taking possession of her victims, delivers them over to hardships, the most hateful and most difficult to endure.
[8.27] “This is the contest which I steadfastly maintain, and in which I risk my life against pleasure and hardship, yet not a single wretched mortal gives heed to me, but only to the jumpers and runners and dancers. [27] Neither, indeed, did men have eyes for struggles and labours of Heracles or have any interest in them, but perhaps even then they were admiring certain athletes such as Zetes, Calaïs, Peleus, and other like runners and wrestlers; and some they would admire for their beauty and others for their wealth, as, for example, Jason and Cinyras. [28] About Pelops, too, the story ran that he had an ivory shoulder, as if there were any use in a man having a golden or ivory hand or eyes of diamond or malachite; but the kind of soul he had men did not notice. As for Heracles, they pitied him while he toiled and struggled and called him the most ‘trouble-ridden,’ or wretched, of men; indeed, this is why they gave the name ‘troubles,’ or tasks, to his labours and works, as though a laborious life were a trouble-ridden, or wretched life; but now that he is dead they honour him beyond all others, deify him, and say he has Hebe to wife, and all pray to him that they may not themselves be wretched — to him who in his labours suffered wretchedness exceedingly great.
[8.29] “They have an idea, too, that Eurystheus had him in his power and ordered him about, Eurystheus, whom they considered a worthless fellow and to whom no one ever prayed or sacrificed. Heracles, however, roved over all Europe and Asia, though he did not look at all like any of these athletes; [30] for where could he have penetrated, had he carried so much flesh or required so much meat or drink into such depths of sleep? No, he was as alert and lean like a lion, keen of eye and ear, recking naught of cold or heat, having no use for bed, shawl, or rug, clad in a dirty skin, with an air of hunger about him, as he succoured the good and punished the bad. [31] And because Diomede, the Thracian, wore such fine raiment and sat upon a throne drinking the livelong day in high revel, and treated strangers unrighteously as well as his own subjects, and kept a large stable, Heracles smote him with his club and smashed him as if he had been an old jar. Then Geryones, who had ever so many cattle and was the richest of all western lords and the most arrogant, he also killed along with his brothers and drove his cattle away. [32] And when he found Busiris very diligently training, eating the whole day long, and exceeding proud of his wrestling, Heracles burst him open like an over-filled bag by dashing him to the ground. He loosed the girdle of the Amazon, who tried to coquet with him and thought to win by means of her beauty. For he both consorted with her and made her understand that he could never be overcome by beauty and would never tarry far away from his own possessions for a woman’s sake. [33] And Prometheus, whom I take to have been a sort of sophist, he found being destroyed by popular opinion; for his liver swelled and grew whenever he was praised and shrivelled again when he was censured. So he took pity on him, frightened . . , and thus relieved him of his vanity and inordinate ambition; and straightway he disappeared after making him whole.
[8.34] “Now in all those exploits he was not doing a favour to Eurystheus at all. [34] And as to the golden apples that he got and brought back — I mean those of the Hesperides — he did give them to him, since he had no use for them himself, but told him to keep them and go hang; for he explained that apples of gold are of no use to a man, nor had the Hesperides, either, found them to be. Then, finally, when he was growing ever slower and weaker, from fear that he would not be able to live as before, and besides, I suppose, because he was attacked by some disease, he made the best provision that was humanly possible for himself, for he reared a pyre of the very driest wood in the courtyard and showed that he minded the fiery heat precious little. [35] But before that, to avoid creating the opinion that he did only impressive and mighty deeds, he went and removed and cleaned away the dung in the Augean stables, that immense accumulation of many years. For he considered that he ought to fight stubbornly and war against opinion as much as against wild beasts and wicked men.”
[8.36] While Diogenes thus spoke, many stood about and listened to his words with great pleasure. Then, possibly with this thought of Heracles in his mind, he ceased speaking and, squatting on the ground, performed an indecent act, whereat the crowd straightway scorned him and called him crazy, and again the sophists raised their din, like frogs in a pond when they do not see the water-snake.

## THE NINTH OR ISTHMIAN DISCOURSE

IN THE NINTH Discourse, as in the eighth, we find Diogenes attending the Isthmian games, and in both Discourses there is the same reference to the importance of the great public gatherings for Diogenes’ purpose, the same references to physicians and to dogs. These similarities have led to the inference that the two Discourses were prepared at about the same time; but while in the preceding Discourse we are given the subject-matter of Diogenes’ teaching, in this one it is rather his method of teaching that is shown.
The Ninth or Isthmian Discourse
[9.1] When the Isthmian games were in progress, Diogenes, who probably was sojourning at Corinth, went down to the Isthmus. He did not attend the great public gatherings, however, with the same motives as the majority, who wished to see the athletes and to gormandize. No, I warrant he came as an observer of mankind and of men’s folly. He knew that men show their real character most clearly at public festivals and large gatherings, while in war and in camp it is more concealed owing to the presence of peril and fear. [2] Moreover, he thought they were more easily healed here (for bodily diseases are more readily treated by the physician when they are plain to be seen than while the trouble remains hidden), but that those who are neglected when engaged in such pursuits most speedily perish. Therefore he used to attend the public gatherings. [3] And he would jestingly remark when taxed for his currish manners, “Well, dogs follow along to the festivals, but they do no wrong to any of those attending; they bark and attack rogues and thieves, and when their masters are in a drunken sleep, they stay awake and guard them.”
[9.4] No Corinthian, however, paid any attention to him when he appeared at the gathering, because they often saw him in the city and around the Craneion. For men do not pay much attention to those whom they are constantly seeing and whom they think they can approach whenever they wish, but they turn to those whom they only see at intervals or have never seen before. So the Corinthians derived the least profit from Diogenes, precisely as if sick people would not consult a physician resident in their midst but thought the bare sight of him in the city sufficient.
[9.5] As regards other persons, it was those from a distance who visited him chiefly, all who came to the festival from Ionia, Sicily, and Italy, and some of those who came from Libya, Massilia, and Borysthenes, and the motive of all those was to see and hear him speak for even a short time so as to have something to tell others rather than to get improvement for themselves. [6] For he had the reputation of having a sharp tongue and being instantly ready with an answer for his interrogators. Accordingly, just as those who know nothing of the Pontic honey try a taste of it and then quickly spit it out because it is bitter and unpleasant in taste, so people in their idle curiosity wished to make trial of Diogenes, but on being put to confusion by him would turn on their heels and flee. [7] They were amused, of course, when others were railed at, but on their own account they were afraid and so would withdraw out of his way. Again, when he jested and joked, as was his wont at times, they were pleased beyond measure; but when he warmed up and became serious, they could not stand his frankness. The situation was the same, I fancy, as when children delight to play with well-bred dogs but are terrified and scared to death when they show anger and bark more loudly.
[9.8] At these meetings also he held to the same line of conduct, not changing his ways nor caring whether anyone of his audience commended or criticized him; no, not even if it was some wealthy and prominent person such as a general or ruler who approached and conversed with him, or some very humble and poor individual. [8] When such people talked nonsense, he usually scorned them merely, but those that assumed airs and prided therefore on their wealth or family or some other distinction he would make the especial object of his attack and castigate thoroughly. Some admired him, therefore, as the wisest man in the world, to others he seemed crazy, many scorned him as a beggar and a poor good-for‑nothing, some jeered at him, [9] others tried to insult him grossly by throwing bones at his feet as they would to dogs, yet others would approach him and pluck at his cloak, but many could not tolerate him and were indignant. It was just like the way in which Homer says the suitors made sport of Odysseus; he too endured their riotous conduct and insolence for a few days, and Diogenes was like him in every respect. For he really resembled a king and lord who in the guise of a beggar moved among the slaves and menials while they caroused in ignorance of his identity, and yet was patient with them, drunken as they were and crazed by reason of ignorance and stupidity.
[9.10] Generally the managers of the Isthmian games and other honourable and influential men were sorely troubled and held themselves aloof whenever they came his way, and passed on, all of them, in silence and with scowling glances. But when he went so far as to put the crown of pine upon his head, the Corinthians sent some of their servants to bid him lay aside the crown and do nothing unlawful. [11] He, however, asked them why it was unlawful for him to wear the crown of pine and not so for others. Whereupon one of them said, “Because you have won no victory, Diogenes.” To which he replied, “Many and mighty antagonists have I vanquished, not like these slaves who are now wrestling here, hurling the discus and running, [12] but more difficult in every way — I mean poverty, exile, and disrepute; yes, and anger, pain, desire, fear, and the most redoubtable beast of all, treacherous and cowardly, I mean pleasure, which no Greek or barbarian can claim he fights and conquers by the strength of his soul, but all alike have succumbed to her and have failed in this contest — Persians, Medes, Syrians, Macedonians, Athenians, Lacedaemonians — all, that is, save myself. [13] Is it I, then, think you, that am worthy of the pine, or will you take and bestow it upon the one who is stuffed with the most meat? Take this answer, then, to those who sent you and say that it is they who break the law; for they go about wearing crowns and yet have won in no contest; and add that I have lent a great lustre to the Isthmian games by having myself taken the crown, which ought to be a thing for goats, forsooth, to fight over, not for men.”
[9.14] And on a later occasion when he saw a person leaving the race-track surrounded by a great mob and not even walking on the earth, but carried shoulder high by the throng, with some following after and shouting, others leaping for joy and lifting their hands towards heaven, and still others throwing garlands and ribbons upon him, he asked, when he was able to get near, what was the meaning of the tumult about him, and what had happened. [15] The victor replied, “I have won the two hundred yards dash for men, Diogenes.” “And what does that amount to?” he inquired; “for you certainly have not become one whit more intelligent for having outstripped your competitors, nor more temperate than you were, nor less cowardly, nor are you less discontented, nor will your wants be less in the future or your life freer from grief and pain.” [16] “No, by heavens,” said he, “but I am the fastest on foot of all the Greeks.” “But not faster than rabbits,” said Diogenes, “nor deer; and yet these animals, the swiftest of all, are also the most cowardly. They are afraid of men and dogs and eagles and lead a wretched life. Do you not know,” he added, “that speed is a mark of cowardice? It is in the order of things that the swiftest animals are likewise the most timid. [17] Heracles, for instance, on account of being slower than many and unable to catch evil-doers by running, used to carry a bow and arrows and to employ them against those who ran from him.” “But,” was the reply, “the poet states that Achilles, who was very swift-footed, was, nevertheless, very brave.” “And how,” exclaimed Diogenes, “do you know that Achilles was swift-footed? For he was unable to overtake Hector although he pursued him all day.
[9.18] “Are you not ashamed,” he continued, “to take pride in an accomplishment in which you are naturally outclassed by the meanest beasts? I do not believe that you can outstrip even a fox. And by how much did you beat the man after all?” “By just a little, Diogenes,” said he; “for you know that is what made the victory so marvellous.” “So,” replied Diogenes, “you are fortunate by just one stride.” “Yes, for all of us who ran were first-rate runners.” “How much more quickly, however, does a crested lark get over the course than you?” “Ah, but it has wings,” he said. [19] “Well,” replied Diogenes, “if the swiftest thing is the best, it is much better, perhaps, to be a lark than to be a man. So then we need not pity the nightingale or the hoopoe because they were changed from human beings into birds according to the myth.” “But,” replied he, “I, a man, am the fleetest of men.” “What of it? Is it not probable that among ants too,” Diogenes rejoined, “one is swifter than another? Yet they do not admire it, do they? Or would it not seem absurd to you if one admired an ant for its speed? [20] Then again, if all the runners had been lame, would it have been right for you to take on airs because, being lame yourself, you had outstripped lame men?”
[9.21] As he spoke to the man in this vein, he made the business of foot-racing seem cheap in the eyes of many of the bystanders and caused the winner himself to go away sorrowing and much meeker. [21] And this was no small service which he rendered to mankind whenever he discovered anyone who was foolishly puffed up and lost to all reason on account of some worthless thing; for he would humble the man a little and relieve him of some small part of his folly, even as one pricks or punctures inflated and swollen parts.
[9.22] On this occasion he saw two horses that were hitched together fall to fighting and kicking each other, with a large crowd standing by and looking on, until one of the animals, becoming exhausted, broke loose and ran off. Then Diogenes came up and placed a crown upon the head of the horse that had stood its ground and proclaimed it winner of an Isthmian prize, because it had “won in kicking.” At this there was a general laugh and uproar, while many applauded Diogenes and derided the athletes. They say, too, that some persons actually left without witnessing their performances — those who had poor lodgings or none.

## THE TENTH DISCOURSE: DIOGENES OR ON SERVANTS

THE TENTH DISCOURSE contains Cynic doctrine and belongs like the two preceding Discourses to Dio’s period of exile. He could not consistently have praised the condition of being without property except when he was in exile and without property himself, and the callousness with which he refers to Oedipus’ plight would have been out of keeping with his later life.
This Discourse has two parts. In the first it is shown to be better to be without a slave or any other piece of property if you do not know how to use it, and then the stronger statement is made that it is better to have no property at all. In the second part it is shown to be very dangerous and indeed harmful to consult a god when you do not know how to do so; while if you do know, it is unnecessary. To sum up: it is better to own no property and to consult no god.
The Tenth Discourse: Diogenes or On Servants
[10.1] Once when Diogenes was leaving Corinth for Athens, he met an acquaintance on the road and asked whither he was going; not, however, as most persons ask such questions and thereby make a show of interest in their friends’ affairs, yet have no sooner heard than off they go; no, but just as physicians ask the sick what they are planning to do, with the idea of giving them counsel and recommending what they should do and what they should avoid, so for the same purpose Diogenes asked the man what he was doing. [2] And the latter replied, “I am on my way to Delphi, Diogenes, to make use of the oracle, but when I was about to pass through Boeotia, my slave, who was with me, ran away, and so I am now bound for Corinth, for perhaps I may find the boy there.” At this Diogenes replied with that characteristic earnestness of his, “And so, you ridiculous fellow, are you attempting to make use of the god when you are incapable of using a slave? Or does not the latter strike you as less difficult and dangerous than the former for those who are incapable of using things properly? Besides, what is your object in hunting for the boy? Was he not a bad slave?” [3] “Yes, he certainly was,” replied the latter, “for although I had done him no wrong and, what is more, had made him my body-servant, he ran away.” “Perhaps he thought you were a bad master, for if he had thought you were a good one, he would never have left you.” “Perhaps, Diogenes, it was because he was bad himself.”
[10.4] “And so,” continued Diogenes, “because he thought you were bad, he ran off to avoid injury by you, while you are searching for him although you say he is bad, evidently with the desire to be injured by him! [4] Is it not true that bad men are injurious to those who own them or to those who use them, whether they be Phrygians or Athenians, bond or free? And yet no one hunts for a runaway dog that he thinks is no good; nay, some even kick such a dog if he comes back; but when people are rid of a bad man they are not satisfied, but go to a lot of trouble by sending word to their friends, making trips themselves, and spending money to get the fellow back again. [5] Now do you believe that more have been hurt by bad dogs than by bad men? To be sure we hear that one man, Actaeon, was slain by worthless dogs, and mad ones at that; but it is not even possible to say how many private individuals, kings, and whole cities have been destroyed by bad men, some by servants, some by soldiers and bodyguards, others by so‑called friends, and yet others by sons and brothers and wives. [6] Is it not, therefore, a great gain when one happens to be rid of a bad man? Should one hunt and chase after him? That would be like hunting after a disease one had got rid of and trying to get it back into one’s system again.”
[10.7] The man replied, “What you say is right enough, Diogenes, but it is hard for a man who has been wronged not to seek redress. That renegade suffered no wrong at my hands, as you see, and yet he dared to desert me. At my house he did none of the work that slaves perform, but was kept inside in idleness with nothing else to do but to accompany me.” [7] “Then were you doing him no wrong,” Diogenes answered, “by keeping him in idleness and ignorance and making him as bad as could be? For idleness and lack of occupation are the best things in the world to ruin the foolish. Therefore he was right in deciding that you were his undoing, and he was justified in running off, evidently so as to get work and not become worse and worse all the time by loafing, sleeping, and eating. But you, perhaps, think that it is a trifling wrong when anyone makes another man worse. And yet is it not right to keep away from such a man above all as the deadliest and most treacherous of enemies?”
[10.8] “What shall I do then?” he asked, “for I have no other domestic. [8] “Well, what will you do,” said he, “when you have no other shoes and those you have hurt and lacerate your feet? Will you not take them off as soon as you can and go barefoot? If, however, they fall off themselves, do you tie them on again and pinch your feet? Why, sometimes barefooted persons get about more easily than those who are badly shod; and similarly, many live more comfortably and with less annoyance without domestics than those who have many. See what worries the rich have. [9] Some are taking care of their sick slaves and wanting doctors and nurses — for it is usually the way of slaves to neglect themselves and not be careful when sick, partly through lack of self-control, partly because they think that if anything befalls them, it will be their master’s loss and not their own — other rich men inflict corporal punishment daily, others put fetters on them, while yet others are pursuing runaways. And so it goes; they can neither get away from home easily whenever they like nor have leisure if they stay at home. [10] And the most absurd thing of all is that they are often worse off for help than are the poor who keep no servants. Their situation reminds one of the centipede — I think you know it — which has innumerable feet and yet it is the slowest of creeping things. Do you not know that nature has made each man’s body to be sufficient to serve him? — feet so as to move about, hands to work with and to care for the rest of the body, eyes to see, and ears to hear. [11] Besides, she has made his stomach of a size in keeping, so that man does not require more nourishment than he is able to provide for himself, but this amount represents what is quite adequate for each man and best and most wholesome. Just as a hand is all the weaker for having more fingers than belong there naturally, and such a man is called a sort of cripple when he has an extra finger on the outside and cannot use the other fingers properly; so when a man gets equipped with many additional feet, hands, and stomachs, by heavens, he becomes not a whit more efficient for any task whatever, nor does he obtain what he must obtain any better, but rather, much less well and with greater difficulty.
[10.12] “You now provide food for one person,” he continued, “but then it was for two; and now, if any illness attacks you, you will have only yourself to treat, but then you had to take care of him, too, when he was ill. Now, when you are in the house all by yourself, you do not worry for fear that you may steal something yourself, nor, when you retire, lest your slave be awake and doing some mischief. All these things you should surely think about. And further, if you have a wife, she would then not have considered it her duty to look after you when she saw a domestic kept in the family, and she would have been likely to annoy you, sometimes by quarrelling with him, at other times by being hard to suit herself; but now she will be less discontented herself and will take better care of you. [13] Then too, wherever there is a servant, the children as they come on are at once spoiled and become lazier and more overbearing as long as there is someone to dance attendance upon them, and as they have somebody whom they look down upon. On the other hand, wherever the children are by themselves, they are much more manly and vigorous and learn to care for their parents from the very start.”
[10.14] “But, Diogenes, I am a poor man, and if it should not be to my advantage to keep the servant, I shall dispose of him.” “In that case,” he rejoined, “are you not ashamed, in the first place, to deceive the purchaser by selling him a bad slave? For either you will conceal the truth or be unable to sell him. [14] Further, if a man sells a cloak or a utensil that is not what it purports to be, or an animal that is diseased and useless, he must take it back; so, by selling you will be none the better off. And even if you shall be able to deceive somebody and he shall not be aware of the slave’s depravity, are you not afraid of the money? For perhaps you will buy another still worse slave if you chance upon a seller who is too shrewd for you. Or perhaps you will use the money received for something that will harm you. For by no means in every case does money help those who have gotten it; but men have suffered many more injuries and many more evils from money than from poverty, particularly when they lacked sense. [15] Are you going to try to secure first, not that other thing, which will enable you to derive profit from everything and to order all your affairs well, but in preference to wisdom are you going to seek riches or lands or teams of horses or ships or houses? You will become their slave and will suffer through them and perform a great deal of useless labour, and will spend all your life worrying over them without getting any benefit whatsoever from them. [16] Consider the beasts yonder and the birds, how much freer from trouble they live than men, and how much more happily also, his much healthier and stronger they are, and how each of them lives the longest life possible, although they have neither hands nor human intelligence. And yet, to counter-balance these and their other limitations, they have one very great blessing — they own no property.”
[10.14b] “Well, Diogenes, I believe I shall let my servant go, that is, unless he happens to come my way.” “Well, I declare,” exclaimed Diogenes, “that would be like your saying that you would not look for a horse that bites or kicks, but that if you came across him, you would go up to him for the fun of being bitten or kicked!”
[10.17] “Enough of that! But why do you object to my making use of the god?” “What! I object to your making use of the god if you can! That is not what I was saying, but that it is difficult, nay rather impossible, to make use of god or man or one’s own self if one does not know how. To make the attempt without knowing how is an extremely harmful thing. Or do you think that the man who is untrained in the use of horses could make use of them?” “I do not.” “And that, if, on the other hand, he should use force, he would get some harm from it rather than good?” “True.” [18] “Now then, will the man ignorant of the use of dogs be able to use them? Or does not the using of anything imply deriving benefit from it?” “I think so.” “No one, therefore, of those injured by a thing really uses the thing by which he is injured, does he?” “Certainly not.” “If, therefore, a man attempts to use dogs without knowing how, will he not receive damage from them?” “Very likely.” “He, therefore, will not be using them either, since use does not properly exist where damage results. And this is true not only in the case of dogs and horses but of oxen and mules also, and — what might surprise you more — not even the using of an ass or a sheep is a matter for inexperienced persons. [19] Or do you not know that from the keeping of sheep and the driving of asses some derive benefit and others injury?” “I do.” “Is it not simply because the inexperienced necessarily receive damage and those who know benefit, whether it be a question of asses or swine or geese or any other creature?” “It appears so.”
[10.20] “Furthermore, can it be that, as regards the use of things, the same reasoning does not hold good, but that one who has no knowledge of music could use a lyre, or would he not be ridiculous for trying, not to speak of his accomplishing nothing and ruining the lyre and breaking the strings? [20] Then again, if one who is not a flautist should wish to use the flute and appear in the theatres and play upon it, would he not be pelted as a punishment and be likely to smash his flute into the bargain? And if a man undertakes to handle a rudder without knowing how to steer, will he not assuredly capsize the boat in short order and cause the death of both himself and his fellow-passengers? Still further, does the use of spear or shield do any good when wielded by timid and inexperienced persons, or rather, would they not by such an attempt at use lose not only their weapons but their own lives as well?”
[10.21] “I grant it, Diogenes,” he replied; “but you are letting the sun down with your interminable questions.” [21] “And is it not better,” said he, “to let the sun go down if one is listening to useful words than to go on an idle journey?”
[10.22] “And likewise in almost all cases where practical experience in ‘using’ is lacking, it is difficult to be zealous, and the damage is likely to be greater where the things concerned are greater. Do you, then, think that the ‘use’ of an ass is like the ‘use’ of a horse?” “Of course not.” “Well, then, is the ‘use’ of a man like the ‘use’ of a god?” “But that question does not deserve an answer, Diogenes,” said he. “Is there anyone, then, who can make use of himself who does not know himself?” “How could he?” replied the other. “Because the one who does not understand man is unable to ‘use’ man?” “Yes, because he cannot.” [22] “So he who does not understand himself would not be able to make use of himself, would he?” “I believe not.” “Have you ever heard of the inscription at Delphi: ‘Know thyself’?” “I have.” “Is it not plain that the god gives this command to all, in the belief that they do not know themselves?’ “It would seem so.” “You, therefore, would be included in the ‘all’?” “Certainly.” “So then you also do not know yourself?” “I believe not.” “And not knowing yourself, you do not know man; and not knowing man, you are unable to ‘use’ man; and yet, although you are unable to ‘use’ a man, you are attempting to ‘use’ a god, an attempt which we agree is altogether the greater and more difficult of the two.
[10.23] “Tell me, do you think Apollo speaks Attic or Doric? Or that men and gods have the same language? Yet the difference is so great that the Scamander river in Troy is called Xanthus by the gods, and that the bird kymindis is called chalkis, and that a certain spot outside the city which the Trojans called Batieia was called the Sema Myrines by the gods. From this it naturally follows that the oracles are obscure and have already deceived many men. [24] Now for Homer perhaps it was safe to go to Apollo at Delphi, as being bilingual and understanding the dialects — if he really did understand them all and not just a few things, like persons who know two or three Persian, Median, or Assyrian words and thus fool the ignorant.
[10.25] “But how about you? Have you no fear, lest, when the god says one thing you may understand another? As, for instance, the story of the famous Laïus, the man who became the lover of Chrysippus; when he had gone to Delphi, he asked the god how he might have issue. The god bade him ‘not to beget, or, having begotten, to expose.’ [25] And Laïus was so foolish as to misunderstand both commands of the god, for he begot a son and did not rear him. Afterwards both he and all his house were destroyed, all because he had undertaken to ‘make use of’ Apollo when he lacked the ability. For if he had not received that oracle, he would not have exposed Oedipus, and the latter, having been reared at home, would not have slain Laïus, for he would have known that he was his son. [26] Then you have heard the story about Croesus, the Lydian, who, imagining that he was most faithfully carrying out the behests of the god, crossed the river Halys, lost his empire, was bound in chains himself, and barely escaped being burned alive. Or do you, pray, think that you are wiser than Croesus, a man of such wealth, who ruled over so many people and had met Solon and a great many other wise men? [27] As for Orestes, I presume you see him also in tragic performances inveighing against the god in his fits of madness, and accusing him as though he had counselled him to slay his mother. But do not imagine that Apollo ever ordered those that consult him to commit any dreadful or disgraceful act. It is as I said: although men are incapable of ‘using’ the god, they go ahead, try, and then blame him and not themselves.
[10.28] “You, then, if you follow my advice, will take heed and aim first to know yourself; afterwards, having found wisdom, you will then, if it be your pleasure, consult the oracle. [28] For I am persuaded that you will have no need of consulting oracles if you have intelligence. Why just consider! If the god bids you to read and write correctly when you have no knowledge of letters, you will not be able to do so; but if you know your letters, you will read and write well enough, even without any command from the god. In the same way, if he advises you to do anything else when you do not know how, you will not be in a condition to obey. You will not be able to live properly, either, if you do not know how, even though you importune Apollo day after day and he gives you all his time. But if possessed of intelligence, you will know of yourself what you ought to do and how to go about it.
[10.29] “There is one thing, however, that I forgot to say about Oedipus: He did not go to Delphi to consult the oracle but fell in with Teiresias and suffered great calamities from that seer’s divination on account of his own ignorance. For he knew that he had consorted with his own mother and that he had children by her; and subsequently, when perhaps he should have concealed this or made it legal in Thebes, in the first place he let everybody know the fact and then became greatly wrought up, lifted up his voice and complained that he was father and brother at once of the same children, and husband and son of the same woman. [30] But domestic fowls do not object to such relationships, nor dogs, nor any ass, nor do the Persians, although they pass for the aristocracy of Asia. And in addition to all this, Oedipus blinded himself and then wandered about blind, as though he could not wander while still keeping his sight.”
[10.31] The other on hearing this replied, “You, Diogenes, make Oedipus out to be the greatest dullard in the world; but the Greeks believe that, though he was not a fortunate man, he was the most sagacious of all men. At any rate they say that he alone solved the Sphinx’s riddle.” [31] At this Diogenes broke into a laugh and said, “He solve the Sphinx’s riddle! Have you not heard that the Sphinx prompted him to give the answer ‘man’? As to the meaning of ‘man,’ however, he neither expressed himself nor knew, but when he said the word ‘man’ he thought he was answering the question. It was just as if one were asked, ‘What is Socrates?’ and should give no other answer than the word ‘Socrates.’ Iº have heard someone say that the Sphinx stands for stupidity; [32] that this, accordingly, proved the ruin of the Boeotians in the past just as it does now, their stupidity preventing their knowing anything, such utter dullards they are; and that while the others had an inkling of their ignorance, Oedipus, who thought that he was very wise and had escaped the Sphinx, and who had made the other Thebans believe all this, perished most miserably. For any man who in spite of his ignorance deludes himself with the belief that he is wise is in a much sorrier plight than anyone else. And such is the tribe of sophists.”

## THE ELEVENTH DISCOURSE MAINTAINING THAT TROY WAS NOT CAPTURED

THE ELEVENTH DISCOURSE is interesting to us because it contains a great deal of the criticism of Homer from Plato’s time down; and because it seems to be so evidently just a “stunt” to show what could be done to disprove what everyone believed to be a fact, some would assign it to the period before Dio’s exile when he was a sophist. If this view is accepted, then the hostility Dio shows to the sophists is simply a pretence to make his auditors forget that he is a sophist himself, though he is at that very time performing one of the sophists’ most characteristic acts. Others feel that in view of the self-assurance of the speaker and the skill with which he presents his arguments, the speech belongs to Dio’s riper years and that he had some serious purpose in delivering it.
The Eleventh Discourse Maintaining that Troy was not Captured
[11.1] I am almost certain that while all men are hard to teach, they are easy to deceive. They learn with difficulty — if they do learn anything — from the few that know, but they are deceived only too readily by the many who do not know, and not only by others but by themselves as well. For the truth is bitter and unpleasant to the unthinking, while falsehood is sweet and pleasant. [2] They are, I fancy, like men with sore eyes — they find the light painful, while the darkness, which permits them to see nothing, is restful and agreeable. Else how would falsehood often prove mightier than the truth, if it did not win its victories through pleasure?
[11.3] But though, as I have said, it is hard for men to learn, it is immensely more difficult for them to unlearn and learn over again, especially when they have been listening to falsehood for a long time, and not only they themselves, but their fathers, their grandfathers, and, generally speaking, all former generations have been deceived. [3] For it is no easy matter to disabuse these of their opinion, no matter how clearly you show it to be wrong. I presume it is the same as when people have brought up supposititious children: it is hard to get these away from them afterwards when you tell them the truth, but if you had told them in the beginning, they would not have undertaken to rear them. So strong is this tendency that many prefer to claim bad children and to acknowledge them, to their own disadvantage, as their own, if they have originally believed them to be so, rather than good children of whom they learn long afterward.
[11.4] Therefore, I should not be surprised at you, men of Ilium, if you were going to put greater faith in Homer, notwithstanding his most grievous misstatements against you, than in my present statement of the truth, and hold him to be a wise and inspired man, and to teach your children his epic from their very earliest years, though he has nothing but denunciation for your city, and untruthful at that, but should refuse to listen to me when I tell the facts as they occurred, just because I was born many years later than Homer. [5] And yet most people say that time is the very best judge of things, but whenever they hear anything after a long lapse of time, they consider it incredible for that very reason. Now if I had the hardihood to contradict Homer before the Argives and to show the error in his poetry regarding the most important things, perhaps it would be natural for them to be angry at me and drive me from their city if they saw that I was dispelling and destroying the reputation which their city has derived from that source. You, on the other hand, should be grateful and hear me gladly, for I have been zealous in defence of your ancestors.
[11.6] I wish to say at the outset that this discourse must be delivered before other audiences also, and that many will hear about it, of whom some will not comprehend it, while others will pretend to treat it lightly though they really do not, and yet others will attempt to refute its arguments, especially, I suppose, the miserable sophists. I know quite well that it will not please you, I suppose, either. For most men are so completely corrupted at heart by opinion that they would rather be notorious for the greatest calamities than suffer no ill and be unknown. [7] Even the Argives, I believe, would not wish that the events told of Thyestes, Atreus, and the house of Pelops had happened otherwise, but would be greatly displeased if anyone disproved the myths set forth in the tragic poets by asserting that Thyestes did not defile the wife of Atreus and that the latter did not slay his brother’s sons nor cut them up and then serve their remains as a feast for Thyestes, or that Orestes did not kill his own mother. Should any man make any such assertions, they would feel aggrieved on the ground that they were being insulted. [8] I believe, too, that the feelings of the Thebans would be exactly the same, should anyone assert that there was no truth in their tales of woe and insist that Oedipus did not kill his father or wed his mother or blind himself, or that his sons did not die before the walls, each by the other’s hand, or that the Sphinx did not come and devour the children of the city. Nay, on the contrary, they are delighted to hear that Sphinx was sent to molest them because of Hera’s anger, that Laïus was slain by his son and that Oedipus, after what he did and suffered, wandered in blindness, [9] and that the sons of an earlier king, Amphion, who founded the city, were slain by the arrows Apollo and Artemis because they were the fairest among men. These are the themes that they can endure to hear interpreted by the flute or song in their theatres, and they offer prizes for the most pathetic interpretation of the story in words or in music; but the man who says that none of these things occurred they expel from their city. [10] So far have the majority carried their folly, and so completely has their infatuation got the better of them. They want to be talked about as much as possible, but as to the nature of what is said, they care not a whit. Generally speaking, men are too cowardly to be willing to undergo severe suffering, since they fear death and pain, but they highly prize being mentioned as having so suffered.
[11.11] But as for me, desiring neither to gain your favour nor to quarrel with Homer, much less to rob him of his fame, I shall try to show all the false statements I think he has made with regard to the events which happened here, and I shall use no other means of refuting him than his own poetry. In this I am simply defending the truth, and for Athena’s sake especially, that she may not be thought to have destroyed her own city unjustly or to have set her will against her father’s; but I speak no less in behalf of Hera and Aphrodite also. [12] For it is passing strange that the consort of Zeus did not consider him a competent judge of her beauty unless it should be pleasing to one of the shepherds of Ida also, and that she had any contest at all with Aphrodite for the prize of beauty, she who asserted that she was the eldest of the children of Cronus, as Homer himself has expressed it in the verse,
[11.11b] “Me as the eldest child hath Cronus the crafty begotten.”
[11.14] Furthermore, it is strange that she became so bitterly disposed towards Paris when she herself had entrusted the judgment to him; and yet, even in human affairs, the man who refers a dispute to arbitration does not regard the arbitrator as an enemy when the decision is not in his favour. It is strange also that Aphrodite should have bestowed a gift so scandalous, so fraught with evil and injustice, and that she was so regardless both of Helen, her own sister, and of Paris, who had decided in her favour, but rewarded the latter with such a marriage that he was destined through it to ruin himself, his parents, and his city. [14] Furthermore, the position of Helen, in my judgment, should not be ignored either; for she, the reputed daughter of Zeus, has become through unjust report a byword for disgrace, and yet has been held as a deity among the Greeks on account of her grace. Yet, though such very serious matters are involved in the present discussion, some of the sophists will declare that I am guilty of impiety in gainsaying Homer and will seek to slander me to their wretched disciples, for whom I care less than for so many monkeys.
[11.15] In the first place, they say that Homer being constrained by dire poverty, went begging throughout Greece, and yet they think such a man was unable to lie to please those whose dole he received and that he would not have recited the sort of stories that were likely to please them. Beggars of the present time, however, tell nothing but lies, we are told, and nobody would accept the evidence of any of them on any matter whatsoever or receive their praise as sincere. [16] For every one knows that they are compelled to cajole in all they say. It has been said, further, that some gave of their bounty to Homer the beggar, and others to Homer the madman, and it is believed that the people his day held him for a madman when he told the truth rather than when he distorted it. Now on this score I certainly have no criticism to bring against Homer; for there is nothing to prevent a wise man from going begging or pretending to be mad; but I do say that, according to the opinion those men entertain of Homer and his kind, there is probably nothing trustworthy in what he said.
[11.17] And, further, they do not think that falsehood was foreign to the character of Homer or that he made no use of it. Odysseus, at any rate, whom he praised most highly, he has represented as telling numerous falsehoods. He says, too, that Autolycus actually perjured himself and that he learned this from Hermes. And as regards the gods, practically every man, including his warmest admirers, admits that Homer does not speak a word of truth, and they seek to offer such excuses as this, that at such times he is not speaking his real mind but is using riddles and figures of speech. [18] Then what is to prevent him having spoken in the same way of men also? For when a man does not frankly tell the truth about the gods, but, on the contrary, puts the matter in such a way that his readers get the wrong idea of them and without any advantage to himself either, why would he hesitate to utter any falsehood whatsoever regarding men? That he has represented the gods as suffering pain, groaning, being wounded, and almost dying; that he tells of their amours withal, of their durance vile, of their giving bonds — on these matters I do not dwell; many others have already done that. For I have no desire to impeach Homer, but only to show how the truth stands. For indeed I shall even tell in his defence what I think to be the facts. [19] But this I do assert, that he made the freest possible use of falsehood and considered it no shame. Whether he was right in this or not, I forbear to consider now.
[11.20] Omitting, then, what he has pictured concerning the gods in his poems that is shocking and unbecoming to them, I say merely this, that he did not hesitate to repeat conversations of the gods, which he says they held with one another, not only those held in open court when all the other deities were present, but also those which some had privately with one, [20] as, for instance, when Zeus was angered at Hera for deceiving him and bringing on the defeat of the Trojans, or that previous conversation which she had with Aphrodite, in which she urged her to drug her father and lend her the love charm, to wit, the embroidered girdle — a request which she presumably made in secret. For it is unlikely even in human affairs that any outsider knows of those occasional scenes where husbands and wives fall out and abuse one another. Yet Homer has a passage in which Odysseus puts this matter properly so as not to seem a mere impostor, namely, where he tells of the debates which the gods held concerning him. For he says that he heard these debates from Calypso and that she had learned of them from someone else; but about himself Homer has made no such claim of having received his information from some god. [21] Such utter contempt did Homer show for men, and not a whit did he care if all his statements were regarded as false. For of course he did not imagine that he would convince anyone that he knew [of his own knowledge about] the debates among the gods. He tells also of the dalliance of Zeus and Hera that occurred on Mount Idea, and what words Zeus spoke before the meeting, as though he had personally seen and heard, and apparently no obstacle was presented by the cloud in which Zeus had wrapped himself to escape being seen.
[11.22] And to all this Homer has just added the finishing touch. For, not to keep us in doubt as to how he came to understand the gods, he talks to us almost as though he were acquainted with their language, tells us that it was not the same as ours, and that they do not apply the same names to the various things as we do. He draws attention to this in the case of a bird, which he says the gods call chalkis and men kymindis, and in the case of a place before Troy which men call Batieia, but the gods call the Sema Myrines. [23] And after telling us that the river is called not Scamander but Xanthus by the gods, Homer himself proceeds to call it by this latter name in his verses, as though it were his privilege not only to mix the various dialectalº forms of the Greeks freely, using now the Aeolic, now a Dorian, and now an Ionic form, but to employ even the Zeus dialect in the bargain. I have spoken in this way just as I have said, not by way of criticism, but because Homer was the boldest liar in existence and showed no less assurance and pride in his lying than in telling the truth. [24] Thus regarded, none of my statements seems strange and incredible any longer; nay, they appear as but insignificant human falsehoods in comparison with great superhuman ones.
[11.25] For when Homer undertook to describe the war between the Achaeans and the Trojans, he did not start at the very beginning, but at haphazard; and this is the regular way with practically all who distort the truth; they entangle the story and make it involved and refuse to tell anything in sequence, thus escaping detection more readily. Otherwise they are convicted by the very subject-matter. [25] This is just what may be seen happening in courts of justice and in the case of others who lie skilfully; whereas those who wish to present each fact as it really occurred do so by reporting the first thing first, the second next, and so on in like order. This is one reason why Homer did not begin his poem in the natural way. Another is that he planned especially to do away with its beginning and its end as far as possible and to create the very opposite impression concerning them. [26] That is why he did not dare to tell either the beginning or the end in a straightforward way and did not bind himself to say anything about them, but if he does make mention of them anywhere, it is incidental and brief, and he is evidently trying to confuse. For he was ill at ease with respect to these parts and unable to speak freely. The following device, too, is usually employed by those who wish to deceive: They mention some parts of the story and dwell upon them, but what they are particularly anxious to conceal they do not bring out clearly or when their auditor is paying attention, nor do they put it in its proper place, but where it may best escape notice. They do this, not only for the reason just mentioned, but also because lying makes them ashamed and reluctant to go on with it, especially when it is about the most important matters. [27] And so liars do not speak aloud when they come to this part. Some of them falter and speak indistinctly, others as if they themselves did not know but spoke from hearsay. He, however, who speaks the truth, does so without fear or reserve. Now Homer was not straightforward or frank when telling of the abduction of Helen or the fall of Troy. Nay, with all that boldness which I have said he had, he nevertheless flinched and weakened because he knew he was telling the reverse of the truth and falsifying the essential part of his subject.
[11.28] Or at what point of the story might Homer have more properly begun than with Paris’ wanton crime itself, which caused the war, since all the readers of his poem would then have joined in indignation and would have been eager for the outcome, and no one would have pitied the sufferings of the Trojans? For by so doing Homer would have been assured of a more sympathetic and interested audience. [29] If, on the other hand, he wished to describe the greatest and most terrible things, all forms of suffering and calamity, and, further, to tell what everybody was yearning above all things to hear, what greater or more awe-inspiring subject could he have chosen than the capture of the city? He could not have found an event in which a greater number of people met their death or where with greater pathos men fled to the altars of their gods or fought to save their children and wives, where royal matrons and maidens were dragged away to slavery and disgrace in foreign parts, some torn from their husbands, some from their fathers, others from their brothers, and some even from the holy images, while they beheld their beloved husbands weltering in their blood and yet were unable to embrace them or to close their eyes, and beheld their helpless babes dashed cruelly to earth. [30] Think, too, of the desecration of the sanctuaries of the gods, the plundering of stores of wealth, the whole city burnt to the very ground by the flames, the mighty cries of men, the clash of bronze, the roar of the flames as some were perishing in them and others were being hurled upon them. These things Homer makes Priam speak of as soon to come to pass, though he could perhaps have related them as actual events in any way that pleased him and with all that horror with which he was accustomed to describe other slaughters, thrilling the listener and magnifying the smallest details.
[11.31] If it was his wish to tell of the death of illustrious men, how is it that he omitted the slaying of Achilles, Memnon, Antilochus, Ajax, and of Paris himself? Why did he not mention the expedition of the Amazons and that battle between Achilles and the Amazon, which is said to have been so splendid and so strange? [32] Yet he represented the river as fighting with Achilles just for the sake of telling a marvellous tale, and also the battle between Hephaestus and the Scamander, and the mutual discomfitures, defeats, and woundings of the other gods, desiring something great and wonderful to say because he was at a loss for facts, though so many important facts were still left untouched. [33] So from what has been said it must be acknowledged that Homer was either unintelligent and a bad judge of the facts, so that he selected the more unimportant and trivial things and left to others the greatest and most impressive, or else that he was unable, as I have said, to bolster up his falsehoods and show his poetic genius in handling those incidents whose actual nature it was his purpose to conceal.
[11.34] We find this in the Odyssey also. For he tells of events in Ithaca and of the death of the suitors in his own person, but has not ventured to mention the greatest of his falsehoods — the story of Scylla, of the Cyclops, the magic charms of Circe, and further, the descent of Odysseus into the lower world. These he makes Odysseus narrate to Alcinous and his court, and there too he had Demodocus recount the story of the horse and the capture of Troy in a song of only a few lines. [35] As it seems to me, he had made no provision for these incidents at all inasmuch as they never occurred; but as his poem grew, and he saw that men would readily believe anything, he showed his contempt for them and his desire withal to humour the Greeks and the Atreidae, by throwing everything into confusion and reversing the outcome. At the beginning he says,
[11.34b] “O Goddess! sing the wrath of Peleus’ son,
Achilles; sing the deadly wrath that brought
Woes numberless upon the Greeks, and swept
To Hades many a valiant soul, and gave
Their limbs a prey to dogs and birds of air,
For so had Jove appointed.”
[11.36] In these verses he says that he will sing of the wrath of Achilles alone, and the hardships and destruction of the Achaeans, that their sufferings were many and terrible, that many perished and remained unburied, as though these were the chief incidents and worthy of poetic treatment, and that therein the purpose of Zeus was accomplished; all of which did indeed come to pass. But the subsequent shift of events, including the death of Hector, which was likely to please his hearers, he did not have in his original plan, nor the final capture of Ilium. For perhaps he had not yet planned to turn everything upside down, [37] but later, when he wishes to state the cause of the sufferings, he drops Paris and Helen, and babbles about Chryses and that man’s daughter.
[11.36b] I, therefore, shall give the account as I learned it from a certain very aged priest in Onuphis, who often made merry over the Greeks as a people, claiming that they really knew nothing about most things, and using as his chief illustration of this, the fact that they believed that Troy was taken by Agamemnon and that Helen fell in love with Paris while she was living with Menelaus; and they were so thoroughly convinced of this, he said, being completely deceived by one man, that everybody actually swore to its truth.
[11.38] My informant told me that all the history of earlier times was recorded in Egypt, in part in the temples, in part upon certain columns, and that some things were remembered by a few only as the columns had been destroyed, while much that had been inscribed on the columns was disbelieved on account of the ignorance and indifference of later generations. He added that these stories about Troy were included in their more recent records, since Menelaus had come to visit them and described everything just as it had occurred.
[11.39] When I asked him to give this account, he hesitated at first, remarking that the Greeks are vainglorious, and that in spite of their dense ignorance they think they know everything. He maintained that no affliction more serious could befall either individual or community than when an ignoramus held himself to be most wise, since such men could never be freed from their ignorance. [40] “And so ludicrous an effect have these men had upon you,” he continued, “that you say of another poet — Stesichorus, I believe it is — who followed Homer’s account and repeated these same stories about Helen, that he was struck blind by her as a liar and recovered his sight upon recanting. And though you tell this tale, you none the less believe that Homer’s account is true. [41] You say, too, that Stesichorus in his palinode declared that Helen never sailed off to any place whatsoever, while certain others say that Helen was carried off by Paris but came to us here in Egypt. Yet with all this uncertainty and ignorance surrounding the matter you cannot even thus see through the deception.” [42] This, he claimed, was due to Greek love of pleasure. Whatever they delight to hear from anyone’s lips they at once consider to be true. They give their poets full licence to tell any untruth they wish, and they declare that this is the poets’ privilege. Yet they trust them in everything they say and even quote them at times as witnesses in matters of dispute. Among the Egyptians, however, it is illegal to say anything in verse. Indeed they have no poetry at all, since they know this is but the charm with which pleasure lures the ear. “Therefore,” said he, “just as the thirsty have no need of wine, but a drink of water suffices them, so too seekers after truth have no need of verse, but it is quite enough for them to hear the unadorned truth. [43] Poetry, however, tempts them to listen to falsehood just as wine leads to over-drinking.”
[11.44] Now I shall endeavour to repeat what he told me, adding my reasons for thinking his words to be true. According to his account, Tyndareus, a wise man and a very great king, was born in Sparta. Then Leda and he had two daughters named just as we name them, Clytemnestra and Helen, and two large handsome twin sons, by far the best among the Greeks. [44] Helen was famed for her beauty, and while yet but a little girl had many suitors and was carried off by Theseus, who was king of Athens. Whereupon her brothers straightway invaded Theseus’ country, sacked the city, and recovered their sister. They freed all the women they had captured except the mother of Theseus, whom they carried off a prisoner in retaliation; for they were a match for all Greece and could have subjugated it easily had they so wished.
[11.45] I remarked that this was our account also and that, moreover, I had myself seen at Olympia in the rear chamber of the temple of Hera a memorial of that abduction upon the wooden chest dedicated by Cypselus. It represents the Dioscuri holding Helen, who is standing upon Aethra’s head pulling her hair, and there is also an inscription in ancient characters.
[11.46] “Thereupon,” so he continued, “Agamemnon, who feared the sons of Tyndareus — because he knew that, though he ruled the Argives, he was a stranger and a new-comer — sought to win them over by a marriage alliance and for that reason married Clytemnestra. Helen’s hand he sought for his brother, but the Greeks to a man declared that they would not permit it, since each one of them held that she was more closely akin to himself in blood than to Menelaus, who was a descendant of Pelops. Many suitors came from outside Greece also because of Helen’s reputation for beauty and the power of her brothers and father.”
[11.47] Now I thought that this last statement also was true, since the story goes that the daughter of Cleisthenes, the tyrant of Sicyon, was wooed by a man from Italy, and that Pelops, who married Hippodameia, the daughter of Oenomaüs, came from Asia, and that Theseus married one of the Amazons from the banks of the Thermodon [48] and, as that priest maintained, Io came to Egypt as a betrothed bride and not as a heifer maddened by the gadfly.
[11.49] “And,” he added, “since the great houses were accustomed, as we have seen, to make distance no barrier in forming marriage alliances with one another, it came to pass that Paris came as a suitor, trusting in the power of his father, who was the ruler of practically all Asia. Besides, Troy was not far distant, and what was especially important, the descendants of Pelops were already in power in Greece and much intercourse between the two peoples had developed. [49] So when he arrived with a great show of wealth and a great equipage for a mere wooing — and he was strikingly handsome too — he had an interview the Tyndareus and Helen’s brothers, in which he dwelt upon Priam’s empire, the extent of his resources, and his power in general, and added that he was next in succession. Menelaus, he declared, was but a private individual, since the royal prerogative descended to the children of Agamemnon, not to him. He urged that he himself enjoyed the favour of the gods and that Aphrodite had promised him the most brilliant marriage in the world. Accordingly, he had chosen Tyndareüs’ daughter, though he might have taken someone from Asia had he desired, whether an Egyptian or an Indian princess. [50] As for himself, he said that he was king of all other peoples from Troy to Ethiopia, for the Ethiopians were under the sway of his cousin, Memnon, who was the son of Tithonus, Priam’s brother. Many other enticements did he mention and he offered to Leda and the rest of the family gifts such as all the Greeks together could not have matched.
[11.51] “He urged also that he himself was of the same stock as Helen, since Priam was descended from Zeus and he had been told that she and her brothers were also his offspring; that it did not lie with Agamemnon and Menelaus to taunt him on his origin, for they themselves were Phrygians from Mount Sipylus; Tyndareus might much better ally his family with the ruling kings of Asia than with immigrants from that country. For Laomedon too had given his daughter, Hesione, to Telamon, who came with Heracles to Troy to sue for her hand, bringing the latter along also because he was the friend and ally of Laomedon. [51] And so Tyndareus consulted with his sons regarding these matters, and after due consideration they decided that it was not such a bad policy to ally themselves with the kings of Asia. For they saw that the house of Pelops had Clytemnestra, who was the wife of Agamemnon, and besides, if they became allied by marriage with Priam’s house, they would have control of affairs there too and nobody would stand in the way of their governing all Asia and Europe.”
[11.52] Agamemnon opposed all this, but the weight of the argument was too strong for him. [52] For Tyndareus assured him that it was quite enough for him to have become his son-in‑law and warned him that it was not at all advisable for his brother to have power equal to his own, since he might thus the more easily undermine him. Thyestes, for example, had not been loyal to Atreus. He dissuaded him most effectively, however, by urging that the other suitors from Greece would not tolerate their own rejection in his interest, neither Diomede nor Antilochus nor Achilles, but would take up arms, and so he would be in danger of making the strongest men among the Greeks his foes. [53] It would, therefore, be better not to leave any cause for war and dissension among the Greeks. This, however, so the priest said, angered Agamemnon, but he was unable successfully to oppose Tyndareus, who was master of his own daughter; and at the same time he stood in awe of Tyndareus’ sons. Thus it was that Paris took Helen as his lawful wife after gaining the consent of her parents and brothers, and took her home with him amid great enthusiasm and rejoicing. And Priam, Hector, and all the others were delighted with the union and welcomed Helen with sacrifices and prayers.
[11.54] “Then see,” continued the priest, “how foolish the opposite story is. Can you imagine it possible for anyone to have become enamoured of a woman whom he had never seen, and then, that she could have let herself be persuaded to leave husband, fatherland, and all her relatives — and that too, I believe, when she was the mother of a little daughter — and follow a man of another race? It is because this is so improbable that they got up that cock-and‑bull story about Aphrodite, which is still more preposterous. [55] And if Paris had any thought of carrying Helen away, why was the thing permitted to happen by his father, who was no fool, but had the reputation of having great intelligence, and by his mother? What likelihood is there that Hector tolerated such a deed at the outset and then afterwards heaped abuse and reproach upon him for abducting her as Homer declares he did? Here are his words:
[11.56] ‘O luckless Paris, nobly formed,
Yet woman-follower and seducer! Thou
Shouldst never have been born, or else at best
Have died unwedded. Thy harp will not avail,
Nor all the gifts of Venus, nor thy locks,
Nor thy fair form, when thou art laid in dust.’
[11.56b] How comes it that neither Helenus, seer though he was, nor Cassandra, the divinely inspired, nor even Antenor, reputed for his wisdom, gave a word of warning but afterwards were indignant and censured what had been done, when they could have kept Helen from their doors?
[11.57] “But that you may understand the excess of absurdity and see how the lies contradict one another, I cite what is told of Heracles sacking the city a few years previously on a slight pretext, angered because Laomedon had proved himself false in not giving him the horses which he had promised.” [57] And I recalled the verses in which Homer makes this statement:
[11.57b] “Hercules
The lion-hearted, who once came to Troy
To claim the coursers of Laomedon,
With but six ships, and warriors but a few,
He laid the city waste and made its streets
A desolation.”
[11.57c] “This is another popular misstatement,” said my friend, “for how could a city that had been thus taken and reduced to a wilderness have made such a wondrous recovery in so short a time so as to become the greatest of all in Asia? And how was it that Heracles, coming with only six ships, captured it when it had long been inviolate, while the Achaeans, who came with twelve hundred ships, could not capture it? Or how did Heracles, who slew Priam’s father, his mortal enemy, suffer Priam to become king instead of appointing someone else as ruler of the country? [58] But if it was as they say, how is that Priam and the Trojans did not dread a feud with the Greeks when they were aware that once before, and for a crime not so great, their people had lost their lives or been driven into exile? And though many recalled the capture, how is it that not one of them thought of any of these things,” cried the Egyptian, “and that not one of them stopped Paris?”
[11.58] “And how in the world after coming to Greece did he become intimate with Helen, and talk to her, and finally persuade her to elope, without thinking of parents, country, husband, or daughter, or of her repute among the Greeks, nay, without fearing even her brothers, who were still living and had once before recovered her from Theseus and had not brooked her abduction? [59] For if Menelaus was at home, how did he fail to notice what was going on, but if, on the other hand, he was away from home, how is it probable that his wife could meet and converse with a strange man and none of the others be alive to the plot, or that they should have concealed it if they knew of it; and further, that Aethra, the mother of Theseus, and she a captive, should have sailed away with her — For it was not enough that she, the daughter of Pittheus, should be a slave in Sparta, but she must deliberately follow along to Troy, [60] and Paris conducted the affair so boldly and with such licence that it was not enough for him to abduct the wife, but he took the treasure too! — and that not a single soul should have put out after him, none of the people of Menelaus or of Tyndareus, nor Helen’s brothers, though there were ships in Laconia and, what is more, though the pair had first to get down on foot from Sparta to the coast, and the news of her abduction was probably published at once? It would have been impossible for her to go with Paris in any such way, but possible if she was given in marriage with the full consent of her kinsfolk. [61] Thus only was it reasonable that Aethra arrived with her and that the treasures were taken along. None of these facts points to an abduction, but much rather to a marriage.
[11.62] “But when, as I said, Paris married Helen and departed with her, Menelaus brooded over the failure of his suit and upbraided his brother, declaring that he had been betrayed by him. [62] But Agamemnon was not so much concerned about him as he was fearful of Paris, who, he suspected, might interfere some time in the affairs of Greece, which concerned him now on account of his marriage with Helen. For this reason he convoked the others who had been Helen’s suitors and declared that they had one and all been outraged and Greece treated with contempt, and that the best woman among them had been given in marriage to barbarians and was gone, as though there were no one among themselves who was worthy of her. [63] In such terms, he sought to excuse Tyndareus and urged them to forgive him as having been blinded by the gifts; but he laid the entire blame upon Paris and Priam and exhorted his countrymen to make war together upon Troy, declaring that he had great hopes of taking it if they would all join in, and of their reaping a rich harvest of booty in that event and securing dominion over the fairest of countries; for of all cities, he said, Troy was the wealthiest, and its people had been enervated by luxury. Besides, he had many relatives in Asia who belonged to the house of Pelops and would make common cause with him because they hated Priam.
[11.64] “Now some of the suitors were furious on hearing these words, feeling that the occurrence was indeed a disgrace to Greece, while others expected to profit from the campaign; for the notion prevailed that Asia was a land of big things and of wealth untold. Now had it been Menelaus who had defeated them in the suit for Helen’s hand, they would not have cared themselves; nay, on the contrary, they doubtless would have rejoiced in his happiness. But as it was, they all hated Paris, each man feeling as though his own bride had been torn from him. Thus it was that the campaign began, and Agamemnon sent to demand the return of Helen on the ground that she, a Greek woman, should be married to some one of the Greeks.
[11.65] “When they heard this message, the Trojans were indignant and so was Priam, but Hector in particular, since Paris had lawfully received her at her father’s hand, and Helen had consented to be his wife, and yet the Greeks dared to use such impudent language. They perceived, they said, that the Greeks were seeking a pretext for war, and that they were not the aggressors, stronger though they were, but were defending themselves from attack. This is why the Trojans held out although they were assailed a long time and suffered many hardships — not so many as Homer says, but none the less their land was being wasted and numbers of their people were perishing — because they knew that the Achaeans were in the wrong and that Paris had done nothing improper. [66] If this had not been the case, would any of them, would any of the brothers or the father have endured it while their fellow-countrymen perished and the city was in danger of total destruction on account of Paris’ lawless act, when by the surrender of Helen they might have saved themselves? Yet according to the story, they even afterwards upon the death of Paris kept her and married her to Deïphobus, as though it were a very great boon to have her in the city and they feared she might desert them. [67] And yet if at first it was for love of Paris that she stayed in Troy, why did she consent to stay on as the story goes, she came to love Deïphobus too? For the Trojans in all probability could have been induced to surrender her, since they were ready to do that. If she, however, had reason to fear the Achaeans, it would only have been necessary to arrive at terms of peace first. Indeed, the Achaeans would have been glad to get out of the war, since they had lost many of their best men. Enough! There was no truth in the tale of Helen’s abduction, nor were the Trojans responsible for the war, and therefore they confidently expected victory. For men fight to the last ditch when they are being wronged.
[11.68] “I assure you,” the priest continued, “these things happened just as I have described them. For it is much more plausible that Tyndareus voluntarily formed a marriage alliance with the kings of Asia, that Menelaus was angered by having to give up his suit, that Agamemnon was alarmed lest the descendants of Priam should get control of Greece, hearing, as he did, that his own forefather, Pelops, who came from that same Asia, gained control of the Peloponnesus by his connection with Oenomaüs, and that the remaining leaders took part in the war, each with revenge rankling in his heart because he had not been the accepted suitor — this, I say, is much more plausible than that Paris fell in love with a woman he did not know and that his father permitted him to sail on such an enterprise, although, according to the story, Troy had but recently been taken by the Greeks and Priam’s father, Laomedon, slain; [69] and that afterwards in spite of the war and their countless hardships the Trojans refused to surrender Helen either when Paris was living or after he died, although they had no hope for safety; much more reasonable than that Helen gave her affection to a stranger with whom she had probably never come in contact at all and shamefully abandoned her fatherland, relatives, and husband to come to a people who hated her. How incredible too that no one should have nipped all these doings in the bud, or sought to catch her while she was hurrying to the sea, and on foot too, or pursued after she had embarked, and that the mother of Theseus, an elderly woman, who certainly hated Helen, should have accompanied her on the journey. [70] Afterwards too it is just as unlikely that on the death of Paris, whom they say Helen loved, she should have been the wife of Deïphobus — I suppose because Aphrodite had promised her to him also — and that not only she should have been unwilling to return to her husband, but that the Trojans should not have been unwilling, until their city was captured, to surrender her through compulsion. All that is improbable and indeed impossible. The same applies also to the following.
[11.71] “According to Homer, all the other Greeks, in spite of the fact that they had but a secondary interest in the dispute, took part in the expedition, while Castor and Pollux, who had been most deeply injured, did not go. [71] Homer in veiling this blunder has represented Helen as expressing her astonishment and then, made excuse for them himself by saying that they had died before this. Hence it is evident that they were still living when she was carried off. And yet did they wait ten years for Agamemnon to waste time and muster an army instead of pursuing their sister at once in the hope of taking her on the voyage if possible, or else waging war with their own force if they failed? [72] I cannot believe that they would have proceeded at once against Theseus, a man of Greek blood and peerless in valour, a ruler also of many and a comrade of Heracles and Peirithoüs with Thessalians and Boeotians to help him, and yet would not have proceeded against Paris but would have waited ten years for the Atreidae to muster their forces. Why, perhaps we should have expect Tyndareus himself to go and to find his years no hindrance. [73] He certainly was not older than Nestor or Phoenix either, nor was it any more fitting for them to feel resentment than for the father himself. Yet neither he nor his sons came nor did they approve of the expedition. The reason was, in fact, that they had voluntarily given Helen in marriage since they preferred Paris to the other suitors on account of the greatness of his kingdom and his manly qualities, for he was no man’s inferior in character. So neither did those men come to fight nor anyone from Lacedaemon; nay, it is also untrue that Menelaus led the Lacedaemonians and was king of Sparta while Tyndareus was yet alive. [74] It would have been strange indeed if Nestor, neither previous to his departure nor afterwards on his return from Troy, ceded his royal power and realm to his sons because of his age, and yet Tyndareus made way for Menelaus. These considerations also certainly raise serious difficulties.
[11.75] “Now when the Achaeans arrived, they were at first prevented from making a landing, and Protesilaüs with many others was slain in trying to force one. They therefore sailed across to the Chersonese after recovering their dead under truce, and there Protesilaüs was buried. After this they sailed around, effected a landing in the country, and sacked some of the towns, [75] whereupon Paris and Hector brought all the country folk into the city, but left the small towns on the coast to their fate through inability to furnish help everywhere. The enemy then sailed back to the harbour of the Achaeans and landed under of darkness, built a wall about their ships, and dug a trench because they feared Hector and the Trojans, and made preparations as if it were they who expected a siege.
[11.76] “Now while the Egyptians agree with Homer on the other points, they insist that he does not speak of the wall as having been finished, their reason being that he has represented Apollo and Poseidon as having at a later time sent the rivers against it and swept it away. The most plausible explanation of it all was merely the foundations of the wall that were inundated. Indeed, even in our day the rivers still make a marsh of the place and have deposited silt far out into the sea.
[11.77] “In the years that followed, the Greeks both did and suffered damage. However, not many pitched battles were fought, since they did not dare to approach the city because of the number and courage of the inhabitants. Skirmishes and forays there were on the part of the Greeks, and it was thus that Troïlus, still a boy, perished, and Mestor and many others; for Achilles was very skilful in laying ambushes and making night attacks. [78] In this way he almost caught and slew Aeneas upon Mount Ida and many others throughout the country, and he captured any forts that were poorly guarded. For the Achaeans had only a foothold for their camp and did not control the country. Here is a proof: Troïlus would never have ventured outside the walls for exercise, and far from the city too, nor would the Achaeans have tilled the Chersonese, as all agree they did, if they had been in control of the Troad, nor would they have gone to Lemnos for wine.
[11.79] “As the Achaeans met with misfortune in the war and realized none of their expectations, while more and more allies were flocking to the Trojans, hunger and disease began to oppress them and dissension broke out among their leaders, as generally happens to the unsuccessful side, not to the victors. [80] Even Homer acknowledges this, since he could not hide all the facts. For example, he tells how Agamemnon called an assembly of the Greeks as though intending to withdraw his army, undoubtedly because the troops were dissatisfied and wished to go home; how, too, the mob rushed to the ships, and Nestor and Odysseus barely managed to restrain them by invoking an old prophecy and declaring that their patience was required but a little while longer. [81] Yet in an earlier passage Agamemnon affirms that the seer who made this prophecy was never a true prophet.
[11.79b] “So far in the order of events Homer evidently does not treat his readers so cavalierly, but adheres to the truth fairly well except in regard to the abduction; this he does not relate in his own person as having taken place, but depicts Hector as upbraiding Paris, Helen as lamenting to Priam, and Paris himself as alluding to it in his interview with Helen, although this fact should have been presented with especial clearness and the greatest care. A further exception is the account of the single combat. [82] For since Homer cannot say that Menelaus slew Paris, he favours him with an empty honour and with a victory that is ridiculous by saying that his sword broke. Pray was it impossible for him to use Paris’ sword — when he was at any rate strong enough to drag him alive to the Achaeans, armour and all — but did he have to choke him with the strap of his helmet? [83] The single combat between Ajax and Hector is also a pure fabrication, and its ending is very absurd. Here again Ajax conquers, but there is no finality, and the two make gifts to one another as if they were friends!
[11.83] “But immediately after this Homer gives the true account, telling of the defeat and rout of the Achaeans, Hector’s mighty deeds, and the numbers of the slain, as he had promised to do, and yet with a certain reluctance and a desire to enhance Achilles’ glory. [84] Still he calls the city ‘beloved of the gods,’ and has Zeus say frankly that of all the cities beneath the sun he had loved Ilium best, and Priam and his people. Yet afterwards when the shell fell other side up, as the expression is, he made such a complete volte-face as to destroy that most beloved of cities most miserably on account of one man’s crime, if crime there was. However, Homer cannot ignore the story of Hector’s exploits when he routed and pursued the enemy even to the ships, and all the bravest were terror-stricken at the sight of him. Now he compares him to Ares, and again he says that his strength is like that of fire and not a single one dares to confront him, while Apollo stands at his side and Zeus from above signals his approval with wind and thunder. [85] Homer is reluctant to state these things so frankly, yet since they are true, he cannot refrain when once he has started. Then there is that dreadful night of discouragement in the camp, Agamemnon’s panic fear and lamentation, that midnight council, too, at which they deliberated on the method of flight, and that appeal to Achilles in the hope that he might find it possible after all to give them some aid.
[11.86] “For the following day Homer does grant some ineffectual display of prowess to Agamemnon, and to Diomede, Odysseus, and Eurypylus, and he says that Ajax did fight stoutly, but that the Trojans straightway gained the upper hand and Hector pursued them to the Achaean rampart and the ships. In this part of his narrative he is also evidently telling the truth and what really occurred, carried away as he is by the facts themselves. But when he glorifies the Achaeans, he is terribly embarrassed, and anyone can see that he is dealing in fiction: when, for instance, he has Ajax conquer Hector twice, but both times without result, once in the single combat and once again with the stone; again when Diomede conquers Aeneas, this time too without any result beyond merely capturing his horses, a statement that could not be disproved. [87] So not knowing what to credit the Achaeans with, he tells how Ares and Aphrodite were wounded by Diomede. In all such accounts it is clear that he is partial to the Achaeans and eager to extol them, but that, not knowing of anything to say that is true, he is led in his embarrassment to mention impossible and impious deeds — the usual experience of all who oppose the truth.
[11.88] “In the case of Hector, however, he shows no such a loss for something great and splendid to say — because, I believe, he is telling of actual events. Nay, he says that all fled pell-mell, even the bravest, whose names he gives, that neither Idomeneus stood his ground, nor Agamemnon, nor the two Ajaxes, but only Nestor, and he because he was forced to do so, and that he was almost captured; but that Diomede came to his relief, put on a bold front for a short time, then straightway wheeled about and fled — because, forsooth, some thunderbolts deterred him! [89] Finally, Homer tells how the trench was crossed, the ship-station besieged and the gates broken down by Hector, how the Achaeans were now crowded into their ships and all the war centred around the huts, how Ajax fights above on the ships and is finally dislodged by Hector and retires, while some of the ships are set on fire. [90] For here there is no Aeneas snatched away by Aphrodite, no Ares wounded by a mortal, nor any other such incredible tales; nay, here are true events, and they resemble actual occurrences. After this defeat the men who had been so completely crushed could by no possibility have renewed the struggle or even regained courage so as to be helped at all by the trench or the rampart, or even so as to save their ships. [91] For where now was any such strength to be found or any hero so invincible and possessed of a god’s might, that they who were already lost could have been saved by his appearance? How insignificant, for instance, was the number of Myrmidons compared with that of the entire Trojan army! — or the strength of Achilles, who was certainly not going to fight then for the first time, but had time and again in the many years preceding engaged in conflict, and yet neither slain Hector nor performed any other great exploit beyond capturing Troïlus, who was still a boy in years!
[11.92] “However, on reaching this point in his narrative Homer had no further concern for the truth but carried his shamelessness to extremes. He simply turned all the events topsy-turvy and reversed them, holding his hearers in contempt because he saw how easily they were duped in other matters, and particularly about the gods. Besides, there were no other poets or authors where one could read the truth, but he was the first who applied himself to the recording of these events, though he composed his poem many generations after the actual occurrences, when those who had known the facts had passed away along with their descendants, and only an obscure and uncertain tradition survived, as is to be expected in the case of events that have occurred in the distant past. Moreover, he intended to recite his epics to the masses and the common people, at the same time overstating the achievements of the Greeks, so that even the wiser persons would not refute him. [93] Thus it was that he went so far as to represent the opposite of what actually occurred.
[11.93] “For instance, when Achilles came to their aid during the assault on the ships, of necessity for the most part and to save his own skin, there was,” so the Egyptian claimed, “a partial rout of the Trojans, who withdrew from the ships forthwith, and the fire was quenched because Achilles had fallen upon them by surprise; and, in addition to the general retreat, Hector himself withdrew beyond the trench and the narrow space about the encampment, stoutly contesting each step, however, as Homer himself admits. [94] Then when they clashed and engaged again, Achilles and his followers fought most brilliantly and slew great numbers of the Trojans and their allies, notably Sarpedon, king of the Lycians and a reputed child of Zeus; and at the river ford there was a great slaughter of the fleeing Trojans, not fleeing in headlong confusion, however, but repeatedly turning to make a stand.
[11.95] Meanwhile Hector, experienced as he was in discerning the critical moment in a fight, kept on his guard, and as long as Achilles possessed his full strength and fought with youthful vigour, avoided him, contenting himself with cheering the others on. But later he noticed that Achilles was at last growing fatigued and had lost a great measure of his original impetus because he had not spared his strength in that struggle, and that he was exhausted by his reckless plunge into the river, swollen beyond its wont, and had been wounded by Asteropaeus, the son of Paeon. Then he saw, too, that Aeneas had engaged Achilles and, after a prolonged fight, had come off in safety at the moment he desired, and that the latter, rushing in pursuit of Agenor, had not been able to overtake him — and yet it was in this very point that Achilles chiefly excelled, in that he was reckoned the swiftest of foot. [96] And so it had become clear to Hector, a master in the art of war, that in view of all these conditions Achilles was an easy prey. Accordingly he boldly confronted him in the open plain. At first he gave way as if in open flight, but with the real purpose of testing him and, at the same time, wearying him by now making a stand and now fleeing. Then when he noted that he lagged and fell behind, he himself turned and fell upon Achilles, who was no longer able even to support his arms. He gave him battle, slew him, and, just as Homer has told it, possessed himself of his arms. He pursued the horses of Achilles too,” said the Egyptian priest, “but he did not bring them in though they too were caught. [97] The two Ajaxes with great difficulty managed to bring back the body of Achilles to the ships; for the Trojans, now feeling relieved and believing that they were victorious, were pressing on with less energy; while Hector, after donning the emblazoned arms of Achilles, continued the slaughter and pressed on in pursuit to the sea, just as Homer admits. Night fell, however, and prevented the burning of all the ships.
[11.98] “Yet in the face of these facts, Homer, finding it impossible to conceal the truth, says it was Patroclus who attacked with the Myrmidons after taking Achilles’ arms, that it was he who was slain by Hector, and that Hector in this manner won the arms. [98] And yet when the army was beset with so great peril, when the ships were now ablaze, and danger was almost at his own doors, how was it possible for Achilles, hearing that Hector declared he had found no foeman worthy of his steel and that Zeus was helping him and showing him signs of his favour, to remain in his tent, great champion that he was, if he really desired the salvation of the Achaeans, and to send a hero much his inferior and exhort him to lay on manfully and beat back the Trojans, only not only to engage with Hector? For it was quite impossible, I imagine, for Patroclus to choose with whom he would fight when once he had set forth. [99] But although he had such a poor opinion of Patroclus and distrusted him, did Achilles entrust his force to him, and his own weapons and horses, an insane course which no one would adopt regarding his own interests unless he wished to ruin everything? Then did he pray Zeus to bring back Patroclus with all his arms and comrades, while sending him forth so foolishly against a mightier man whose challenge to the bravest and one was willing to accept, [100] and whom Agamemnon declared frankly even Achilles so feared that he shrank from encountering him? Consequently, after making this plan, he lost, as Homer admits, both his comrade and many other men, while he almost lost his horses too, and did lose his arms. Now Achilles would never have done such things unless he was out of his senses, and if this had been the case, Phoenix would certainly have restrained him.
[11.101] “But, says Homer, Achilles did not wish to free the Achaeans from their peril speedily, not until he should receive his gifts. Besides, he had not yet given over his anger. [101] But what was there to prevent his coming forth and then nursing his wrath as long as he wished? Homer is aware of this inconsistency and hints that he tarried in his tent on account of a certain prophecy that declared he would surely die if he went out, thus laying the charge of cowardice squarely at his door. And yet on the strength of this prophecy he might have withdrawn from the expedition after his quarrel with Agamemnon. But what is more to the point, it happens that he had heard the warning which his mother gave with reference to Patroclus, whom he declares he loves as his own soul and after whose death he would wish to live no longer. [102] Yet when he saw him unable to lift the spear, he gave him the other things that were evidently proportionate in weight to the spear and did not fear that he would be unable to carry them. And this is just what Homer says did happen in the battle.
[11.102] “But it would be a long task to show up every misstatement. To any careful observer the falsehoods are self-evident, so much so that anyone with half a mind can see that Patroclus is little more than a counterfeit that Homer has substituted for Achilles in his eagerness to conceal the truth concerning that hero.
[11.103] “Then Homer had a misgiving that there might actually be some search for the tomb of Patroclus — it would naturally be, I suppose, clearly marked just as are the tombs of the other chieftains also who were slain at Troy — so, safeguarding himself against this, he says that Patroclus had no separate tomb but was buried with Achilles. Again, Nestor, who brought back the bones of Antilochus with him from Troy, did not ask to be buried with him, although Antilochus died for him, but the ashes of Achilles were mingled with those of Patroclus.
[11.104] “Now it was Homer’s especial aim to throw a veil over the death of Achilles and create the impression that he did not die at Troy; [104] but seeing the impossibility of this, since the tradition prevailed and his tomb was being pointed out, Homer, suppressing the account of his death by Hector’s hand, makes the contrary statement that the latter, who was so far superior to all other men, was slain by Achilles, adding that his corpse was dishonoured and dragged as far as the walls. Knowing, too, that there was a tomb of Hector where he was honoured by the citizens, Homer goes on to say that his body was returned by command of Zeus upon payment of a ransom, [105] Aphrodite and Apollo having in the meanwhile cared for its preservation. But not knowing what disposition to make of Achilles — for he must have been slain by some one of the Trojans, since Homer had no idea of representing him as dying by his own hand as he did Ajax, thereby denying his slayer the glory of the deed — Homer says that Paris slew him, Paris, whom he has depicted as the most base and cowardly of the Trojans, and as having been almost captured alive by Menelaus, whom he has depicted as being always reviled as a faint-hearted spearman and a name of reproach among the Greeks; and he does this, we see, [106] in order to steal the glory for Hector — who undoubtedly slew Achilles — thus making the hero’s end much less creditable than it really was and much more inglorious.
“Finally, he brings forth Achilles, who was in fact already slain, and has him do battle with the Trojans. But his arms are not at hand but are in Hector’s possession — for here Homer did permit one truth to escape his lips — and so he says that Thetis brought from heaven the arms made by Hephaestus, letting Achilles in this way, forsooth, rout the Trojans single-handed — a ridiculous conception, wherein Homer has ignored all the other Achaeans as though not a single man were available. And having once given himself the liberty of making this misrepresentation, he went on to distort the entire story. At this point he makes the gods fight with one another, thus virtually acknowledging his utter disregard for the truth. [107] Moreover, he recounts Achilles’ heroic deeds in a manner very weak and unconvincing. Now the hero is fighting with a river, now threatening Apollo and pursuing him, the entire narrative at this point showing how well-nigh desperate the poet was. For when he is telling the truth, he is not so unconvincing or dull. Once when the Trojans were hard bestead to withdraw safely into the city, Homer has represented the splendid heroism with which Hector awaited Achilles outside the city walls, deaf to the prayers of father and mother. Then he circles the city in flight when he might have entered it, and Achilles is unable to catch him, though he is always represented by Homer as the swiftest of men. [108] Meanwhile all the Achaeans were looking on as if attending a show, and none rendered Achilles any help after all they had suffered at Hector’s hands and though they so hated him that they afterwards even wounded his dead body. Then he makes Deïphobus come forth from the walls — or, rather, Athena in his guise — and deceive Hector and steal his spear from him in the duel, the poet being at his wits’ end how to despatch Hector, and dazed as it were by his falsehood, so that he actually describes the fight as if in a dream. At any rate the account of that struggle bears the closest resemblance to a nightmare.
[11.109] “When he reached this point, Homer gave up, not knowing how to continue his work and being dissatisfied with his falsehoods. He merely added some sort of funeral games, a perfectly ridiculous thing, then the arrival of king Priam in the Greek camp at the tent of Achilles without the knowledge of any of the Achaeans, and the ransom of Hector. But of the help which Memnon and the Amazons brought, great and splendid episodes though they were, not a word did he venture to speak, nor of the death of Achilles, nor of the capture of Troy. [110] Homer, methinks, did not have the heart to depict Achilles, who had long been dead, as being slain again, or the defeated and routed as victorious, or this conquering city as being sacked. Then later writers, because they were deceived and the falsehood was now generally accepted, henceforth wrote without misgiving. But the actual course of events was as I have given it.
[11.111] “Now when Achilles, in his defence of the ships, had been slain by Hector, the Trojans, just as they had done before, bivouacked hard by the ships in order to keep watch on the Achaeans, who they suspected would flee during the night. But Hector, rejoicing in his success, withdrew into the city to be with his parents and wife, leaving Paris in command of the forces. [112] He with the host of the Trojans lay down to rest, as was natural, since they were exhausted and suspected no evil and, moreover, had been completely successful. But meanwhile, after Agamemnon had taken counsel with Nestor, Odysseus, and Diomede, they quietly launched the majority of the ships, realizing that on the preceding day they had come near being destroyed, so even flight would not again be possible; and in fact a considerable part of the fleet had fallen prey to the flames, not merely the one ship of Protesilaus. Having launched their ships, therefore, they sailed off to the Chersonese, leaving behind many of their prisoners and a good deal of their other property.
[11.113] “In the morning when the fact became evident, Hector was filled with angry indignation and upbraided Paris for letting the enemy escape out of his hands. The Trojans then burned the huts and plundered what had been left behind, while the Achaeans, after taking counsel from their position of safety — for Hector and his people had no fleet in hand in which to cross over to attack them — unanimously decided to withdraw, since they had lost many of their people and their bravest warriors. There was the danger, however, that the Trojans might build themselves ships and sail at once against Greece. [114] They were therefore obliged to remain and live by plundering as at first, in the hope of making peace with Paris when he became wearied, and departing after establishing friendly relations. They did as they had decided and remained across the water.
[11.115] “At this juncture Memnon came from Ethiopia to aid the Trojans, and the Amazons from Pontus, as well as other allies in great numbers when they learned that Priam and Hector were successful and that the Achaeans now were all but utterly destroyed. Some came out of friendship, others fearing the power of Troy, since it is not those who have met with defeat or are in sore straits but those who have conquered and overcome all their enemies that everyone is eager to help. [115] The Achaeans also sent for whatever reinforcements they had at home, for no one outside of Greece any longer paid any heed whatsoever to them. Thus it was that Neoptolemus, son of Achilles, came although he was still very young, and Philoctetes, hitherto neglected because of his ailment, and other equally poor and feeble recruits from home. Upon their arrival the Achaeans having revived their strength, recrossed to Troy, and threw up another much smaller wall, not in the same place as previously along the shore, but on the higher part of it, which they seized. [116] Some of the ships lay at anchor close to this rampart, others remained across the water. For since the Greeks had no hope of winning but wished to make terms, as I have said, they did not prosecute the war vigorously, but in a somewhat half-hearted way and with their minds set rather upon returning home.
[11.117] “They resorted to ambush, therefore, and guerilla warfare for the most part; but on one occasion, when an unusually fierce struggle arose over an attempt of the Trojans to raze their stronghold, Ajax was slain by Hector, and Antilochus, while defending his father, by Memnon. [117] But Memnon too was wounded by Antilochus and died while being carried off the field. Then too it was that the Achaeans enjoyed a period of success as never before. For not only was Memnon, who was held in great esteem, wounded mortally but the Amazon also, who flung herself upon the ships with unusual ferocity and tried to fire them, was killed by Neoptolemus, who fought from his ship with a naval pike; and Paris was slain, pierced by Philoctetes’ arrow. [118] Thus the Trojans in turn were disheartened and wondered whether they ever would be rid of the war or any advantage would redound to them through victory. Priam too was a changed man after the death of Paris, through his deep grief for him and his fear for Hector, while the deaths of Antilochus and Ajax left the Achaeans in a much weaker condition. The result was that they sent an embassy offering to withdraw as soon as peace was made and oaths taken that the one people would not invade Asia nor the other, Argos. [119] Thereupon Hector spoke against this, for the Trojans, he said, were far stronger and would capture the fortification by assault; but what angered him most was the death of Paris. However, upon the appeal of his father, who urged his fullness of years and the loss of his sons, and influenced by the desire of the people of the city to be relieved of the war, he consented to the cessation of hostilities, but insisted that the Achaeans pay the expenses of the war and make reparation because they had been the aggressors, had pillaged the country for many years, and had slain Paris along with many other brave warriors, not because he had done them any injury but because he had been preferred in the wooing of Helen and had won a wife from Hellas, given by those who had the right to do so. [120] Against this, Odysseus, who was a member of the peace embassy, protested, pointing out that the achievements of the Achaeans were no less than their defeats and was for laying the blame for the war upon their enemies. Paris, he thought, had no business, when there were so many women in Asia, to go from there to Greece to sue for a wife and then return after snapping his fingers at her chieftains and triumphing through the power of his wealth. His errand, he insisted, had been no simple courtship; nay, they were not oblivious of the fact that by its means Paris was plotting against Greek interests. He therefore insisted that this be given up for the future, since both sides had suffered so much, and that too although the Atreidaeº were already connected with the Trojans by marriage ties and kinship through Pelops. [121] With regard to indemnity, he had only ridicule. The Greeks, he said, had no means; nay, even the larger part of the army was serving voluntarily on account of the poverty of the mainland. This he urged to deter the Trojans from a campaign against Greece, and said that if any indemnity should be necessary for propriety’s sake, he was ready with a plan. For the Greeks would leave a very large and beautiful offering to Athena and carve upon it this inscription: “A Propitiation from the Achaeans to Athena of Ilium.” This, he explained, conferred great honour upon the Trojans and stood against the Greeks as an evidence of their defeat. [122] He exhorted Helen also to interest herself in the peace, and she gladly lent her help, for it pained her that she was blamed for the many misfortunes of the Trojans. So hostilities were brought to an end, and a truce was made between the Trojans and the Achaeans. But here too Homer has distorted the facts though he knew what occurred. He says that the Trojans broke the truce; and Hector and Agamemnon together with the other prominent chieftains had only sworn to each other that the Achaeans would never invade Asia so long as the family of Priam was on the throne, and that the descendants of Priam would not invade the Peloponnese, Boeotia, Crete, Ithaca, Phthia, or Euboea. These were the only countries that they specified; [123] as regards the others, the Trojans refused to give their oath, nor were the Atreidaeº insistent. When this compact had been sworn to, the horse, a huge structure, was completed by the Achaeans and conveyed up to the city by the Trojans, who removed a portion of the walls when the gates did not admit its passage. Hence the ridiculous story of the capture of the city by the horse. The army departed under truce in this way. Then Hector gave Helen to Deïphobus as his wife, for he was the best of the brothers next to himself. [124] His father died as the most fortunate man in the world except for the grief he bore for the sons who had perished. Hector too died full of years at the end of a long reign after subduing most of Asia, and was buried outside the city. His kingdom he left to his son Scamandrus.”
[11.125] Though this is the true account, I see clearly that no one will accept it, but that all save the thoughtful will declare it to be false. By “all” I mean you as well as the Greeks. For calumny is extremely hard to overcome, and especially when men have been deceived for a long time. [125] But rid yourselves of your opinions and prejudices and consider how ridiculous the opposite story is. A whole army was hidden in a horse and yet not a single Trojan noticed it or even surmised it in spite of the fact that they had an unerring prophetess among them, but by their own efforts they brought the enemy within the city. Then before this, when all were defeated, one man appeared unarmed and proved able by the power of his voice to put to flight so many thousands; and after this, being without arms, he received fresh weapons from heaven and overwhelmed the victors of but the previous day and unaided chased them all from the field. [126] Can you believe, further, that this same Achilles, so pre-eminent a hero, was slain by the most faint-hearted man in the world, as the Trojans themselves confess, that while one man was slain it was another who was stripped of his arms, and that this hero was the only one among the chieftains to be given no burial-place; that yet another, and he one of the bravest, who fought so many years, was saved from the hands of the enemy only to slay himself in a fit of anger, and that although he was looked upon as the most dignified and gentle-mannered among the allies? [127] And finally, the poet, who set out to tell of the Trojan war, omitted the most glorious and important events and did not even give an account of the capture of the city!
The following are some of the things that he mentions in his poem: — When the Achaeans had already been worsted, and more than once, Achilles’ own force included, and he was the sole survivor, he made a great change in the situation by slaying Hector and was himself slain by Paris, who was the meanest of the Trojans, as they themselves admit, and when Patroclus was slain, it was Achilles whose body was stripped and whose arms were taken, while Patroclus was not buried. [128] Then since there was a grave of Ajax and everyone knew that he died at Troy, he slew himself simply to deprive the man who slew him of honour! The Achaeans fled in silence from Asia after burning their huts, and their naval camp was set on fire by Hector and their rampart captured. Then they erected a votive offering to Athena and carved an inscription upon it, as is the custom for the vanquished, but none the less they captured Troy and an army of men was hidden in the wooden horse. The Trojans suspected what was afoot and purposed to burn the wooden horse or cut it to pieces, and yet did neither the one nor the other, but ate and slept, in spite of Cassandra’s forewarning too. [129] Does not all this in reality remind one of dreams and wild fiction? In the book “Dreams” by Horus people have such experiences, imagining at one time that they are being killed and their bodies stripped of arms and that they rise to their feet again and fight unarmed, at other times imagining they are chasing somebody or holding converse with the gods or committing suicide without any cause for the act, and at times, possibly, flying offhand or walking on the sea. For this reason one might well call Homer’s poetry a kind of dream, obscure and vague at that.
[11.130] The following also is worth thinking about along with what has been said above. Everybody is agreed that the stormy season had already set in when the Achaeans sailed from Asia and that for this reason the greater part of their expedition came to grief off Euboea; further, that they did not all take the same course, since a division arose in the army and between the Atreidaeº, some joining Agamemnon, others Menelaus, while yet others, whom Homer mentions in the Odyssey, departed by themselves. For it is reasonable to suppose that if things were going well, there would have been unanimity and the fullest obedience to the king, and that Menelaus would not have quarrelled with his brother just after receiving the great favour from him; but in defeat and failure all such things are sure to happen. [131] Be it noted also that when an army is in fear and flight, it retires with the greatest speed from the enemy’s country and takes no chances by remaining, while a victorious army that has added to its own resources a great number of prisoners and great supplies awaits the safest moment for withdrawing, since it both controls the country itself and has a great abundance of everything, but would not, after waiting ten years, have come within a little of being wholly destroyed.
[11.132] The domestic disasters also which befell those who reached their homes are not the least evidence of their discomfiture and weakness. [132] It is certainly not the rule for attacks to be made on men who are victorious and successful. Such men are feared and admired. The unsuccessful, however, are held in contempt by outsiders and even by some of their own kinsfolk. It was undoubtedly because of his defeat that Agamemnon was despised by his wife, that Aegisthus attacked and easily overcame him, and that the Argives took the matter into their own hands and made Aegisthus king. They would not have done it had he slain an Agamemnon who had returned with all his glory and power after conquering Asia. [133] Diomede too, who won a reputation second to no one in the war, was exiled from his home, and so was Neoptolemus, whether by Hellenes or by certain others. Then soon after they were all driven from the Peloponnese and the family of the Pelopidae came to an end because of this calamity, while the Heraclidae, hitherto a weak and despised family, came in with Dorians.
[11.134] Odysseus, however, delayed voluntarily, in part because he was ashamed, and in part because he suspected the situation; and on account of this, the youth of Cephallenia set themselves to court Penelope and seize his property, while of Odysseus’ friends not one came to his aid, not even Nestor though so near. For all who had taken part in the expedition were humbled and in poor circumstances; whereas, had they conquered, they would necessarily have inspired fear in all and no one would have attacked them.
[11.135] Menelaus did not return to the Peloponnesus at all but remained in Egypt. Among other proofs of his arrival there is the fact that a province was named after him; which would not have been the case had he been a wanderer and stayed for only a short period. But he married the king’s daughter and told the priests the story of the expedition, concealing nothing. [136] One could almost say that Homer is not only well acquainted with all this account, but also that he is hinting at it when he says that Menelaus was sent by the gods after his death to the Elysian fields, where there is neither snow nor storm but sunshine and balmy air throughout the year, for such is the climate of Egypt. It seems to me that some of the later poets too have an inkling of the facts. One of the tragic poets, for instance, says that Helen immediately upon her return was the object of Orestes’ plotting and that on the appearance of her brothers she was not to be found. Now the poet would never have so represented it in his play had it been an established fact that Helen lived in Greece after the war, and as the wife of Menelaus.
[11.137] This is the gloomy and weak state into which the fortune of Greece fell after the war, while that of Troy became much brighter and more glorious. On the one hand, Aeneas was sent by Hector with a large fleet and force of men and occupied Italy, the most favoured country in Europe; and, on the other, Helenus penetrated into the interior of Greece and became king of the Molossians and of Epeirus near Thessaly. And yet which was the more probable: that a vanquished people should sail to the land of their conquerors and reign among them, or that, on the contrary, the victors should sail to the land of the conquered? [138] Furthermore, if, when Troy fell, Aeneas, Antenor, Helenus, and their people fled, why did they not betake themselves anywhere else rather than to Greece and Europe, or content themselves with occupying some place in Asia, rather than sail straight to the land of those who had driven them out? And how did they all come to rule over regions by no means small or obscure, when they might have seized Greece also? But, one says, they refrained on account of their oaths. Still, Helenus cut off no small part of it, namely, Epirus. Then Antenor acquired dominion over the Heneti and the very best land about the Adriatic, while Aeneas became master of all Italy and founded the greatest city in the world. [139] Now it does not stand to reason that men driven into exile and crushed by calamities at home accomplished such things, but rather that they would have been satisfied to be allowed to settle anywhere, especially when one considers with what humble resources whether of men or of money they would have had to come, fleeing through the midst of the enemy, their city lying in ashes and everything lost, when it would have been hard for the young and vigorous to save even their lives, to say nothing of setting forth with wives, children, parents, and property, when, to make matters worse, their city had been taken suddenly and contrary to their expectation, and they would not have departed gradually as men are wont to do when there has been a formal agreement. Nay, what did happen was a thing that could happen.
[11.140] The story goes that after the Achaeans sailed away there was a great multitude assembled in the city, and that the allies were not all inclined to depart, and that, further, Hector discovered that Aeneas would not be satisfied if he did not get some share in the royal power, as Priam had promise him, so he claimed, if he saw the war through to the end and expelled the Achaeans; so Hector sent the colonists forth, generously supplying means and despatching with Aeneas as large a force as he wished, with all goodwill. [141] He assured Aeneas that he was fully entitled to reign and have an authority no whit inferior to his own, but that it was better for him to get another country; because it was not impossible for Aeneas to become master of all Europe, and in that event he had hopes that their descendants would be rulers of both continents as long as their race endured. [142] Accordingly, Aeneas adopted the suggestion of Hector, partly to please him, partly because he hoped to achieve greater things. So thanks to vigour and spirit the colony became an actuality and under the guidance of fortune’s favourites was a power at once and in future times. Then Antenor, so they say, on observing Aeneas’ preparations, likewise desired to get a kingdom in Europe. So another similar expedition was fitted out. The story adds that Helenus, complaining that he was getting less than Deïphobus, petitioned his father, obtained a fleet and army, and sailed to Greece as though it were waiting for him, and occupied all the territory from which the treaties did not exclude him. [143] And so it happened that when Diomede in exile from Argos heard of Aeneas’ expedition, he came to him, since peace and friendship existed between them, and asked for his help, after relating the misfortunes that had befallen Agamemnon and himself. Aeneas welcomed him and his little fleet of ships and gave him a small part of his army, since he had brought all the country under his sway. [144] Later those Achaeans who had been driven out by the Dorians, not knowing in their weak condition which way to turn, made their way to Asia and to the descendants of Priam and Hector as to friends and allies, and then, with the friendly consent of these, founded Lesbos, whose inhabitants allowed them to do so through friendship, and other not inconsiderable places.
[11.145] If anyone does not accept this account under the influence of the old view, let him know that he is unable to get free of error and distinguish truth from falsehood. [145] The fact that a thing has long been accepted by foolish people is not a weighty consideration nor the fact that the falsehoods were current among those of former times. You see, in regard to many other matters also men differ and hold contrary views. In regard to the Persian War, for instance, some hold that the naval engagement off Salamis took place after the battle of Plataea, others that the affair at Plataea was the last of the events; yet a record was made immediately after the events occurred. [146] For most people have no accurate knowledge. They merely accept rumour, even when they are contemporary with the time in question, while the second and third generations are in total ignorance and readily swallow whatever anyone says; as, for example, when people speak of the Scirite company in the Lacedaemonian army, which, as Thucydides says, never existed, or when the Athenians give the highest honours to Harmodius and Aristogeiton, under the impression that they had freed the city and slain the tyrant. [147] But why speak of human affairs when people maintain and dare to say that Uranus was mutilated by Cronus, and the latter by Zeus? Just as soon as anyone has thought of an absurdity, as often happens, it is absurd to refuse to believe it.
[11.148] But I wish to offer a defence in behalf of Homer by saying that there is nothing wrong in accepting his fictions. First, they are much less serious than the falsehoods told about the gods. Second, there was some advantage in them for the Greeks of those days, since they saved them from being alarmed in case war, as was expected, arose between them and the people of Asia. We can pardon one who, being a Greek, used every means to aid his countrymen. [148] This is a very common device. I heard, for instance, a Mede declare that the Persians concede none of the claims made by the Greeks, but maintain that Darius despatched Datis and Artaphernes against Naxos and Eretria, and that after capturing these cities they returned to the king; that, however, while they were lying at anchor off Euboea, a few of their ships were driven on to the Attic coast — not more than twenty — and their crews had some kind of an engagement with the inhabitants of that place; [149] that, later on, Xerxes in his expedition against Greece conquered the Lacedaemonians at Thermopylae and slew their king Leonidas, then captured and razed the city of the Athenians and sold into slavery all who did not escape; and that after these successes he laid tribute upon the Greeks and withdrew to Asia. Now it is quite clear that this is a false account, but, since it was the natural thing to do, it is quite possible that the king ordered this story to be spread among the inland tribes in order to keep them quiet. So if Homer used this same device we ought to forgive him.
[11.150] Perhaps, however, some uninformed person may say, “It is not right for you to disparage the Greeks in this way.” Well, the situation has changed and there is no longer any fear of an Asiatic people ever marching against Greece. For Greece is subject to others and so is Asia. Besides, the truth is worth a great deal. And in addition to all this, had I known that my words would carry conviction, perhaps I should have decided not to speak at all. But nevertheless I maintain that I have freed the Greeks from reproaches greater and more distressing. [151] That a man should fail in the capture of a city is nothing unusual, nor is it, either, to have made a campaign against a country which was no concern of theirs and then to have retreated after making peace; and for a man of noble spirit to fall in battle by the hand of a worthy foe, that too is no reproach. Nay, a man who is on the point of death might well meet it as Achilles is represented to have done when he said,
[11.150b] “Would that Hector, the most brave
Of warriors reared upon the Trojan soil,
Had slain me.”
[11.152] But for the bravest of the Greeks to be slain by the most contemptible man among the enemy, that indeed is a great reproach; and likewise for one who was reputed to be a man of intelligence and the most temperate of the Greeks to begin by slaughtering the sheep and oxen when he meant to slay the kings and then to despatch himself, all for the sake of a suit of armour, is most shameful. [153] Furthermore, when Astyanax, the son of a noble warrior, is so brutally slain by being hurled from the city walls, and indeed by the united decision of army and kings; when the maiden Polyxena is sacrificed at the tomb and such libations are made to the son of a goddess; when Cassandra, a consecrated maiden and priestess of Apollo, is outraged in the sanctuary of Athena while clinging to the goddess’ statue, and this is done, not by some obscure or worthless man, but by one of the most prominent leaders; [154] when Priam, the king of Asia, in extreme old age is wounded beside the altar of Zeus, from whom he was descended, and is slaughtered upon it, and no obscure man perpetrates this deed either, but the very son of Achilles, in spite of the fact that Achilles, his father, had entertained Priam and spared his life on a former occasion; when Hecuba, the sorrow-stricken mother of so many children, is given to Odysseus to her shame and under the weight of her miseries is changed to a dog — an utterly ridiculous idea; and when the lord of the Greeks takes as his bride that holy virgin of Apollo, whom no one had dared to marry for fear of the god — an act for which he is held to have met a deserved fate — how much better for the Greeks never to have committed these excesses than to have captured Troy!

## THE TWELFTH OR OLYMPIC DISCOURSE: OR, ON MAN’S FIRST CONCEPTION OF GOD

THE OLYMPIC DISCOURSE was delivered by Dio at Olympia in the year A.D. 97 before a large audience of Greeks which had come to the city to witness the games, and in sight of the famous statue of Zeus which had been made by Pheidias, the greatest of Greek sculptors, more than five centuries before.
After his introductory remarks, in which he tells us that he has just returned from the Danube, where the Roman army under Trajan was about to begin the Second Dacian War, he raises the question as to whether he shall tell his hearers about the land of the Dacians and the impending war, or take a subject suggested by the god in whose presence they stood. He chooses the latter and, after explaining that a conception of the nature of the gods, and especially of the highest one, is innate in all mankind, and that this innate conception and belief is strengthened by men’s experiences and observations in the world about them, Dio gives a classification of the way in which a conception of and a belief in their existence are implanted in the minds of men. In section he makes a classification into notions innate and notions acquired. Then in section and following he subdivides the acquired notions into (1) the voluntary and hortatory, given by the poets, (2) the compulsory and prescriptive, given by the lawgivers, (3) those given by the painters and sculptors, and (4) the notions and concepts as set forth and expounded by the philosophers. He is careful, however, to point out that the poets, lawgivers, and sculptors and others would have no influence whatever if it were not for that primary and innate notion.
After this the speaker proceeds to what is the most important part of his address, in which he offers a great wealth of apparently original ideas as to what is the field and function of the plastic arts and what are their limitations. He puts his thoughts on this subject into the mouth of Pheidias, who takes the specific case of his own great statue of Zeus and attempts to show that he has used all the resources of the sculptor’s art in producing a worthy statue of the greatest of the gods. Pheidias in the course of his exposition says among other things that he took his conception of Zeus from Homer, and he makes a detailed comparison between the respective capacities of poetry and sculpture to portray and represent, to the decided advantage of poetry.
No ancient writer up to Dio’s time, whose works are extant, has given us such a full treatment of the subject. The others, such as Plutarch, make just a passing reference to the plastic arts. Certainly no one of them has made such a detailed comparison between them and poetry. Not until we come to Flavius Josephus do we find such a treatment of the subject, and Dio by many centuries anticipated the most important principles upon which the theory of Lessing’s Laokoön is based.
Paul Hagen, however, in his Quaestiones Dioneae (Kiliae 1887) attempts with some success to show by a comparison with certain passages in Cicero, Pliny, and Quintilian that Dio was not original in these theories of art, but got them from Pergamum, where there was a famous school of sculpture flourishing at this time. The best known example of its work is the ‘Dying Gaul,’ now in the Capitoline Museum in Rome. Dio certainly was within easy reach of Pergamum at any rate. If he was not original in his ideas on art, he was at all events greatly interested in it, as is shown by his Thirty-First Discourse.
Some maintain that Dio gave this address on more than one occasion and that traces of different recensions to make the address suit different places and audiences are to be found in the versionsº that have come down to us.
The Twelfth or Olympic Discourse: or, On Man’s First Conception of God
[12.1] Can it be, Sirs, that here before you, just as before many another audience — to use a familiar saying — I have met with the strange and inexplicable experience of the owl? For though she is no whit wiser than the other birds nor more beautiful in appearance, but on the contrary only what we know her to be, yet whenever she utters her mournful and far from pleasing note, they all flock to her — yes, and even when they merely see her, the reason being, as it seems to me, that they look with scorn upon her insignificance and weakness; and yet people in general say that the birds admire the owl.
[12.2] Surely, however, the birds ought rather to admire the peacock when they see him, beautiful and many-coloured as he is, and then again truly when he lifts himself up in pride and shows the beauty of his plumage, as he struts before his hen with his tail spread out and arched all about him like a fair-shaped theatre or some picture of the heavens studded with stars — a figure well deserving of admiration for the colouring also, which is nearest to gold blended with dark blue; and then too on the tips of his feathers there are eyes, as it were, or markings like rings both in shape and in their general similitude. [3] And, if you want something further, observe the lightness of his plumage, so light indeed that it is not an encumbrance nor hard to carry on account of its length. In the centre of it he offers himself to the spectator’s gaze, quite calm and unconcerned, turning himself this way and that as if on parade; and when he wishes really to astound us, he rustles his feathers and makes a sound not unpleasing, as of a light breeze stirring some thick wood.
[12.4] But it is not the peacock with all this fine display that the birds want to see, nor when they hear the song of the nightingale as she rises at early dawn are they at all affected by her — [4] nay, not even the swan do they greet on account of its music, not even when in the fullness of years it sings its last song, and through joy, and because it has forgotten the troubles of life, utters its triumphant notes and at the same time without sorrow conducts itself, as it seems, to a sorrowless death — even then, I say, the birds are not so charmed by its strains that they gather on some river’s bank or on a broad mead or the clean strand of a mere, or on some tiny green islet in a river.
[12.5] And since you likewise, though having so many delightful spectacles to behold, and so many things to hear — able orators, most charming writers of both verse and prose, and finally, like gorgeous peacocks, sophists in great numbers, men who are lifted aloft as on wings by their fame and disciples — since you, I say, despite all these attractions, draw near and wish to listen to me, a man who knows nothing and makes no claim to knowing, am I not right in likening your interest to that which the birds take in the owl, one might almost say not without some divine purpose? [6] This purpose is seen in men’s belief that this bird is beloved of Athenê also, the fairest of the gods and the wisest, and indeed at Athens it was honoured by the art of Pheidias, who did not count the owl unworthy to share a dedication with the goddess, the popular assembly approving; but Pericles and his own self he depicted covertly, so we are told, on the shield of the goddess.
[12.7] However, it does not occur to me to regard all this as good fortune on the part of the owl, unless she really does in fact possess some superior sagacity. [7] And this, I imagine, is the reason why Aesop composed the fable in which he represents her as being wise and as advising the birds, when the first oak tree began to grow, not to let it happen, but by all means to destroy the plant; for, she explained, the tree would produce a drug from which none might escape, the bird-lime, and they would be caught by it. Again, when men were sowing flax, she bade them pick up this seed also, since if it grew, no good would come of it. [8] And in the third place, when she saw a man armed with a bow, she prophesied, saying: “Yonder man will outstrip you with the help of your own feathers, for though he is on foot himself, he will send feathered shafts after you.”
[12.9] But the other birds mistrusted her words of warning. They considered her foolish, and said she was mad; but afterwards through experience they came to admire her and to consider her in very truth exceedingly wise. And that is the reason why, whenever she shows herself, they draw near to her as to one possessing all knowledge; but as for her, she no longer gives them advice, but merely laments.
[12.10] So perhaps there has been delivered unto you some true word and salutary counsel, which Philosophy gave to the Greeks of old, but the men of that time comprehended it not and despised it; whereas those of the present day, recalling it, draw near to me on account of my appearance, thus honouring Philosophy as the birds honour the owl, although it is in reality voiceless and reticent of speech. For I am quite well aware that I have not hitherto said anything worthy of consideration, and that now I have no knowledge superior to your own. [10] But there are other men who are wise and altogether blessed; and if you wish, I shall make them known to you, mentioning each one by name. For indeed this alone I consider to be profitable — to know the men who are wise and able and omniscient. To such if you are willing to cleave, neglecting all other things — both parents and the land of your birth, the shrines of the gods, and the tombs of your forefathers — following wherever they lead, or remaining wherever they establish themselves — whether in the Babylon of Ninus and Semiramis, or in Bactra, or Sousa, or Palibothra, or in some other famous and wealthy city — giving them money or in some other way winning their favour, you will become happier than happiness itself. [11] But if you not willing to do this yourselves, mistrusting your own natural ability, or pleading poverty or age or lack of physical strength, you will at least not begrudge your sons this boon nor deprive them of the greatest blessings, but will entrust them to these teachers if they are willing to receive them; and if they are unwilling, you will persuade them or compel them by any and all means, to the end that your sons, having been properly educated and having grown wise, may thenceforth be renowned among all Greeks and barbarians, being pre-eminent in virtue and reputation and wealth and in almost every kind of power. For not only do virtue and renown attend upon wealth, as we are told, but wealth likewise and of necessity accompanies virtue.
[12.12] This is the prophecy and counsel that I give you in the presence of yonder god, moved by a spirit of goodwill and friendship toward you. And I suppose that it would be my duty to urge and exhort myself first of all, if only the state of my health and my advanced age permitted, but the fact is that, on account of the infirmities which afflict me, I am under the necessity, if perchance I shall find it in any way possible, of discovering some bit of wisdom which has already been from the ancients cast aside as it were, and had grown stale for lack of teachers who are both better and still living.
[12.13] And I shall tell you of another respect too in which I am like the owl, even if you are ready to laugh at my words. [13] For just as that bird makes no use herself of the others that fly to her side, but to the fowler is the most useful of all possessions — since he has no need to throw out feed or mimic a call, but merely to show the owl and then have a great multitude of birds — so I too have nothing to gain by the interest of the many. For I do not take disciples, since I know there is nothing I should be able to teach them, seeing that I know nothing myself; but to lie and deceive by my promises, I have not the courage for that. But if I associated myself with a professional sophist, I should help him greatly by gathering a great crowd to him and then allowing him to dispose of the catch as he wished. However, for some reason or other, not one of the sophists is willing to take me on, nor can they bear the sight of me.
[12.14] Now I am almost sure that you believe me when I speak of my own inexperience and lack of knowledge and sagacity — and it seems to me that you not only believe me on this point, but would have believed Socrates also, when he continually and to all men advanced on his own behalf the same defence — that he knew nothing; but that Hippias and Polus and Gorgias, each of whom was more struck with admiration of himself than of anyone else, you would have considered wise and blessed. [15] But notwithstanding, I declare to that, great as is your number, you have been eager to hear a man who is neither handsome in appearance nor strong, and in age is already past his prime, one who has no disciple, who professes, I may almost say, no art or special knowledge either of the nobler or of the meaner sort, no ability either as a prophet or a sophist, nay, not even as an orator or a flatterer, one who is not even a clever writer, who does not even have a craft deserving of praise or of interest, but who simply — wears his hair long!
[12.14b] But if you think it a better and wiser course,
[12.16] I must do this and try to the best of my ability. However, you will not hear words such as you would hear from any other man of the present day, but words much less pretentious and wearisome, in fact just such as you now observe. And in brief, you must allow me to pursue any thought that occurs to me and not become annoyed if you find me wandering in my remarks exactly as in the past I have lived a life of roving, but you must grant me your indulgence, bearing in mind that you are listening to a man who is a layman and who is fond of talking.
[12.17] For in fact, as it happens, I have just finished a long, long journey, all the way from the Ister and the land of the Getae, or Mysians as Homer, using the modern designation of the race, calls them. [17] And I went there, not as a merchant with his wares, nor yet as one of the supply-train of the army in the capacity of baggage-carrier or cattle-driver, nor was I discharging a mission as ambassador to our allies or on some embassy bearing congratulations, the members of which join in prayers with the lips only. I went
[12.18] Unarmed, with neither helm nor shield nor lance,
nor indeed with any other weapon either, so that I marvelled that they brooked the sight of me. For I, who could not ride a horse and was not a skilled bowman or man-at‑arms, nor yet a javelin-thrower, or slinger, belonging to the light-armed troops who carry no heavy armour, nor, again, was able to cut timber or dig a trench, nor to mow fodder from an enemy’s meadow ‘with many a glance behind,’ nor yet to raise a tent or a rampart, just as certain non-combatants do who follow the legions as helpers, [19] I, who was useless for all such things, came among men who were not dullards, and yet had no leisure to listen to speeches, but were high-strung and tense like race-horses at the starting barriers, fretting at the delay and in their excitement and eagerness pawing the ground with their hoofs. There one could see everywhere swords, everywhere corselets, everywhere spears, and the whole place was crowded with horses, with arms, and with armed men. Quite alone I appeared in the midst of this mighty host, perfectly undisturbed and a most peaceful observer of war, [20] weak in body and advanced in years, not bearing ‘a golden sceptre’ or the sacred fillets of any god and arriving at the camp on an enforced journey to gain a daughter’s release, but desiring to see strong men contending for empire and power, and their opponents for freedom and native land. Then, not because I shrank from the danger — let no one think this — but because I recalled to mind an old vow, I turned my course hither to you, ever considering that things divine have the greater claim and are more profitable than things human, however important these may be.
[12.21] Now is it more agreeable and more opportune for you that I should describe what I saw there — the immense size of the river and the character of the country, what climate the inhabitants enjoy and their racial stock, and further, I suppose, the population and their military strength? Or should you prefer that I take up the older and greater tale of this god at whose temple we are now? [22] For he is indeed alike of men and gods the king and ruler and lord and father, and in addition, the dispenser of peace and of war, as the experienced and wise poets of the past believed — to see if perchance we can commemorate both his nature and his power in a brief speech, which will fall short of what it should be even if we confine ourselves to these two themes alone.
[12.23] Should I, then, begin in the manner of Hesiod, a man good and beloved of the Muses, imitating the way in which he, quite shrewdly, does not venture to begin in his own person and express his own thoughts, but invites the Muses to tell about their own father? For this hymn to the goddesses is altogether more fitting than to enumerate those who went against Ilium, both themselves and the benches of their ships seriatim, although the majority of the men were quite unknown. And what poet is wiser and better than he who invokes aid for this work in the following manner? —
[12.24] O ye Pierian Muses, who glorify man by your lays,
Draw nigh me, and sing for me Zeus your father, and chant his praise.
[12.24b] It is he through whom mortal men are renowned or unrenowned;
At the pleasure of Zeus most high by fame are they crowned or discrowned;
For lightly he strengtheneth this one, and strength unto that one denies;
Lightly abases the haughty, the lowly he magnifies;
Lightly the crooked he straightens, and withers the pride of the proud,
Even Zeus who thunders on high, who dwelleth in mansions of cloud.
[12.25] Answer, therefore and tell me whether the address I offer and the hymn would prove more suitable to this assemblage, you sons of Elis — for you are the rulers and the directors of this national festal gathering, both supervisors and guardians of what is said and done here — or perhaps those who have gathered here should be spectators merely, not only of the sights to be seen, admittedly altogether beautiful and exceedingly renowned, but, very specially, of the worship of the god and of his truly blessed image, which your ancestors by lavish expenditure and by securing the service of the highest art made and set up as a dedication — of all the statues which are upon the earth the most beautiful and the most dear to the gods, Pheidias having, as we are told, taken his pattern from Homer’s poesy, where the god by a slight inclination of his brows shook all Olympus, [26] as the great poet most vividly and convincingly has expressed it in the following verses:
[12.25b] He said, and nodded with his shadowy brows;
Wav’d on th’ immortal head th’ ambrosial locks,
And all Olympus trembled at his nod.
[12.25c] Or, should we somewhat more carefully consider these two topics themselves, I mean the expressions of our poets and the dedications here, and try to ascertain whether there is some sort of influence which in some way actually moulds and gives expression to man’s conception of the deity, exactly as if we were in a philosopher’s lecture-room at this moment?
[12.27] Now concerning the nature of the gods in general, and especially that of the ruler of the universe, first and foremost an idea regarding him and a conception of him common to the whole human race, to the Greeks and to the barbarians alike, a conception that is inevitable and innate in every creature endowed with reason, arising in the course of nature without the aid of human teacher and free from the deceit of any expounding priest, has made its way, and it rendered manifest God’s kinship with man and furnished many evidences of the truth, which did not suffer the earliest and most ancient men to doze and grow indifferent to them; [28] for inasmuch as these earlier men were not living dispersed far away from the divine being or beyond his borders apart by themselves, but had grown up in his company and had remained close to him in every way, they could not for any length of time continue to be unintelligent beings, especially since they had received from him intelligence and the capacity for reason, illumined as they were on every side by the divine and magnificent glories of heaven and the stars of sun and moon, by night and day encountering varied and dissimilar experiences, seeing wondrous sights and hearing manifold voices of winds and forest and rivers and sea, of animals tame and wild; while they themselves uttered a most pleasing and clear sound, and taking delight in the proud and intelligent quality of the human voice, attached symbols to the objects that reached their senses, so as to be able to name and designate everything perceived, [29] thus easily acquiring memories and concepts of innumerable things. How, then, could they have remained ignorant and conceived no inkling of him who had sowed and planted and was now preserving and nourishing them, when on every side they were filled with the divine nature through both sight and hearing, and in fact through every sense? They dwelt upon the earth, they beheld the light of heaven, they had nourishment in abundance, for god, their ancestor, had lavishly provided and prepared it to their hand. [30] As a first nourishment the first men, being the very children of the soil, had the earthy food — the moist loam at that time being soft and rich — which they licked up from the earth, their mother as it were, even as plants now draw the moisture therefrom. Then the later generation, who were now advancing, had a second nourishment consisting of wild fruits and tender herbs along with sweet dew and
[12.31] fresh nymph-haunted rills.
Furthermore, being in contact with the circumambient air and nourished by the unceasing inflow of their breath, they sucked in moist air as infants suck in their food, this milk never failing them because the teat was ever at their lips. [31] Indeed, we should almost be justified in calling this the first nourishment for both the earlier and the succeeding generations without distinction. For when the babe, still sluggish and feeble, is cast forth from the womb, the earth, its real mother, receives it, and the air, after breathing into it and quickening it, at once awakens it by a nourishment more liquid than milk and enables it to emit a cry. This might reasonably be called the first teat that nature offered to human beings at the moment of birth. [32] So experiencing all these things and afterwards taking note of them, men could not help admiring and loving the divinity, also because they observed the seasons and saw that it is for our preservation that they come with perfect regularity and avoidance of excess in either direction, and yet further, because they enjoyed this god-given superiority over the other animals of being able to reason and reflect about the gods. [33] So it is very much the same as if anyone were to place a man, a Greek or a barbarian, in some mystic shrine of extraordinary beauty and size to be initiated, where he would see many mystic sights and hear many mystic voices, where light and darkness would appear to him alternately, and a thousand other things would occur; and further, if it should be just as in the rite called enthronement, where the inducting priests are wont to seat the novices and then dance round and round them — pray, is it likely that the man in this situation would be no whit moved in his mind and would not suspect that all which was taking place was the result of a more than wise intention and preparation, even if he belonged to the most remote and nameless barbarians and had no guide and interpreter at his side — provided, of course, that he had the mind of a human being? [34] Or rather, is this not impossible? impossible too that the whole human race, which is receiving the complete and truly perfect initiation, not in a little building erected by the Athenians for the reception of a small company, but in this universe, a varied and cunningly wrought creation, in which countless marvels appear at every moment, and where, furthermore, the rites are being performed, not by human beings who are of no higher order than the initiates themselves, but by immortal gods who are initiating mortal men, and night and day both in sunlight and under the stars are — if we may dare to use the term — literally dancing around them forever — is it possible to suppose, I repeat, that of all these things his senses told him nothing, or that he gained no faintest inkling of them, and especially when the leader of the choir was in charge of the whole spectacle and directing the entire heaven and universe, even as a skilful pilot commands a ship that has been perfectly furnished and lacks nothing?
[12.35] That human beings should be so affected would occasion no surprise, but much rather that, as we see, this influence reaches even the senseless and irrational brutes, so that even they recognize and honour the god and desire to live according to his ordinance; and it is still stranger that the plants, which have no conception of anything, but, being soulless and voiceless, are controlled by a simple kind of nature — it is passing strange, I say, that even these voluntarily and willingly yield each its own proper fruit; so very clear and evident is the will and power of yonder god. [36] Nay, I wonder if we shall be thought exceedingly absurd and hopelessly behind the times in view of this reasoning, if we maintain that this unexpected knowledge is indeed more natural for the beasts and the trees than dullness and ignorance are for us? Why, certain men have shown themselves wiser than all wisdom; yes, they have poured into their ears, not wax, as I believe they say that the sailors from Ithaca did that they might not hear the song of the Sirens, but a substance like lead, soft at once and impenetrable by the human voice, and they also methinks have hung before their eyes a curtain of deep darkness and mist like that which, according to Homer, kept the god from being recognized when he was caught; these men, then, despise all things divine, and having set up the image of one female divinity, depraved and monstrous, representing a kind of wantonness or self-indulgent ease and unrestrained lewdness, to which they gave the name of Pleasure — an effeminate god in very truth — her they prefer in honour and worship with softly tinkling cymbal-like instruments, or with pipes played under cover of darkness — [37] a form of entertainment which nobody would grudge such men if their cleverness went only as far as singing, and they did not attempt to take our gods from us and send them into banishment, driving them out of their own state and kingdom, clean out of this ordered universe to alien regions, even as unfortunate human beings are banished to sundry uninhabited isles; and all this universe above us they assert is without purpose or intelligence or master, has no ruler, or even steward or overseer, but wanders at random and is swept aimlessly along, no master being there to take thought for it now, and no creator having made it in the first place, or even doing as boys do with their hoops, which they set in motion of their own accord, and then let them roll along of themselves.
[12.38] Now to explain this digression — my argument is responsible, having turned aside of itself; for perhaps it is not easy to check the course of a philosopher’s thoughts and speech, no matter what direction they may take; for whatever suggests itself to his mind always seems profitable, nay indispensable, for his audience, and my speech has not been prepared to “suit the water-clock and the constraint of court procedure,” to use somebody’s expression, but allows itself a great deal of license. Well, it is not difficult to run back again, just as on a voyage it is not difficult for competent steersmen who have got a little off their course to get back upon it.
[12.39] To resume, then: Of man’s belief in the deity and his assumption that there is a god we were maintaining that the fountain-head, as we may say, or source, was that idea which is innate in all mankind and comes into being as the result of the actual facts and the truth, an idea that was not framed confusedly nor yet at random, but has been exceedingly potent and persistent since the beginning of time, and has arisen among all nations and still remains, being, one may almost say, a common and general endowment of rational beings.
[12.40] As the second source we designate the idea which has been acquired and indeed implanted in men’s souls through no other means than narrative accounts, myths, and customs, in some cases ascribed to no author and also unwritten, but in others written and having as their authors men of very great fame. [40] Of this acquired notion of the divine being let us say that one part is voluntary and due to exhortation, another part compulsory and prescriptive. By the kind that depends upon voluntary acceptance and exhortation I mean that which is handed down by the poets, and by the kind that depends upon compulsion and prescription I mean that due to the lawgivers. I call these secondary because neither of them could possibly have gained strength unless that primary notion had been present to begin with; and because it was present, there took root in mankind, of their own volition and because they already possessed a sort of foreknowledge, the prescriptions of the lawgivers and the exhortations of the poets, some of them expounding things correctly and in consonance with the truth and their hearers’ notions, and others going astray in certain matters. [41] But which of the two influences mentioned should be called the earlier in time, among us Greeks at any rate, namely, poetry or legislation, I am afraid I cannot discuss at length on the present occasion; but perhaps it is fitting that the kind which depended, not upon penalties, but upon persuasion should be more ancient than the kind which employed compulsion and prescription. [42] Now up to this point, we may almost say, the feelings of the human race towards their first and immortal parent, whom we who have a share in the heritage of Hellas call Ancestral Zeus, develop step by step along with those which men have toward their mortal and human parents. For in truth the goodwill and desire to serve which the offspring feel toward their parents is, in the first type, present in them, untaught, as a gift of nature and as a result of acts of kindness received, [43] since that which has been begotten straightway from birth loves and cherishes in return, so far as it may, that which begat and nourishes and loves it, whereas the second and third types, which are derived from our poet and lawgivers, the former exhorting us not to withhold our gratitude from that which is older and of the same blood, besides being the author of life and being, the latter using compulsion and the threat of punishment for those who refuse obedience, without, however, making anything clear and showing plainly just who parents are and what the acts of kindness are for which they enjoin upon us not to leave unpaid a debt which is due. But to an even greater extent do we see this to be true in both particulars in their stories and myths about the gods.
[12.40b] Now I am well aware that to most men strict exactness in any exposition is on every occasion irksome, and that exactness in a speech is no less so for those whose sole interest is in quantity alone; these without any preface whatever or any statements defining their subject-matter, nay, without even beginning their speeches with any beginning, but straight off ‘with unwashen feet,’ as the saying is, proceed to expound things most obvious and naked to the sight. Now as for ‘unwashen feet,’ though they do no great harm when men must pass through mud and piles of refuse, yet an ignorant tongue causes no little injury to an audience. However, we may reasonably expect that the educated men of the audience, of whom one ought to take some account, will keep up with us and go through the task with us until we merge from bypath and rough ground, as it were, and get our argument back upon the straight road.
[12.44] Now that we have set before us three sources of man’s conception of the divine being, to wit, the innate, that derived from the poets, and that derived from the lawgivers, let us name as the fourth that derived from the plastic art and the work of skilled craftsmen who make statues and likenesses of the gods — I mean painters and sculptors and masons who work in stone, in a word, everyone who has held himself worthy to come forward as a portrayer of the divine nature through the use of art, whether (1) by means of a rough sketch, very indistinct or deceptive to the eye, or (2) by the blending of colours and by line-drawing, which produces a result which we can almost say is the most accurate of all, or (3) by the carving of stone, or (4) by the craft which makes images of wood, in which the artist little by little removes the excess of material until nothing remains but the shape which the observer sees, or (5) by the casting of bronze and the like precious metals, which are heated and then either beaten out or poured into moulds, or (6) by the moulding of wax, which most readily answers the artist’s touch and affords the greatest opportunity for change of intention. [45] To this class belong not only Pheidias but also Alcamenes and Polycleitus and further, Aglaophon and Polygnotus and Zeuxis and, earlier than all these, Daedalus. For these men were not satisfied to display their cleverness and skill on commonplace subjects, but by exhibiting all sorts of likenesses and representations of gods they secured for their patrons both private persons and the states, whose people they filled with an ample and varied conception of the divine; and here they did not differ altogether from the poets and lawgivers, in the one case that they might not be considered violators of the laws and thus make themselves liable to the penalties imposed upon such, and in the other case because they saw that they had been anticipated by the poets and that the poets’ image-making was the earlier. [46] Consequently they preferred not to appear to the many as untrustworthy and to be disliked for making innovations. In most matters, accordingly, they adhered to the myths and maintained agreement with them in their representations, but in some few cases they contributed their own ideas, becoming in a sense the rivals as well as fellow-craftsmen of the poets, since the latter appealed to the ear alone, whereas it was simply through the eye that they, for their part, interpreted the divine attributes to their more numerous and less cultivated spectators. And all these influences won strength from that primary impulse, as having originated with the honouring of the divine being and winning his favour.
[12.47] And furthermore, quite apart from that simple and earliest notion of the gods which develops in the hearts of all men along with their reasoning power, in addition to those three interpreters and teachers, the poets, the lawgivers, and creative artists, we must take on a fourth one, who is by no means indifferent nor believes himself unacquainted with the gods, I mean the philosopher, the one who by means of reason interprets and proclaims the divine nature, most truly, perhaps, and most perfectly.
[12.48] As to the lawgiver, let us omit for the present to hale him here for an accounting; a stern man is he and himself accustomed to hold all others to an accounting. Indeed, we ought to have consideration for ourselves and for our own preoccupation. But as for the rest, let us select the foremost man of each class, and consider whether they will be found to have done by their acts or words any good or harm to piety, and how they stand as to agreement with each other or divergence from one another, and which one of them adheres to the truth most closely, being in harmony with that primary and guileless view. Now in fact all these men speak with one voice, just as if they had taken the one track and were keeping to it, some clearly and others less plainly. Would the true philosopher, perhaps, not stand in need of consolation if he should be brought into comparison with the makers of statues or of poetic measures, and that too, before the throng of a national festive-gathering where the judges are predisposed in their favour?
[12.49] Suppose, for instance, that someone were to take Pheidias first and question him before the tribunal of the Hellenes, Pheidias, that wise and divinely-inspired creator of this awe-inspiring masterpiece of surpassing beauty, and should appoint as judges the men who are directing this contest in honour of the god, or better, a general court of all Peloponnesians and of the Boeotians, too, and Ionians and of the other Hellenes, wherever they are to be found in Asia as well as in Europe, and then suppose they should demand an accounting, not of the monies or of the sum spent on the statue — the number of talents paid for gold and ivory, and for cypress and citron-wood, which are durable and indestructible timber for the interior work, or of the expenditure for the maintenance and wages of the workmen, who were not few in number and worked for so long a time, the wages not only of the men in general, who were no mean artisans, but of Pheidias also, to whom went the greatest and fullest reward on account of his artistic skill — of these items, I say, it was fitting that the Eleans, who poured out their money so lavishly and magnificently, should have called for a reckoning; [50] but as for us, we shall maintain that it is for something else that Pheidias must submit to trial. Suppose, then, that someone should actually say to him:
[12.51] “O best and noblest of artists, how charming and pleasing a spectacle you have wrought, and a vision of infinite delight for the benefit of all men, both Greeks and barbarians, who have ever come here, as they have come in great throngs and time after time, no one will gainsay. [51] For verily even the irrational brute creation would be so struck with awe if they could catch merely a glimpse of yonder statue, not only the bulls which are being continually led to the altar, so that they would willingly submit themselves to the priests who perform the rites of sacrifice, if so they would be giving some pleasure to the god, but eagles too, and horses and lions, so that they would subdue their untamed and savage spirits and preserve perfect quiet, delighted by the vision; and of men, whoever is sore distressed in soul, having in the course of his life drained the cup of many misfortunes and griefs, nor ever winning sweet sleep — even this man, methinks, if he stood before this image, would forget all the terrors and hardships that fall to our human lot. [52] Such a wondrous vision did you devise and fashion, one in very truth a
[12.51b] Charmer of grief and anger, that from men
All the remembrance of their ills could loose!
So great the radiance and so great the charm with which your art has clothed it. Indeed it is not reasonable to suppose that even Hephaestus himself would criticize this work if he judged it by the pleasure and delight which it affords the eye of man.”
[12.53] “But, on the other hand, was the shape you by your artistry produced appropriate to a god and was its form worthy of the divine nature, when you not only used a material which gives delight but also presented a human form of extraordinary beauty and size; and apart from its being a man’s shape, made also all the other attributes as you have made them? that is the question which I invite you to consider now. And if you make a satisfactory defence on these matters before those present and convince them that you have discovered the proper and fitting shape and form for the foremost and greatest god, then you shall receive in addition a second reward, greater and more perfect than the one given by the Eleans. [53] For you see that the issue is no small one, nor the danger, for us. Since in times past, because we had no clear knowledge, we formed each his different idea, and each person, according to his capacity and nature, conceived a likeness for every divine manifestation and fashioned such likenesses in his dreams; and if we do perchance collect any small and insignificant likenesses made by the earlier artists, we do not trust them very much nor pay them very much attention. But you by the power of your art first conquered and united Hellas and then all others by means of this wondrous presentment, showing forth so marvellous and dazzling a conception, that none of those who have beheld it could any longer easily form a different one. [54] Pray, do you imagine that it was owing to lack of money that Iphitus and Lycurgus and the Eleans of that period, while instituting the contest and the sacrifice in such wise as to be worthy of Zeus, yet failed to search for and find a statue to bear the name and show the aspect of the god, although they were, one might almost say, superior in power to their descendants? Or was it rather because they feared that they would never be able adequately to portray by human art the Supreme and most Perfect Being?”
[12.55] Perhaps in answer to this Pheidias would say, since he was not tongue-tied nor belonged to a tongue-tied city, and besides was the close friend and comrade of Pericles:
[12.55b] “My Greek fellow-citizens, the issue is the greatest that has ever arisen. For it is not about empire or the presidency of one single state or the size of the navy or as to whether an army of infantry has or has not been correctly administered, that I am now being called to account, but concerning that god who governs the universe and my representation of him: whether it has been made with due respect to the dignity of the god and so as to be a true likeness of him, in no way falling short of the best portrayal of the divinity that is within the capacity of human beings to make, or is unworthy of him and unbefitting.
[12.56] “Remember, too, that it is not I who was your first expounder and teacher of the truth, for I was not even born as yet when Hellas began to be and while it still had no ideas that were firmly established about these matters, but when it was rather old, so to speak, and already had strong beliefs and convictions about the gods. And all the works of sculptors or painters earlier than my art which I found to be in harmony therewith, except so far as the perfection of the workmanship is concerned, I omit to mention; [57] your views, however, I found to be ingrained, not to be changed, so that it was not possible to oppose them, and I found other artistic portrayers of the divinity who were older than I and considered themselves much wiser, namely the poets, for they were able through their poetry to lead men to accept any sort of idea, whereas our artistic productions have only this one adequate standard of comparison. [58] For those divine manifestations — I mean the sun and the moon and the entire heavens and the stars — while in and of themselves they certainly appear marvellous, yet the artist’s portrayal of them is simple and has no need of artistic skill, if one should wish merely to depict the moon’s crescent or the sun’s full orb; and furthermore, whereas those heavenly bodies certainly, taken by themselves, reveal in abundance character and purpose, yet in their representations they show nothing to suggest this: which perhaps is the reason why at first they were not yet regarded by the Greeks as deities. [59] For mind and intelligence in and of themselves no statuary or painter will ever be able to represent; for all men are utterly incapable of observing such attributes with their eyes or of learning of them by inquiry. But as for that in which this intelligence manifests itself, men, having no mere inkling thereof but actual knowledge, fly to it for refuge, attributing to God a human body as a vessel to contain intelligence and rationality, in their lack of a better illustration, and in their perplexity seeking to indicate that which is invisible and unportrayable by means of something portrayable and visible, using the function of a symbol and doing so better than certain barbarians, who are said to represent the divine by animals — using as his starting-point symbols which are trivial and absurd. But that man who has stood out most above others in respect of beauty and majesty and splendour, he, we may say, has been by far the greatest creator of the images of the divine beings.
[12.60] For certainly no one would maintain that it had been better that no statue or picture of gods should have been exhibited among men, on the ground that we should look only at the heavens. For although the intelligent man does indeed reverence all those objects, believing them to be blessed gods that he sees from a great distance, yet on account of our belief in the divine all men have a strong yearning to honour and worship the deity from close at hand, approaching and laying hold of him with persuasion by offering sacrifice and crowning him with garlands. [61] For precisely as infant children when torn away from father or mother are filled with terrible longing and desire, and stretch out their hands to their absent parents often in their dreams, so also do men to the gods, rightly loving them for their beneficence and kinship, and being eager in every possible way to be with them and to hold converse with them. Consequently many of the barbarians, because they lack artistic means and find difficulty in employing them, name mountains gods, and unhewn trees, too, and unshapen stones, things which are by no means whatever more appropriate in shape than is the human form.
[12.62] “But if you find fault with me for the human figure, you should make haste to be angry with Homer first; for he not only represented a form most nearly like this statue of mine by mentioning the flowing locks of the god and the chin too at the very beginning of the poem, when he says that Thetis made supplication for the bestowal of honour upon her son; but in addition to these things he ascribes to the gods meetings and counsellings and harangues, then also journeyings from Ida to the heavens and Olympus, and sleep-scenes and drinking-bouts and love-embraces, clothing everything in very lofty poetical language and yet keeping close to mortal likeness. And the most striking instance of this is when he ventured to liken Agamemnon to the god in respect to the most distinctive features by saying,
[12.62b] His eye and lofty brow the counterpart
Of Zeus, the Lord of thunder.
[12.63] But as to the product of my workmanship nobody, not even an insane person, would liken it to any mortal man soever, if it be carefully examined from the point of view of a god’s beauty or stature; since, if I shall not be found to be a better and more temperate artificer than Homer, whom you thought godlike in his skill, I am willing to pay any fines you wish! But I am speaking with an eye to what is possible in my art. [64] For an extravagant thing is poetry and in every respect resourceful and a law unto itself, and by the assistance of the tongue and a multitude of words is able all by itself to express all the devisings of the heart, and whatever conception it may arrive at concerning any shape or action or emotion or magnitude, it can never be at a loss, since the voice of a Messenger can disclose with perfect clearness each and all these things. For, as Homer himself says,
[12.63b] For glib runs the tongue, and can at will
Give utterance to discourse in ev’ry vein;
Wide is the range of language; and such words
As one may speak, another may return.
[12.65] Indeed, the race of man is more likely to run short of everything else than of voice and speech; of this one thing it possesses a most astounding wealth. At any rate it has left unuttered and undesignated no single thing that reaches our sense perceptions, but straightway puts upon everything the mind perceives the unmistakable seal of a name, and often even several vocal signs for one thing, so that when man gives utterance to any one of them, they convey an impression not much less distinct than does the actual thing itself. Very great indeed is the ability and power of man to express in words any idea that comes into his mind. [66] But the poets’ art is exceedingly bold and not to be censured therefor; this was especially true of Homer, who practiced the greatest frankness and freedom of language; and he did not choose just one variety of diction, but mingled together every Hellenic dialect which before his time were separate — that of the Dorians and Ionians, and also that of the Athenians — mixing them together much more thoroughly than dyers do their colours — and not only the languages of his own day but also those of former generations; if perchance there survived any expression of theirs taking up this ancient coinage, as it were, out of some ownerless treasure-store, [67] because of his love of language; and he also used many barbarian words as well, sparing none that he believed to have in it anything of charm or of vividness. Furthermore, he drew not only from things which lie next door or near at hand, but also from those quite remote, in order that he might charm the hearer by bewitching and amazing him; and even these metaphors he did not leave as he first used them, but sometimes expanded and sometimes condensed them, or changing them in some other way.
[12.68] “And, last of all, he showed himself not only a maker of verses but also of words, giving utterance to those of his own invention, in some cases by simply giving his own names to the things and in others adding his new ones to those current, putting, as it were, a bright and more expressive seal upon a seal. He avoided no sound, but in short imitated the voices of rivers and forests, of winds and fire and sea, and also of bronze and of stone, and, in short, of all animals and instruments without exception, whether of wild beasts or of birds or of pipes and reeds. He invented the terms ‘clang’ (kanache), ‘boom’ (bombos), ‘crash’ (ktupos), ‘thud’ (doupos), ‘rattle’ (arabos), and spoke of ‘roaring rivers,’ ‘whizzing missiles,’, ‘thundering waves,’ ‘raging winds,’ and other such terrifying and truly astonishing phenomena, thus filling the mind with great confusion and uproar. [69] Consequently he had no lack of fear-inspiring names for things and of pleasant ones, and also of smooth and rough ones, as well as of those which have countless other differences in both their sounds and their meanings. As a result of this epic art of his he was able to implant in the soul any emotion he wished.
[12.70] “But our art, on the other hand, that which is dependent on the workman’s hand and the artist’s creative touch, by no means attains to such freedom; but first we need a material substance, a material so tough that it will last, yet can be worked without much difficulty and consequently not easy to procure; we need, too, no small number of assistants. [70] And then, in addition, the sculptor must have worked out for himself a design that shows each subject in one single posture, and that too a posture that admits of no movement and is unalterable, so perfected that it will comprise within itself the whole of the god’s nature and power. But for the poets it is perfectly easy to include very many shapes and all sorts of attitudes in their poetry, adding movements and periods of rest to them according to what they consider fitting at any given time, and actions and spoken words, and they have, I imagine, an additional advantage in the matter of difficulty and that of time. For the poet when moved by one single conception and one single impulse of his soul draws forth an immense volume of verses, as if from a gushing spring of water, before the vision and the conception he had grasped can leave him and flow away. But of our art the execution is laborious and slow, advancing with difficulty a step at a time, the reason being, no doubt, that it must work with a rock-like and hard material.
[12.71] “But the most difficult thing of all is that the sculptor must keep the very same image in his mind continuously until he finishes his work, which often takes many years. Indeed, the popular saying that the eyes are more trustworthy than the ears is perhaps true, yet they are much harder to convince and demand much greater clearness; for while the eye agrees exactly with what it sees, it is not impossible to excite and cheat the ear by filling it with representations under the spell of metre and sound. [72] Then again, while the measures of our art are enforced upon us by considerations of numbers and magnitude, the poets have the power to increase even these elements to any extent. For this reason it was easy enough for Homer to give the size of Eris by saying,
[12.71b] With humble crest at first, anon her head,
While yet she treads the earth, affronts the skies.
[12.71c] But I must be content, I suppose, merely to fill up the space designated by Eleans or Athenians.
[12.73] “Thou certainly wilt agree, O Homer, wisest of poets, who both in the power of thy poetry and in time dost by far excel and wast practically the first to show the Hellenes many beautiful images of all the gods, and especially of the greatest among them, some images mild but others fear-inspiring and dread. [74] But our god is peaceful and altogether gentle, such as befits the guardian of a faction-free and concordant Hellas; and this I, with the aid of my art and of the counsel of the wise and good city of the Eleans have set up — a mild and majestic god in pleasing guise, the Giver of our material and our physical life and of all our blessings, the common Father and Saviour and Guardian of mankind, in so far as it was possible for a mortal man to frame in his mind and to represent the divine and inimitable nature.
[12.75] “And consider whether you will not find that the statue is in keeping with all the titles by which Zeus is known. For he alone of the gods is entitled ‘Father and King,’ ‘Protector of Cities,’ ‘God of Friendship,’ and ‘God of Comradeship’ and also ‘Protector of Suppliants,’ and ‘God of Hospitality,’ ‘Giver of Increase,’ and has countless other titles, all indicative of goodness: he is addressed as ‘King’ because of his dominion and power; as ‘Father,’ I think, on account of his solicitude for us and his kindness: as ‘Protector of Cities’ in that he upholds the law and the common weal; as ‘Guardian of the Race’ on account of the tie of kinship which unites gods and men; [76] as ‘God of Friendship’ and ‘God of Comradeship’ because he brings all men together and wills that they be friends of one another and never enemy or foe; as ‘Protector of Suppliants’ since he inclines his ear and is gracious to men when they pray; as ‘God of Refuge’ because he gives refuge from evils; as ‘God of Hospitality’ because we should not be unmindful even of strangers, nor regard any human being as an alien; as ‘Giver of Wealth and Increase’ since he is the cause of all crops and is the giver of wealth and power.
[12.77] “And so far as it was possible to reveal these attributes without the help of words, is the god not adequately represented from the point of view of art? For his sovereignty and kingship are intended to be shown by the strength in the image and its grandeur; his fatherhood and his solicitude by its gentleness and kindliness; the ‘Protector of Cities’ and ‘Upholder of the Law’ by its majesty and severity; the kinship between gods and men, I presume, by the mere similarity in shape, being already in use as a symbol; the ‘God of Friends, Suppliants, Strangers, Refugees,’ and all such qualities in short, by the benevolence and gentleness and goodness appearing in his countenance. The ‘God of Wealth’ and the “Giver of Increase’ are represented by the simplicity and grandeur shown by the figure, for the god does in very truth seem like one who is giving and bestowing blessings.
[12.78] “As for these attributes, then, I have represented them in so far as it was possible to do so, since I was not able to name them. But the god who continually sends the lightning’s flash, portending war and the destruction of many or a mighty downpour of rain, or of hail or of snow, or who stretches the dark blue rainbow across the sky, the symbol of war, or who sends a shooting star, which hurls forth a stream of sparks, a dread portent to sailors or soldiers, or who sends grievous strife upon Greeks and barbarians so as to inspire tired and despairing men with unceasing love for war and battle, and the god who weighed in the balance the fates of the godlike men or of whole armies to be decided by its spontaneous inclination — that god, I say, it was not possible to represent by my art; nor assuredly should I ever have desired to do so even had it been possible. [79] For of thunder what sort of soundless image, or of lightning and of the thunderbolt what kind of a likeness without the lightning’s flash could by any possibility be made from the metals taken from the subterranean workings of this land at least? Then when the earth was shaken and Olympus was moved by a slight inclination of the eyebrows, or a crown of cloud was about his head, it was easy enough for Homer to describe them, and great was the freedom he enjoyed for all such things; but for our art it is absolutely impossible, for it permits the observer to test it with his eyes from close at hand and in full view.
[12.80] “But if, again, anyone thinks that the material used is too lacking in distinction to be in keeping with the god, his belief is true and correct. But neither those who furnished it, nor the man who selected and approved it, has he any right to criticize. For there was no other substance better or more radiant to the sight that could have come into the hands of man and have received artistic treatment. To work up air, at any rate, or fire, or ‘the copious source of water,’ what tools possessed by mortal men can do that? [81] These can work upon nothing but whatever hard residuary substance is held bound within all these elements. I do not mean gold or silver, for these are trivial and worthless things, but the essential substance, tough all through and heavy; and to select each kind of material and entwining them together to compose every species, both of animals and of plants — this is a thing which is impossible for even the gods, all except this God alone, one may almost say, whom another poet quite beautifully has addressed as follows:
[12.80b] Lord of Dodona, father almighty, consummate artist.
[12.82] For he is indeed the first and most perfect artificer, who has taken as his coadjutor in his art, not the city of Elis, but the entire material of the entire universe. But of a Pheidias or of a Polycleitus you could not reasonably demand more than they have done; nay, even what they essayed is too great and august for our handiwork. [83] Indeed, not even Hephaestus did Homer represent as showing his skill in other materials, but while he furnished a god as the craftsman for the making of the shield, he did not succeed in finding any different sort of material for it. For he speaks as follows:
[12.82b] The stubborn brass, and tin, and precious gold,
And silver, first he melted in the fire;
[12.82c] Nay, I will not concede to any man that there ever has been a better sculptor than I, but to Zeus, who fashioned the whole universe, it is not right to compare any mortal.”
[12.84] So if Pheidias had said these things in his defence, I believe that the assembled Hellenes would have been justified in conferring a crown upon him.
[12.85] But perhaps the majority of my hearers have failed to notice the several topics of my address, although, in my opinion, it has been quite as suitable for the multitude as for the philosophers to hear. It has dealt with the dedication of statues, how it should best be done, and with the poets, as to whether their conceptions of the gods are better or inferior, and also with the first conception of God, what it was and how it came into existence among men. And much too, I believe, was said about the power of Zeus and about his titles. If this was accompanied by a eulogy of the statue and of those who dedicated it, so much the better. [85] For in reality the god now seems to us to have such an expression, altogether benevolent and solicitous, that I at least can almost fancy that he is speaking like this:
“All this rite, you Eleans and all Hellas, you are carrying out, as one may see, very beautifully and fittingly, by offering sacrifices of a magnificence in keeping with your means, and, above all, by holding as from the beginning this most renowned contest of physical condition, strength, and speed, and lastly, because you are preserving in regard to festive occasions and secret rites all the customs which you have inherited. But with deep concern I observe that
[12.85b] Yourself untended seem, and wretched age
With mean attire and squalor is your lot.”

## THE THIRTEENTH DISCOURSE: IN ATHENS, ABOUT HIS BANISHMENT

IN THE YEAR A.D. 82, probably, Dio was banished by the Emperor Domitian, not only from Rome and Italy but also from his native Bithynia, on the charge of being in some way implicated in the conspiracy of one of the Emperor’s relatives, Junius Rusticus, as some including Mommsen maintain, Flavius Sabinus as von Arnim with better reason believes. Each of these men was related to the Emperor, Flavius Sabinus being the husband of Julia, the daughter of Domitian’s elder brother Titus, who had been Emperor before him; and each of them was executed on the charge of having conspired against him. If it is Flavius Sabinus to whom Dio refers, then since this man was executed in the year A.D. 82, we may infer that Dio’s banishment began in this year, and it was intended to last his lifetime. However, with the accession of Nerva in A.D. 96 he was permitted to return.
In the Thirteenth Discourse Dio gives us an interesting glimpse into his thoughts and feelings at that time. Adopting the attitude of a Stoic, he resolved to endure his banishment manfully and found that it was quite endurable. Then he tells how at the urgent request of others he began to deliver moral addresses to groups of people gathered to hear him. In these addresses Dio did not attempt to give his own ideas, but repeated as carefully as possible those of a certain Socrates.
The resumé of a part of Socrates’ teaching given in sections 14‑28 Johann Wegehaupt (De Dione Xenophontis Sectatore, ff.) tries to show is taken from the Cleitophon, falsely ascribed to Plato, Ferdinand Dümmler (Academica, ‑17) that the Archelaus of Antisthenes is the common source of both, and Von Arnim (Leben und Werke des Dio von Prusa) claims that one of the four hortatory addresses (προτρεπτικοὶ) of Antisthenes is the common source.
The Thirteenth Discourse in the form in which we have it breaks off suddenly, giving the impression that the end of it has been lost.
The Thirteenth Discourse: In Athens, about his Banishment
[13.1] When it fell to my lot to be exiled on account of my reputed friendship with a man of good character and very closely connected with those who at that time were Fortune’s favourites and indeed high officials, a man who lost his life on account of the very things which made him seem fortunate to many men, and indeed to practically everyone, I mean his connection by marriage and blood with these officials; the charge brought against me being that I was that man’s friend and adviser — for just as among the Scythians it is the practice to bury cupbearers and cooks and concubines with their kings, so it is the custom of despots to throw in several others for no reason whatever with those who are being executed by them — [2] so I began to consider whether this matter of banishment was really a grievous thing and a misfortune, as it is in the view of the majority, or whether such experiences merely furnish another instance of what we are told happens in connection with the divinations of the women in the sacred places. For they pick up a chance clod of earth or a stone, and try to see in it the answer to their enquiry. And, so the story goes, some find their clod light, while others find theirs so heavy that they are not able even to move it easily.
[13.3] “May not exile after all,” I thought, “and poverty, yes, and old age too and sickness, and all such things, appear heavy to some and grievous, but to others light and easy? For in the first case perhaps God lightens the weight according to the importance of the matter in question, and in the second case, I imagine, to suit the strength and will-power of the afflicted one.”
[13.4] And then I recalled Homer’s Odysseus, who is always bewailing his lot, although he was a hero and quite able to endure. Yet he for all that says many unworthy things, and forever sits lamenting on the shore of the sea because he yearns for his native land; and finally, so the poet says, the longing came upon him to see smoke ascending from his own country, even if he should have to die straightway, and neither his former exploits could solace him nor a goddess very beautiful and good who cherished him, going so far as to promise to make him immortal; but all these things were outweighed by his yearning and love for his native land. [5] And then again I recalled how in one of the later poets Electra, when enquiring about her brother in mournful fashion and pitying him for his exile, asks in somewhat the following fashion,
[13.4b] Where does the wretched man his wretched exile spend?
[13.4c] And he replies no less piteously,
In no one settled region doth he so waste away.
[13.4d] Then she again asks,
Does he perchance live scant of daily bread?
And he replies thus,
Nay, bread he hath, but strengthless, exile’s fare.
[13.6] And in addition to all this I recalled countless deeds of valour performed and wars waged by exiles seeking thus to be restored to their homes, wars waged beyond their strength against the popular governments and despotisms by which they had been driven out, for they counted it a great achievement to fight on their own soil even if it meant their death.
[13.6b] All these recollections frightened me and forced me to consider what had happened to me a terrible and onerous thing. But again, I reflected that Croesus, the king of the Lydians, was advised by Apollo, when a certain mischance fell, to leave his kingdom and go voluntarily into exile, and not to feel himself disgraced if he should be looked upon by men as a coward, the oracle running somewhat as follows:
[13.7] Wait till the time shall come when a mule is monarch of Media:
Then, thou delicate Lydian, away to the pebbles of Hermus;
Haste thee and no longer stay, nor have awe of being a coward.
[13.8] It is evident that the poet uses ‘awe’ instead of ‘shame’ as is the custom the poets have, and ‘being a coward’ in place of ‘being thought so by the many.’ [8] Then next the thought came to me that exile is not altogether injurious or unprofitable, nor staying at home a good and praiseworthy thing. For Apollo would not have urged and advised the one course, to wit, going into exile, and have expressly forbidden the other course, staying, especially when prophesying to a man who had been most careful about divine observances and had offered the most sacrifices and sent to Delphi the largest votive offerings ever set up there.
[13.9] Bearing in mind all these things I decided to go to the god’s temple myself and consult him, as a competent adviser, according to the ancient custom of the Greeks. For surely, thought I, if he gives competent advice about sickness and, if children are not born to a man, about childlessness, and about harvests, he will not show any less ability about such a case as mine. And then when I consulted him, he gave me a strange sort of reply and one not easy to interpret. For he bade me to keep on doing with all zeal the very thing wherein I am engaged, as being a most honourable and useful activity, “until thou comest,” said he, “to the uttermost parts of the earth.” And yet lying is a harsh thing to impute and not consistent with even a man’s standards, to say nothing of a god’s. [10] Accordingly I reflected that Odysseus after all his wanderings did not hesitate to roam once more, when he carried an oar as Teiresias, a man dead and gone, had advised him, until he should fall in with people who knew not the sea, even by hearsay; and should not I follow his example if God so bade?
[13.11] So after exhorting myself in this way neither to fear or be ashamed of my action, and putting on humble attire and otherwise chastening myself, I proceeded to roam everywhere. [11] And the men whom I met, on catching sight of me, would sometimes call me a tramp and sometimes a beggar, though some did call me a philosopher. From this it came about gradually and without any planning or any self-conceit on my part that I acquired this name. Now the great majority of those styled philosophers proclaim themselves such, just as the Olympian heralds proclaim the victors; but in my case, when the other folk applied this name to me, I was not able always and in all instances to have the matter out with them. [12] And very likely, as it turned out, I did profit somewhat by the general report about me. For many would approach me and ask what was my opinion about good and evil. As a result I was forced to think about these matters that I might be able to answer my questioners. Furthermore, they would invite me to come before the public and speak. [13] Consequently it became necessary for me to speak also about the duties of man and about the things that were likely, in my opinion, to profit him.
[13.13] And the opinion I had was that pretty well all men are fools, and that no one does any of the things he should do, or considers how to rid himself of the evils that beset him and of his great ignorance and confusion of mind, so as to live a more virtuous and a better life; but that they all are being thrown into confusion and are swept round and round in the same place and about practically the same objects, to wit, money and reputation and certain pleasures of the body, while no one is able to rid himself of these and set his own soul free; just as, I fancy, things that get into a whirlpool are tossed and rolled without being able to free themselves from the whirling. [14] While I was uttering these and similar upbraidings of all others, but first and foremost of myself, at times, when at a loss, I would have recourse to an ancient appeal made by a certain Socrates, one that he never ceased making, everywhere and to everyone, crying out and declaiming earnestly, in the wrestling schools and in the Lyceum and at the workshops and up and down the market-place, like a god swung into view by the machine, as someone has said. By no means, however, did I pretend that the appeal was mine, [15] but gave the credit where it was due, and requested them, in case I were unable to recall accurately all the phrases, or even not all the thought, but should add or subtract anything, to grant me their indulgence and not to pay any the less attention to me just because I was repeating what happened to have been said many years before. “For perhaps,” said I, “you will in this way derive the greatest benefit. For in truth,” I added, “it is not at all probable that the words of old have evaporated like drugs and lost their power.”
[13.16] Now Socrates, whenever he saw several persons assembled, would cry out most bravely and frankly with indignant rebuke and censure, “Whither are you drifting, men? Are you quite unaware that you are doing none of the things that you should do, in concerning yourselves with money and trying to get it in any way and every way, in order that you may not only have it in abundance yourselves, but may bequeath still more of it to your children? Yet the children themselves — aye, and earlier, yourselves, their fathers — you have all alike neglected, since you have found no education and no mode of life that is satisfactory, or even profitable, for man, which, if acquired, will enable you to use your money rightly and justly, instead of harmfully and unjustly, and to treat without hurt, not only yourselves, whom you should have considered of more value than wealth, but also your sons and daughters and wives and brothers and friends, even as they should treat you.
[13.17] “But, pray, is it by learning from your parents to play the lyre and to wrestle, to read and write, and by teaching your sons these things that you think that your city will be inhabited by more disciplined and better citizens? And yet if one were to bring together all the cithara players and gymnastic masters and schoolmasters who have the best knowledge of their respective subjects, and, if you should found a city with them or even a nation, just as you at one time colonized Ionia, what sort of a city do you think it would be, and what the character of its citizens? Would not life be much worse and viler than it is in that city of shopkeepers in Egypt, where all shopkeepers settle, both men and women alike? Will not a much more ridiculous society be made by these teachers of your children of whom I speak — I mean the gymnastic masters, the cithara players, and the schoolmasters, including the rhapsodists and the actors?
[13.18] “For mark you, everything that people learn, they learn simply in order that when the need arises for the things which each man has learned, he may do the work of his profession, the pilot, for instance, guiding the ship with the rudder as soon as he steps on board — for this is why he studied piloting — and the physician healing with his drugs and dietary regulations when he takes charge of his patient — the purpose for which he acquired his skill. [19] And so, to take your own case,” he continued, “when there is need of any deliberation concerning the welfare of your city and you have come together in the Assembly, do some of you get up and play the cithara, and certain other individuals wrestle, and yet others of you take something of Homer’s or Hesiod’s and proceed to read it? For these are the things that you know better than the others, and these are the things which you think will make you good men and enable you to conduct your public affairs properly and your private concerns likewise. And now, these are the hopes which inspire you when you direct your city and prepare your sons, working to qualify them to handle both their own and the public’s interests if only they can play satisfactorily
[13.18b] Pallas, dread destroyer of cities,
[13.20] or ‘with eager foot’ betake themselves to the lyre. But as to how you are to learn what is to your own advantage and that of your native city, and to live lawfully and justly and harmoniously in your social and political relations without wronging or plotting against one another, this you never learned nor has this problem ever yet given you any concern, nor even at this moment does it trouble you at all. [20] But although you every year see the tragic performances at the Dionysia and pity the misfortunes of the characters in the exhibitions of tragedies, yet in spite of this you have never reflected that it is not the illiterate or the singers who sing out of tune or those who do not know how to wrestle to whom these evils happen, nor has anyone ever brought out a tragedy about a man simply because he is poor. Quite the contrary! It is heroes like Atreus, Agamemnon, and Oedipus who form the subject of all the tragedies, as anyone may see, men who possessed a wealth of gold and silver and land and cattle and indeed, for the most unfortunate of them they say a golden sheep was born. [21] And again, even Thamyris, who was very proficient in playing the cithara and strove with the Muses themselves for the prize in music, was blinded because of this and unlearned the art of playing the cithara in the bargain. And his invention of the letters of the alphabet availed Palamedes naught to save him from suffering injustice at the hands of the very Achaeans who had been instructed by him and from being put to death by stoning. But as long as they were unlettered and unacquainted with this special learning of his, they permitted him to live. When, however, he had taught the others to read and write, and the Atreidae of course first of all, and along with their letters had shown them how to raise bale-fires and how to count the host — for previously they had not known how to count the multitude properly, as shepherds do their sheep — as soon as they had become more clever and proficient, then it was that they slew him.
[13.22] “But if you really think,” said he, “that the orators are qualified to deliberate and that their profession is competent to make men good, I am surprised that you have not entrusted the deciding of questions of state to them instead of to your own selves; and why, if you regard them as the best and most just of men, you have not allowed them to manage your finances also. No, for you would be acting just as if you were to appoint the marines or boatswains to be the helmsmen and captains of your triremes!”
[13.23] Then if one of the public men and orators said to him in reply: “Anyhow it was this education that the Athenians had received and were using at the time when the Persians came with so many myriads against their city twice in succession, and against the rest of Greece: on the first occasion when the Persian king sent an army and generals, and later when Xerxes came in person with all the hosts of Asia; but nevertheless they conquered all these, and everywhere proved superior to them both in planning and in fighting. And yet how would they have been able to prevail over so great an armament and over so mighty a host, if they had not been superior in the qualities of valour? Or how would they have been superior in such excellence, if they had not enjoyed the most excellent education, but a poor and useless one?”
[13.24] In answer to anyone using such arguments he would reply that neither had their enemies received any education before they came, nor did they know how to deliberate about affairs of state, but had simply been trained to shoot and ride and hunt, while they thought exposure of the body the most shameful thing, and spitting in public. “But those things,” he said, “were destined to avail them not at all; with the result that there was not even a general over them nor yet a king, but there were simply countless myriads of men, all foolish and doomed to an evil fate. However, there was one among them who had the right to wear his tiara upright and to sit upon a golden throne, by whom all were driven on by compulsion, as if by an evil spirit, some into the sea and some down from the hills; while scourged by the lash, in terror, and jostling one another and trembling, they were forced to die. [25] Hence, just as if two men quite ignorant of wrestling were to wrestle together, one of them would sometimes throw the other, not because of his greater experience but by mere chance, and often the same man would even throw his opponent twice in succession; so too, when the Persians clashed with the Athenians, at one time the Athenians and at another time the Persians, as at a later time, when they were fighting the Athenians with the aid of the Lacedaemonians, they even tore down the walls of their city. [26] Yet would you be able to assert to me that at that time the Athenians had become less cultivated and more illiterate? Afterwards, again, in the time of Conon, when they won the naval engagement off Cnidos, were they more skilful at wrestling and singing odes?”
[13.24b] This is the way, then, in which he would demonstrate that they were not receiving a useful education. And this, he said, had been the experience, not alone of the Athenians, but of practically all mankind, both in the past and in the present age.
[13.27] “Furthermore,” he would go on to say, “to be uneducated and to know none of the essential things, and to have no adequate preparation for life, and yet to go on living and to attempt while in that condition to carry on important matters of state — this cannot satisfy even the persons themselves; for they themselves criticize the ignorant and uneducated as not being able to live aright. And by the ignorant I mean, not those who do not know how to weave or how to make shoes, nor the people who cannot dance, but those who are ignorant of the things which one must know if he is to be a good and noble man.”
[13.28] And speaking in this manner he would exhort his hearers to take care to give heed to his words, and to pursue philosophy; for he knew that if they sought that which he recommended, they would be doing nothing else than studying philosophy. For if a man strives earnestly to be good and honourable, that is nothing but being a philosopher. However, he did not often use that word for it, but merely bade them to seek to be good men.
[13.29] Now to my hearers I used to say practically the same things as Socrates did, things old-fashioned and trite though they were, and when they refused to leave me in peace even on reaching Rome itself, I did not venture to speak any word of my own, fearing lest I be laughed at and regarded as a fool, since I was well aware how completely old-fashioned and ignorant I was; and I said to myself:
[13.30] “Come now, if I, copying the words of another, use such derogatory words about things which are highly regarded at Rome here, and tell them that not one of these things is a good, if I speak of luxury and intemperance, and tell them that what they need is a thorough and sound education, perhaps they will not laugh at me for uttering such sentiments nor declare that I am a fool. [30] But if they do, I shall be able to say that those words were spoken by a man whom the Greeks one and all admired for his wisdom, and what is more, whom Apollo actually considered the wisest man in the world, while Archelaus, the king of Macedonia, who knew a great deal and had consorted with many wise men, tried to get him to come to Macedonia, offering him gifts and fees that he might have the privilege of hearing him say such things.”
[13.31] And thus it came about that I too endeavoured to talk to the Romans when they had summoned me and invited me to speak, but I did not take them by twos and threes in wrestling-schools and cloistered walks; for it was not possible to meet them thus in that city; but when a great number had gathered in one place, I would tell them that they needed a better and more carefully planned education, if they were ever to be happy in truth and reality and not merely in the opinion of the majority, as was now the case; that if anyone should win them to this view and take them in charge and teach them that not a single one of those things is a good to which they devoted themselves and which they strove with all their zeal to acquire, in the belief that, the more they acquired, the better and happier their life would be; [32] but that if they wholeheartedly practised temperance, manliness, and justice, and took them into their souls, securing from somewhere teachers who taught these things and all the other things too, not caring whether the men were Greeks or Romans, or, for that matter, if there is among the Scythians or the Indians a man who teaches the things of which I have spoken, — not, as I think, archery and horsemanship, but far better, if there were a physician who, knowing how to treat the infirmities of the body, is in that way competent to heal the maladies of the soul — a teacher, I mean, who would be able to rid of licentiousness and covetousness and all such infirmities those who were dominated by them — [33] of that man, I say, they should take possession and lead him to their homes, inducing him to come either by argument or by friendship — for by money such a man cannot be induced nor by any other gifts — and after establishing him on their acropolis they ought to issue an edict bidding all the young men to resort to him regularly and associate with him, and equally the older men too, until all of them, having become enamoured of righteousness, and having learned to despise gold and silver and ivory, yea, and rich food too and perfume and the lust of the flesh, should thereafter live happy lives, and be masters first and foremost of themselves and afterwards [34] of all other men as well.
[13.34] “For only then,” I continued, “will your city be great and strong and truly imperial, since at present its greatness arouses distrust and is not very secure. For,” said I, “in proportion as courage, justice, and temperance increase among you, in that degree there will be less silver and gold and furniture of ivory and of amber, less of crystal and citron-wood and ebony and women’s adornments and embroideries and dyes of many hues; in short, all the things which are now considered in your city precious and worth fighting for, you will need in smaller quantities, [35] and when you have reached the summit of virtue, not at all. And the houses in which you live will be smaller and better, and you will not support so great a throng of idle and utterly useless slaves and — the most paradoxical thing of all — the more god-fearing and pious you become, the less frankincense and fragrant offerings and garlands there will be among you, and you will offer fewer sacrifices and at less expense, and the whole multitude that is now being supported in your city will be much smaller; while the entire city, like a ship that has been lightened, will ride higher and be much more buoyant and safer. [36] These same pronouncements you will find were made both by Sibylla and by Bacis, it if be true that the two of them proved to be good soothsayers and seers. But as your possessions are now, on account of the great amount of wealth, all of which has been collected from all the world into this one place, luxury and covetousness being prevalent, the situation is similar to that in which Achilles, after heaping high the pyre of Patroclus with many logs of wood, with many coverlets and garments, and also with fat and olive oil in addition, summons the winds, with libations and promise of sacrifices, to come and set it afire and burn it. [37] For such possessions as yours are no less likely to kindle the wanton spirit and licentiousness of human beings.”
[13.34b] I did not, however, maintain that it was difficult for them to become educated, “for,” said I, “although you have hitherto been no whit better thanº other men, you learned easily enough all the other things that you wished.” I refer to horsemanship, archery, fighting in heavy armour . . .

## THE FOURTEENTH DISCOURSE: ON SLAVERY AND FREEDOM I

DIO BEGINS THIS Discourse by saying that the majority of men do not know the real difference between slavery and freedom, and after examining the question for some time, finally, in § 18, states his own view that freedom is the knowledge of what is allowable and what is forbidden, while slavery is the opposite. Then, identifying the free man with the king, he proceeds to prove the paradox that the king, or free man, may be such although he is kept in prison or suffers other seeming indignities.
The Discourse is very informal. Dio speaks in his own person up to the beginning of § 11 and then from that point on discusses the question with another. This would seem to put the Discourse in the period of Dio’s exile, when according to the confession in the Thirteenth Discourse his informal teaching of moral philosophy began and probably was chiefly carried on.
This Discourse along with the Fifteenth is our chief source for knowledge of the Stoic doctrine that the wise man alone is free. It is also found stated in the pseudo-Philonic treatise Περὶ τοῦ πάντα σπουδαῖον ἐλεύθερον εἶναι (Every good man is free), in Cicero’s Paradoxa Stoicorum, Plutarch’s Περὶ εὐγενείας (On Nobility of Birth), and in Epictetus, Diatribe 4.1. All these passages may be derived from one common Stoic source as Kaibel says (see Hermes, vol. 23, 1888, , n3), if not from some Cynic earlier still. At least O. Hense (Rheinisches Museum, vol. 47, 1892, ff.) shows that, in the treatise falsely ascribed to Philo, Bion’s Περὶ δουλείας (On Slavery) was used.
The Fourteenth Discourse: On Slavery and Freedom I
[14.1] Men desire above all things to be free and say that freedom is the greatest of blessings, while slavery is the most shameful and wretched of states; and yet they have no knowledge of the essential nature of this freedom and this slavery of which they speak. And, what is more, they do practically nothing whatever to escape the shameful and grievous thing, which is slavery, and to gain what they consider to be valuable, that is, freedom; but on the contrary, they do the things which result in their continuing in slavery all their lives and never attaining to freedom. [2] However, we should perhaps feel no surprise that these men are unable either to get or to avoid the thing of which they happen to be ignorant. For instance, if they happened to be ignorant as to what a sheep and a wolf are respectively, but nevertheless thought that the one was profitable and good to get while the other was harmful and unprofitable, it would not be at all surprising if they feared the sheep and fled from it at times as though it were a wolf, but let the wolf approach and awaited its coming, thinking to be a sheep. For ignorance has this effect upon men who lack knowledge, and forces them to flee from and to pursue the opposite of what they desire to flee from and to pursue, and of what would be to their advantage.
[14.3] Come then, let us consider whether the majority of men really have any clear knowledge about freedom and slavery. For it is quite possible that we are criticizing them without good reason, and that they know well what these are.
[14.4] Now if one were to ask statement what the nature of freedom is, they would say, perhaps, that it consists in being subject to no one and acting simply in accordance with one’s own judgement. [4] But if one were to go on and ask the man who made this answer whether he thought it a fine thing, and worthy of a free man, that when he is a member of a chorus he should not pay attention to the leader nor be subject to him, but should sing in tune or out of tune just as he took the notion, and whether he thought the opposite course, namely, to pay attention and obey the director of the chorus and to begin and to stop singing only at his command, was shameful and slavish, I do not think that he would agree. [5] And again, if one were to ask whether he thought it was characteristic of a free man, when a passenger on board a ship, to pay no attention to the captain and refuse to carry out whatever orders he should give; for instance, to stand erect in the ship when ordered to sit down, simply if he took a notion to do so; and if he were on occasion ordered to bale or help hoist the sails, neither to bale nor lay hold of the ropes; this man, too, he would not call free or enviable, because he does what seems best to himself. [6] And surely one would not call soldiers slaves because they are subject to their general’s orders and spring to their feet the moment he gives a command, and partake of food and lay hold of their weapons and fall in and advance and retire only at their general’s order. Neither will they call persons who are sick slaves because they must obey their physicians. [7] And yet the orders which they obey are neither insignificant nor easy to carry out, but at times they order them to do without both food and drink; and if the physician decides at any time to bind the patient, he is straightway bound; and if he decides to use the knife or cautery, the patient will be burned and cut to the extent that the physician decides is best. And if the sick man refuses to obey, all the household will help the physician to cope with him, and not the free alone, but often the sick man’s domestics themselves bind their master and fetch the fire that he may suffer cautery, and give any other assistance. [8] You do not say, do you, that this man is not free because he endures many unpleasant things at another’s command? Surely you would not have denied, for instance, that Darius, the King of the Persians, was a free man when, after suffering a fall from his horse in a hunt and dislocating his ankle, he obeyed the surgeons while they pulled and twisted his foot in order to set the joint, and that too although they were Egyptians. Nor, to take another instance, would you have denied that Xerxes was a free man, when on his retreat from Greece a storm arose and he while aboard the ship obeyed the captain in everything and would not permit himself against the captain’s judgement even to nod or to change his position. Therefore they will not persist in maintaining that rendering obedience to no man or doing whatever one likes constitutes freedom.
[14.9] But perhaps they will counter by saying that these men obey for their own advantage, just as people on shipboard obey the captain and soldiers their general, and that the sick for this reason give heed to their physician, that they prescribe nothing but what is for the advantage of their patients. But masters, they will assert, do not order their slaves to do what will benefit them, but what they think will be of profit to themselves. [10] Well then, is it to the master’s advantage that his servant should die or be ill or be a knave? No one would say so, but would affirm that the contrary is to his advantage, namely that he should keep alive and well and should be an honest man. And these same things will be found to be for the advantage of the servant as well; so that the master, if indeed he is wise, will order his servant to do that which is equally to the servant’s advantage; for that will prove to be of advantage to himself as well.
[14.11] — But the man for whom one pays down money is of necessity a slave.
[14.11b] Dio. But have not many men paid down money for many who are free, when they have paid a ransom, at one time to enemies in warfare and at another to pirates, and some few have paid their own value to their masters? And yet surely these last are not slaves to themselves?
[14.12] — No, but whenever another has the power to have a man scourged or imprisoned or put to death, or have anything else done to him that he wishes, then that man is the slave of the other.
[14.12b] Dio. How is that? Do not pirates have the power to treat the men they have captured in this way? And yet none the less the captives are not slaves. Then again, have not judges the power to impose the penalty of imprisonment or death or anything else they wish upon many of those who are before them for trial? And yet surely these men are not slaves. But if they are slaves for the one day during which they each are on trial, this means nothing; for is a man really ever said to have been a slave for one day?
[14.13] — But surely we may put the matter briefly and declare that whoever has the power to do whatever he wishes is free, and that whoever has not that power is a slave.
[14.13b] Dio. No, you cannot say this in the case of those on board ship nor of the sick either, nor of those serving in the field, nor of those learning to read and write or to play the harp or to wrestle or to acquire any other art; for these have not the right to follow their own preferences, but must act as the captain, physician, or teacher, as the case may be, instructs. If that is so, then men in general are not allowed to do what they wish, but if they violate the established laws, they will be punished.
[14.14] — Then I say that the man who has the power to act or not, just as he pleases, in regard to those matters which are not forbidden by the laws or enjoined by them, is free, and that the man who on the contrary lacks that power is a slave.
[14.14b] Dio. Well then, do you think that it is permitted to you to do all things, which, while they are not expressly forbidden by the laws, yet are regarded as base and unseemly by mankind? I mean, for example, collecting taxes, or keeping a brothel, or doing other such things.
[14.14c] — O no, indeed. I should say that it is not permissible for the free to do such things either. And indeed for these acts the penalty fixed is to be hated or abominated by men.
[14.15] Dio. Well then, in the case of intemperate men, whatever acts they commit by reason of their intemperance, and in the case of the ignorant all that they do owing to their ignorance in neglecting either their property or their person or in treating their fellows unjustly and inconsiderately, do not all these things impose a penalty upon those that do them? For they are injured either in their person or in their property or, most serious of all, in their own soul.
[14.15b] — What you now say is true.
Dio. Therefore it is not permissible to do these things either?
[14.16] — No, certainly not.
Dio. In a word, then, it is not permissible to do mean and unseemly and unprofitable things, but things that are just and profitable and good we must say that it is both proper and permissible to do?
[14.16b] — It seems so to me at any rate.
Dio. Therefore no one may do that which is mean and unprofitable without suffering the penalty, whether he be Greek or barbarian . . . or a man for whom one has paid a price in cash?
[14.17] — No, indeed.
Dio. But the opposite things are allowed to all alike, and those who do what is allowed continue free from penalty, while those who do what is forbidden are punished. [17] Now do you think that any others do what is permissible except those who know what that is, or that any others do the opposite except those who do not know?
[14.17b] — Oh, no!
Dio. Therefore, the wise are permitted to do anything whatsoever they wish, while the foolish attempt to do what they wish although it is not permissible; so that it follows of necessity that while the wise are free and are allowed to act as they wish, the ignorant are slaves and do that which is not allowable for them?
[14.18] — Perhaps.
Dio. Therefore we are forced to define freedom as the knowledge of what is allowable and what is forbidden, and slavery as ignorance of what is allowed and what is not. According to this definition there is nothing to prevent the Great King, while wearing a very tall tiara upon his head, from being a slave and not being allowed to do anything that he does; for every act that he performs will bring a penalty and be unprofitable. But some other man who is regarded as a slave and is so called, who has not once but often, if it so chance, been sold, and if it should so happen, wears very heavy fetters, will be more free than the Great King.
[14.19] — To me it appears exceeding strange that one who wears fetters or has been branded or who grinds in a mill will be more free than the Great King.
[14.19b] Dio. Well, now have you ever been in Thrace?
— Yes.
Dio. Then you have seen the women there, the free women, covered with branded marks, and having the more such marks and the more elaborate in proportion to their social standing and that of the families to which they belong?
[14.20] — Now, pray, what does this signify?
Dio. That, as it seems, there is nothing to prevent a queen from being tattooed; but do you think that there is anything to prevent a king? And further, have you never heard of that race, either, where the king is kept under guard in a very high tower and may not descend from that tower? But, if you had heard, you would have understood that it is possible for a man to be king even if kept closely confined. And you might perhaps have heard those people expressing surprise if you had tried to tell them about the Persian King, and refusing to believe that there is such a thing as a king who drives about in a chariot and goes wherever he wishes.
[14.20b] — But you cannot give an instance of a king who is in bonds.
[14.21] Dio. No king of men, perhaps, and yet the King of the Gods, the first and eldest one, is in bonds, they say, if we are to believe Hesiod and Homer and other wise men who tell this tale about Cronus, and indeed he does not receive this treatment unjustly from a personal enemy, but from one most just who loved him dearly, who evidently treats him thus because it is fit treatment for a king and profitable to him. [22] But they do not know this and would never imagine that a beggar or a prisoner or man without repute was once king, although they hear that Odysseus, for all his being a beggar and begging of the suitors, was none the less a king and the owner of the house, while Antinous and Eurymachus, whom Homer named ‘kings,’ were miserable and unfortunate wretches. But this, as I said, they do not know, and as badges of royalty they clothe themselves with tiaras and sceptres and crowns so that none may fail to know that they are kings; just as, I imagine, owners mark their cattle to make them easily distinguishable. [23] This undoubtedly is the reason why the King of the Persians ordained that he alone should wear his tiara upright; and if anyone else did this, he straightway ordered his execution, in the belief that it was not good or advantageous that in the midst of so many myriads of people two men should wear tiaras upright; but that he should have his mind upright [24] and that no one should have greater wisdom than himself, for this he had no concern. So I fear that just as in those days there were such symbols of royalty as we have described, so now also there ought to be similar badges to mark the free man, and that he ought to walk abroad wearing a felt skull-cap, else we shall not be able to distinguish between the free man and the slave.

## THE FIFTEENTH DISCOURSE: ON SLAVERY AND FREEDOM II

THIS DISCOURSE, JUST like the preceding one, deals with the distinction between freedom and slavery, and for the same reasons may be assigned to the period of Dio’s exile or later. Dio begins by reporting an informal debate on this question between two men, who from §§ , 5, and [7] we may suppose were Athenians. At the end of their debate Dio in § 24 gives the reasoned opinion of the audience that when one human being gets lawful possession of another with the right to use him as he likes, then the second man is the slave of the first. After this the question is raised as to what constitutes valid possession.
The first speaker (indicated by the letter A) is just such another man as the slave Syriscus in the Epitrepontes of Menander. Both are voluble aggressive debaters with a wealth of illustrations drawn from mythology and tragedy to enforce their points.
From an examination of Diogenes Laertius 2.31, 6.1, 6.4, 6.15 it has been inferred that Dio drew from Antisthenes for this Discourse. See Wegehaupt, op. cit., p‑65.
The Fifteenth Discourse: On Slavery and Freedom II
[15.1] Recently, I assure you, I was present when two men were disputing at great length about slavery and freedom, not before judges or in the market-place, but at their ease at home, taking a long time about it; and each of the two men had a considerable number of warm adherents. For they had been debating other questions before that, as is my impression; and the one who was worsted in the debate, being at a loss for arguments, became abusive, as often happens in such cases, and taunted the other with not being a freeman. Whereupon the first very gently smiled and said:
[15.2] A. “But how can you say that? Is it possible, my good friend, to know who is a slave, or who is free?”
[15.2b] B. “Yes, it certainly is,” replied the other. “I know at any rate that I myself am free and that all these men here are, but that you have no lot or share in freedom.”
[15.2c] At this some of those present laughed, and yet the first man was not one whit more abashed, but just as gallant cocks are aroused at the blow of their masters and take courage, so he too was aroused and took courage at the insult, and asked his opponent where he got his knowledge about the two of them.
[15.3] B. “Because,” said he, “I know that my father is an Athenian, if any man is, while yours is the slave of so-and‑so,” mentioning his name.
[15.3b] A. “According to this, then,” said the first man, “what is to prevent me from anointing myself in the Cynosarges along with the bastards, if I really am the son of a free-born mother — who is, perhaps, a citizen into the bargain — and of the father whom you mention? Have not many women who are citizens, embarrassed by the scarcity of eligible men, been got with child either by foreigners or by slaves, sometimes not knowing the fact, but sometimes also with full knowledge of it? And of the children thus begotten none is a slave, but only a non-Athenian.”
[15.4] B. “Well, in your case,” he rejoined, “I myself know that your mother is a slave in the same household as your father.”
[15.4b] A. “Very well!” said the first man, “Do you know who your own mother is?”
[15.4c] B. “Why certainly; a citizen born of citizens, who brought to her husband a pretty good dowry too.”
[15.5] A. “Could you actually take your oath that you are the son of the father of whom she says that you are? Telemachus, you know, did not care at all to insist in support of Penelope, the daughter of Icarius, who was regarded as a very chaste woman, that she spoke the truth when she declared that Odysseus was his father. But you, not only in support of yourself and of your mother, would take oath apparently, if anyone should bid you, but in regard to any slave woman as to who the man was by whom she was got with child, such a slave woman as you say that my mother was. [5] Pray, does it seem to you impossible that she should have been got with child by some other man, a freeman, or even by her own master? Do not many Athenian men have intercourse with their maidservants, some of them secretly, but others quite openly? For surely it cannot be that every Greek is superior to Heracles, who did not think it beneath him to have intercourse even with the slave woman of Iardanus, who became the mother of the kings of Sardis. [6] And further, you do not believe, as it seems, that Clytemnestra, the daughter of Tyndareüs and the wife of Agamemnon, not only lived with Agamemnon, her own husband, but also, when he was away, had relations with Aegistheus, and that Aeropê, the wife of Atreus, accepted the advances of Thyestes, and that many other wives of distinguished and wealthy men in both ancient and modern times have had relations with other men and sometimes have had children by them? But she who you say was a maidservant was so scrupulously faithful to her own husband that she would not have had relations with any other man! [7] And further, in regard to yourself and me as well you asseverate that each of us was born of the woman who is reputed to be and is called his mother. And yet you might name many Athenians, and very prominent ones too, who turned out later not only not to have been the sons of the father but not even those of the mother to whom they were attributed, having been supposititious children of unknown origin who had been reared as sons. And such incidents you yourself are constantly seeing exhibited and described by the writers of comedy and in tragedies, but nevertheless you go on in the same old way, making positive statements about yourself and about me, as if you knew for a certainty the circumstances of our birth and the identity of our parents. [8] Do you not know,” he continued, “that the law permits anyone to bring an action for libel against the man who slanders without being able to adduce any clear proof of his statements?”
[15.5b] B. And the other man replied, “Yes, I know that freeborn women often palm off other persons’ children as their own on account of their childlessness, when they are unable to conceive children themselves, because each one wishes to keep her own husband and her home, while at the same time they do not lack the means to support the children; but in the case of slave women, on the other hand, some destroy the child before birth and others afterwards, if they can do so without being caught, and yet sometimes even with the connivance of their husbands, that they may not be involved in trouble by being compelled to raise children in addition to their enduring slavery.”
[15.9] A. “O yes, certainly,” the first man replied, “if you make an exception of the slave girl of Oeneus, the bastard son, as he alleged, of Pandion. For Oeneus’ herdsman, who lived at Eleutherae, and that herdsman’s wife, so far from exposing their own children, took up other people’s children whom they found by the roadside, without having the least notion whose children they were, and reared them as their own, nor at any time afterwards were they willing to admit that they were not their own. But you, perhaps, would have abused both Zethus and Amphion before their identity became known, and would have taken solemn oath that the sons of Zeus were slaves.”
[15.10] B. Then this opponent laughed very ironically and said: “Aha! is it the tragic poets to whom you appeal as witnesses?”
[15.11] A. “Yes indeed,” said the other man, “for the Greeks have confidence in them; for whomsoever these poets exhibit as heroes, to them you will find all Greeks offering sacrifice as heroes, and you may see with your eyes the shrines which the people have erected in their honour. And in the same manner consider, if you please, the Phrygian woman, who was the slave of Priam, who reared Alexander on Mount Ida as her own son after taking him from her husband, who was a herdsman, and raised no objection to her rearing a child. And Telephus, the son of Augê and Heracles, they say was not reared by a woman but by a hind. Or do you think that a hind would have more compassion on a babe and desire to rear it than a human being would if she happened to be a slave? [11] Come now, in Heaven’s name, if I should go so far as to admit to you that my parents are those whom you say they are, how can you know that they are slaves? Or were you really sure who their parents were, and are you ready to take your solemn oath in regard to each of them also that both were born of two slaves — they and their progenitors back to the very beginning — all of them? For it is clear that if any member of a family is free-born, it is no longer possible rightly to regard his descendants as slaves. And it is impossible, my good sir, that from all eternity, as the saying is, there should be any race of men in which there have not been countless numbers free and not fewer than these in number those who have been slaves; and indeed, tyrants and kings and prisoners and branded slaves and shopkeepers and cobblers and all the rest such as are found in the world of men, so that among them you have had experience of all the occupations, all the careers, all the fortunes, and all the mischances. [12] Or do you not know that the reason why the poets trace the families of so‑called heroes directly back to the gods is simply that the character in question may not be investigated further? And quite the majority of them men say are sprung from Zeus, in order that they may not have their kings and the founders of their cities and their eponymous heroes getting into predicaments of the kind that are regarded among men as disgraceful. Consequently, if it really is with men as we and others wiser than we claim, you can have no greater share in freedom on the score of family than any one of those who are regarded as out-and‑out slaves — unless, of course, you too make haste to trace your own ancestry back to Zeus or Poseidon or Apollo — and I no greater share in slavery.”
[15.13] B. “Well then,” said the other, “let us drop all this about family and ancestors, since you think it is so difficult to determine; for it is quite possible that you will turn out to be just like Amphion and Zethus, and like Alexander the offspring of Priam. But as for you, your own self, we all know that you are in a state of servitude.”
[15.14] A. “What,” said the first man, “do you think that all those who are in a state of servitude are slaves? But are not many of these, although free men, yet held unjustly in servitude? Some of them have already gone before the court and proved that they are free, while others are enduring to the end, either because they have no clear proof of their freedom, or else because those who are called their masters are not harsh with them. [14] Consider, for instance, the case of Eumaeus, the son of Ctesias, son of Ormenus: he was the son of a man who was altogether free and of great wealth, but did he not serve as a slave in Ithaca in the households of Odysseus and Laertes? And yet, although he could, time and again, have sailed off home if he had so wished, he never thought it worth while. What, did not many Athenians among those made prisoners in Sicily serve as slaves in Sicily and in the Peloponnese although they were free men; and of those taken captive from time to time in many other battles, some only for a time until they found men who would ransom them, and others to the very end? [15] In the same period too, even the son of Callias was thought to have been in servitude a long time in Thrace after the battle in which the Athenians suffered a defeat at Acanthus, so that when he escaped afterwards and reached home he laid claim to the estate left by Callias and caused a great deal of trouble to the next of kin, being, in my opinion, an impostor. For he was not the son of Callias but his groom, in appearance resembling that boy of Callias who did lose his life in the battle; and besides he spoke Greek accurately and could read and write. — [16] But there have been innumerable others who have suffered this fate, since, even of those who are in servitude here at the present time Iº firmly believe that many are free-born men. For we shall not assert that any Athenian who is free-born is a slave if he has been made a prisoner in war and carried off to Persia, or even, if you like, is taken to Thrace or Sicily and sold like a chattel; but if any Thracian or Persian, not only born there of free parents but even the son of some prince or king, is brought here, we shall not admit that he is a free person. [17] Do you not know,” he continued, “the law they have at Athens and in many other states as well, which does not allow the man who was born a slave to enjoy the rights of a citizen? But the son of Callias, if he actually did escape from captivity on that occasion, after reaching home from Thrace, even though he had spent many years there and had often been scourged, no one would think it right to exclude from Athenian citizenship; so that there are occasional instances where the law too denies that those who have been unjustly in servitude have thereby become slaves. [18] In heaven’s name, I ask you, what is it that I do of which you have knowledge, or what is it that is done to me, which justifies your saying that you know that I am in a state of slavery?”
[15.14b] B. “I know that you are being kept by your master, dance attendance upon him, and do whatever he commands; or else you take a beating.”
[15.19] A. “According to that,” said the first man, “you can make out that sons also are the slaves of their fathers; for they dance attendance upon their fathers, often, if they are poor, walking with them to the gymnasium or to dinner; and they without exception are supported by their fathers and frequently are beaten by them, and they obey any orders their fathers give them. [19] And yet, so far as obeying and being thrashed are concerned, you can go on and assert that the boys who take lessons of schoolmasters are likewise their servants and that the gymnastic trainers are slave-masters of their pupils, or those who teach anything else; for they give orders to their pupils and trounce them when they are disobedient.”
[15.19b] B. “Indeed that’s true,” replied the other, “but it is not permissible for the gymnastic instructors or for the other teachers to imprison their pupils or to sell them or to cast them into the mill, but to slave-masters all these things are allowed.”
[15.20] A. “Yes, but perhaps you do not know that in many states which have exceedingly good laws fathers have all these powers which you mention in regard to their sons, and what is more, if they wish to do so, they may even imprison or sell them; and they have a power even more terrible than any of these; for they actually are allowed to put their sons to death without any trial and even without bringing any accusation at all against them; but still none the less they are not their fathers’ slaves but their sons. And even if I was once in a state of slavery in the fullest sense of the term and had been a slave justly from the very beginning, what is to prevent me now,” he continued, “from being just as free as anybody else, and you in your turn, on the contrary, even if you most indisputably were the son of free parents, from being an out-and‑out slave?”
[15.21] B. “For my part,” rejoined the other, “I do not see how I am to become a slave when, in fact, I am free; but as for you, it is not impossible that you have become free by your master’s having emancipated you.”
[15.21b] A. “See here, my good fellow,” said his antagonist, “would nobody get his freedom unless emancipated by his owner?”
[15.21c] B. “Why, how could anybody?” asked the other.
A. “In the same way that, when the Athenians after the battle of Chaeronea passed a vote to the effect that those slaves who would help them in the war should receive their freedom, if the war had continued and Philip had not made peace with them too soon, many of the slaves at Athens, or rather, practically all of them, would have been free without having been emancipated one at a time by their respective masters.”
[15.21d] B. “Yes, let that be granted — if the state is going to free you by taking official action.”
[15.22] A. “But what have you to say to this: Do you not think that I could liberate myself?”
[15.22b] B. “Yes, if you should raise the money somewhere to pay your master with.”
[15.22c] A. “That is not the method I mean, but the one by which Cyrus freed not only himself but also all the Persians, great host that they were, without paying down money to anyone or being set free by any master. Or do you not know that Cyrus was the vassal of Astyages and that when he got the power and decided that the time was ripe for action, he became both free and king of all Asia?”
[15.23] B. “Granted; I know it. But what do you mean by saying that I might become a slave?”
[15.23b] A. “I mean that great numbers of men, we may suppose, who are free-born sell themselves, so that they are slaves by contract, sometimes on no easy terms but the most severe imaginable.”
[15.24] Now up to this point the audience paid attention to their arguments, under the impression that they were not made so much in earnest as in jest. Yet afterwards they fell to wrangling and were inclined to the opinion that it was a strange thing if it was going to be impossible for a man to cite any evidence by which the slave could be unequivocally distinguished from the free man, but that it would be easy to debate and argue about every individual case. [24] So they dropped their discussion about the particular man in question and his slavery, and proceeded to consider the general question: Who is a slave. And the consensus of their opinion was that when anyone gets possession of a human being, in the strict meaning of the term, just as he might of any item of his goods or cattle, so as to have the right to use him as he likes, then that man is both correctly called and in fact is the slave of the man into whose possession he has come.
[15.25] Consequently, the man who had objected to being called a slave raised the further question as to what constituted the validity of possession. [25] For, he said, in the case of a house, a plot of land, a horse, or a cow, many of those who had possession had in the past been found to have held them for a long time unjustly, in some instances even though they had inherited the things from their fathers. In precisely the same way it was possible, he maintained, to have gained possession also of a human being unjustly. For manifestly of those who from time to time acquire slaves, as they acquire all other pieces of property, some get them from others either as a free gift from someone or by inheritance or by purchase, whereas some few from the very beginning have possession of those who were born under their roof, ‘home-bred’ slaves as they call them. A third method of acquiring possession is when a man takes a prisoner in war or even in brigandage and in this way holds the man after enslaving him, the oldest method of all, I presume. For it is not likely that the first men to become slaves were born of slaves in the first place, but that they were overpowered in brigandage or war and thus compelled to be slaves to their captors. [26] So we see that this earliest method, upon which all the others depend, is exceedingly vulnerable and has no validity at all; for just as soon as those men are able to make their escape, there is nothing to prevent them from being free as having been in servitude unjustly. Consequently, they were not slaves before that, either. And sometimes they not only escaped from slavery themselves, but also reduced their masters to slavery. In this case, also, we have now found that ‘at the flip of a shell,’ as the saying goes, their positions are completely reversed.
[15.25b] At this point one of the audience interjected that while those men themselves perhaps could not be called slaves, yet their children and those of the second and third generations could quite properly be so designated.
[15.27] “But how can that be? For if being captured makes a man a slave, the men who themselves were captured deserve that appellation more than their descendants do; and if it is having been born of slaves that makes men so, it is clear that by virtue of being sprung from those who were taken captive and were consequently free-born, their descendants would not be slaves. For instance, we see that those famous Messenians after the lapse of so many years recovered not only their freedom but their territory as well. [28] For when the Spartans were defeated at Leuctra by the Thebans, the latter marched into the Peloponnese supported by their allies, and not only compelled the Spartans to give back the Messenian territory, but settled in Messene again all the original Messenians’ descendants, the Helots as they were called, who had previously been in servitude to the Spartans. And not a man says that the Thebans therein acted unjustly, but all agree that altogether nobly and justly. Consequently, if this method of gaining possession, from which all the others take their beginning, is not just, it is likely that no other one is either, and that the term ‘slave’ does not in reality correspond to the truth.
[15.29] “But perhaps it was not in this way that the term ‘slave’ was originally applied — that is, to a person for whose body someone paid money, or, as the majority think, to one who was sprung from persons who were called slaves, but rather to the man who lacked a free man’s spirit and was of a servile nature. For of those who are called slaves we will, I presume, admit that many have the spirit of free men, and that among free men there are many who are altogether servile. The case is the same with those known as ‘noble’ and ‘well-born.’ For those who originally applied these names applied them to persons who were well-born in respect to virtue or excellence, not bothering to inquire who their parents were. Then afterwards the descendants of families of ancient wealth and high repute were called ‘well-born’ by a certain class. [30] Of this fact there is the clearest indication: for in the case of cocks and horses and dogs the designation was retained, just as it had been applied to men in olden times. For instance, when one sees a spirited and mettlesome horse that is well built for racing, without stopping first to enquire whether its sire by any chance came from Arcadia or from Media or is Thessalian, he judges the horse on its own merits and says that it is ‘well-bred.’ And it is the same with any connoisseur of dogs: whenever he sees a dog that is swift and keen and sagacious in following the scent, he does not go on to enquire whether it is of Carian or Spartan or some other breed, but says that it is a ‘noble’ dog. And it is exactly the same in regard to the cock and the other animals. [31] Therefore it is clear that it would be the same in the case of a man also. And so when a man is well-born in respect to virtue, it is right to call him ‘noble,’ even if no one knows his parents or his ancestors either.
[15.29b] “But,” you will object, “it is impossible for anyone to be ‘noble’ without being ‘well-born’ at the same time, or for one who is ‘well-born’ not to be free; hence we are absolutely obliged to conclude that it is the man of ignoble birth who is a slave. For surely, if it were the custom to use the terms freedom and slavery with reference to horses and cocks and dogs, we should not call some ‘noble’ and others ‘free,’ nor say that some were ‘slaves’ while others were of ‘ignoble’ birth or breed.
[15.32] “In the same way, then, when we are speaking of men, it is not reasonable to call some ‘noble’ and ‘well-born,’ and others ‘free’; but we should make no distinction between the two classes. Nor is it reasonable either to say that some are of ignoble birth and mean, and that others are slaves.
[15.32b] “In this way, then, our argument shows that it is not the philosophers who misuse the terms but the common run of ignorant men, because they know nothing about the matter.”

## THE SIXTEENTH DISCOURSE: ON PAIN AND DISTRESS OF SPIRIT

THIS DISCOURSE, GIVEN in the form of an address (διάλεξις), would seem also to belong to the period of Dio’s exile, because it was then that he needed the comfort which this discourse gives. He teaches the Stoic doctrine that since there are so many things in life to hurt us, we should fortify our spirits so as to be insensible to them.
Von Arnim (Leben und Werke, ff.) draws attention to the fact that this Discourse, just like Discourses 14, 17, 24, 27, 66, 68, 69, 71, 72, and 80, begins by mentioning a common fault of ordinary men in order to combat it.
The Sixteenth Discourse: On Pain and Distress of Spirit
[16.1] That the majority of us are mastered by Pleasure can perhaps be explained: it is because we are under her spell and witchery that we stay in her company, whereas accepting servitude to Pain is altogether irrational and strange. For although suffering pain and agony from the severest of all tortures, we nevertheless remain in it and do not accept the word of reason that frees and delivers us from our distress. And yet what more abject creature is there than a man who is held in thrall to Pain? What sight is there so shameful? For it seems to me that his condition actually affects his body also, and makes it shrunken and scowling and distorted in appearance. [2] But this yielding to the mind’s disturbance, and not only that but also the devising of certain external signs of it, such as black raiment, wringing the hands, sitting in a dejected posture, so that by all these the mind is in a certain sense compelled never to get away from its pain and distress, but to be always conscious of being in pain, although one knows perfectly well that there will be some relief from this and that there will not be found always and ever some cause for the suffering — is this not utterly silly? [3] For instance, either the death of a relative, or the illness of one of them, or of oneself, may occur and besides these, loss of reputation, a financial reverse, complete or partial failure in some undertaking, pressure of affairs, danger, and all the countless other misfortunes which occur in life (and one of these is practically sure always to be present); [4] and finally, if after all a time does come when no trouble confronts one, yet all the same, the constant expectation of such things and the knowledge that they may occur will lay hold upon the mind of those who are of that temperament. Therefore one should not seek a special consolation for each of these troubles — for the task would be endless, and life is full of painful things — but one should tear that morbid state out of his soul completely, get a firm hold on the truth that the intelligent man ought not to feel pain about anything whatever, and be a free man henceforth. Then there will be release from dread of all that causes distress. For in fact there is nothing that in itself should cause fear; it is only false opinion and weakness on our part that make it so. [5] The great majority, for instance, whenever any one of the things happen which are commonly regarded as untoward, keep continually recalling that thing, distressing though the recollection is, their state of mind being something like that of children, who are bent on touching the fire, for example, although they suffer great pain in doing so: yet if you give them permission they will do it again.
[16.6] So, just as when men go forth to war it is no use for them to march out without their armour and then merely hope to dodge each flying missile, for it is impossible to guard against them all; but the soldier needs a stout breastplate and his full panoply too, so that, even if a missile does strike him, it may not penetrate — in the same way those also who have marched out into life cannot possibly dodge or so guard themselves as not to be struck by any of Fortune’s shafts, thousands of which are flying against each man; but what they need is a stout heart, preferably invulnerable and yielding before no blow; or if that may not be, at least one that is not easily wounded or by any ordinary blow; for otherwise it must often be stabbed and receive a thousand wounds. [7] Why, those who have feet which are tender and not calloused at all by use, and then attempt to walk with them bare, will never find a road so smooth that their feet will not be gashed or in pain, but any little thing hurts them; whereas for feet hardened by practice not even the roughest road causes trouble.
[16.8] Therefore, since there are so many distressing things, beginning with those due of the body, what should anyone expect, or how is it possible, for anyone who pays attention to each of them and easily gives way, to avoid being the most unhappy man alive, ever praying the gods that this or that may not happen? [8] It is just as if a man should go out in a rain without any covering, and should trust merely to prayers for avoiding each single drop (and yet much thicker than the raindrops are the afflictions which Fortune sends); or exactly as if a man sailing a boat, instead of giving his attention to the steering-oars and meeting skilfully each oncoming wave, should pray that none might strike the ship. Just think, you misguided man — even if everything else turns out as your heart wishes, yet what assurance have you of living even till the morrow, and not being suddenly, in the midst of everything, torn away from your fancied blessings? Consequently, this is the first thing about which you should be in painful anxiety and fear — the uncertainty of everything. [9] Yet if you have the wisdom to reflect that absolutely no man is master of his life, but that all those who have been thought blessed and exceedingly fortunate are dead, and that this goal awaits you at any moment, even if you live to the ripest old age, you will consider it great nonsense and utter simplicity to imagine that anything at all which happens is terrible or great or marvellous, except this one achievement of living at least one day free from painful fretting, fear, and similar emotions.
[16.10] The story goes that the famous Jason anointed himself with a certain potent salve which he got from Medea, and it was after that, I fancy, that no harm came to him from either the dragon or the bulls which belched out fire. This, therefore, is the potent thing of which we should acquire possession, getting it from Medea, that is, from Meditation or Intelligence, and then with our intelligence look with scorn thenceforth upon all things. Otherwise everything will be fire for us and everything sleepless dragons.
[16.11] And yet every man who suffers pain and distress of spirit says that what has happened to himself is a most terrible thing and most worth grieving over, just as every person who carries a load imagines that what he is carrying is very heavy. But this really indicates a weak and sickly body, for another and stronger man will take and carry the same load easily.

## THE SEVENTEENTH DISCOURSE: ON COVETOUSNESS

AFTER SAYING BY way of preface that men often know what is right, but still fail to do it and need to be admonished again and again, Dio proceeds to point out the evils that come in the train of covetousness, and the blessings that follow from contentment. In these strictures on covetousness he makes considerable use of that passage in Euripides’ Phoenician Women where the poet speaks of the evils of ambition, thus apparently showing that he considered the two vices to be fundamentally one and the same.
The Seventeenth Discourse: On Covetousness
[17.1] The majority of men think that they should speak only on those subjects concerning which the common man has not the true opinion, in order that they may hear and get guidance on the matters whereof they are ignorant; but regarding what is well known and patent to all alike they think it superfluous to instruct. Yet for my own part, if I saw that we were holding to what we believe to be right and were doing nothing out of harmony with the view we already have, I should not myself hold it necessary to insist on matters that are perfectly clear. [2] However, since I observe that it is not our ignorance of the difference between good and evil that hurts us, so much as it is our failure to heed the dictates of reason on these matters and to be true to our personal opinions, I consider it most salutary to remind men of this without ceasing, and to appeal to their reason to give heed and in their acts to observe what is right and proper.
[17.3] For instance, just as we see physicians and pilots repeating their orders time and again to those under their command, although they were heard the first time — but still they do so when they see them neglectful and unattentive — so too in life it is useful to speak about the same things repeatedly, when the majority know what is their duty, but nevertheless fail to do it. [3] For it is not the main thing that the sick should know what is beneficial to them, but, I suppose, that they should use the treatment; since it is this that will bring them health; nor that men in general should learn what things are helpful and what are injurious to their lives, but that they would make no mistake by their choice between these. For just as one may see persons who are suffering from ophthalmia and know that it hurts to put their hands to their eyes, but still are unwilling to refrain from so doing, so likewise in regard to matters in general, the majority, even though they know perfectly well that it is not advantageous to do a certain thing, none the less fall to doing it. [4] Who, for instance, does not know that intemperance is a great evil to its victims? But for all that you can find thousands that are intemperate. Yes, and idleness everybody must certainly know is not only unable to provide the necessaries of life, but, in addition, is destructive to what one already has; and yet in very truth you can find more idlers than men willing to work. [5] Consequently, in my opinion it devolves upon the more thoughtful on all occasions and continually to speak of these matters, in the hope that it may prove possible to make men change their ways and to force them to the better course. For just as in the Mysteries the initiating priest more than once explains beforehand to those who are being initiated each single thing that they must do, in like manner it is profitable that the words concerning things beneficial be repeated often, or rather, all the time, just like some sacred admonition. [6] We know, for instance, that inflamed parts of the body do not yield at once to the first fomentation, but that if the treatment is continued, the swelling is softened and relief is given. So in a like manner we must be well content if we are able to assuage the inflammation in the souls of the many by the unceasing use of the word of reason.
[17.7] So I maintain in regard to covetousness too, that all men do know it is neither expedient nor honourable, but the cause of the greatest evils; and that in spite of all this, not one man refrains from it or is willing to have equality of possessions with his neighbour. [7] And yet you will find that, although idleness, intemperance and, to express it in general terms, all the other vices without exception are injurious to the very men who practice them; and although those who are addicted to any of them do deservedly, in my opinion, meet with admonishment and condemnation, still you certainly will find that they are not hated or regarded as the common enemies of all mankind. But greed is not only the greatest evil to a man himself, but it injures his neighbours as well. And so no one pities, forsooth, the covetous man or cares to instruct him, but all shun him and regard him as their enemy. [8] If, then, each of those here present wishes to know the enormity of this wickedness, let him consider how he himself feels toward those who attempt to overreach him; for in this way he can get an idea as to how other men must feel toward him if he is that sort of man. And further too, Euripides too, a poet second to none other in reputation, brings Iocasta on the stage addressing Eteocles and urging him to refrain from trying to overreach his brother, in some such words as these:
[17.9] At greed, the worst of deities, my son,
Why graspest thou? Do not; she is Queen of wrong.
[17.9b] Houses many and happy cities enters she,
Nor leaves till ruined are her votaries.
[17.9c] Thou art mad for her!— ’tis best to venerate
Equality, which knitteth friends to friends,
Cities to cities, allies to allies.
[17.9d] Nature gave men the law of equal rights,
And the less, ever marshalled against
The greater, ushers in the dawn of hate.
[17.10] I have quoted the iambics in full; for when a thought has been admirably expressed, it marks the man of good sense to use it in that form.
[17.11] In this passage, then, are enumerated all the consequences of greed: that it is of advantage neither to the individual nor to the state; but that, on the contrary, it overthrows and destroys the prosperity of families and of states as well; and, in the second place, that the law of men requires us to honour equality, and that this establishes a common bond of friendship and peace for all toward one another, whereas quarrels, internal strife, and foreign wars are due to nothing else than the desire for more, with the result that each side is deprived even of a sufficiency. [11] For what is more necessary than life, or what do all men hold as of more importance than this? But nevertheless men will destroy even that for money, and some too have caused even their own fatherlands to be laid waste. The same poet then goes on to say that there is no greed among the divine beings, wherefore they remain indestructible and ageless, each single one keeping its own proper position night and day and through all the seasons. For, the poet adds, if they were not so ordered, none of them would be able to survive. When, therefore, greed would bring destruction even to the divine beings, what disastrous effect must we believe this malady causes to human kind? And he aptly mentions measures and weights as having been invented to secure justice and to prevent any man from over-reaching another.
[17.12] And Hesiod says that the half is even more than the whole, having in mind, I presume, the injuries and losses resulting from greed. For what king or potentate or people has ever attempted to transgress the principle of justice and grasp at the greater share but he has lost all his former felicity and has suffered great and overpowering disasters, bequeathing to all men thereafter unmistakable examples of folly and wickedness? Or of those who were willing to receive the lesser share and to endure cheerfully the seeming defeat, what man has not gained more than the others many times over, things that accrued to him automatically and without effort on his part, and has gained for the longest time fair prosperity and in the greatest security has enjoyed Fortune’s blessings?
[17.13] Illustrations are at hand: Did not the sons of Iocasta, when they became at variance in their desire for more, the one wishing to be sole ruler, and the other seeking by fair means or foul to secure his portion of the kingdom — did they not, though brothers, slay each the other and bring the greatest evils, both of them, upon those who espoused their causes, since the invaders of the land straightway perished, while those who fought to defend it were worsted soon after because they would not allow the corpses to be buried? [14] And again, on account of the greed of one man who carried off Helen and the possessions of Menelaus, the inhabitants of Asia’s greatest city perished along with their children and wives, for harbouring one woman and a little property they paid so huge a penalty. Then take the case of Xerxes, the master of the other continent. When he cast covetous eyes upon Greece too, and collected and brought against her so mighty a fleet and so many myriads, he shamefully lost all his armament and with difficulty saved his own person by taking to flight himself; and afterwards he was forced to endure the ravishing of his country and of his cities on the seacoast. [15] As a further illustration take Polycrates: They say that so long as he was ruler of Samos alone he enjoyed the greatest felicity of any man in the whole world; but that when he wished to meddle somewhat in the affairs of the people of the opposite mainland and sailed across for the purpose of getting money from Orestes, he met with no easy death, but was impaled by that barbarian prince and thus perished.
[17.16] These instances, in order that they be warning examples to you, I have taken not only from exceedingly ancient, but also from subsequent times, and as related both in poetry and in narrative prose. [16] Then it is worth your while to call to mind the attitude of the god likewise, that he also by his very nature punishes the covetous. When, for instance, the Spartans consulted his oracle to ask if he gave Arcadia to them, he not only refused them, but rebuked their insatiable greed in the following words:
[17.16b] Arcadia thou askest of me? ’Tis much! Nay, give it I’ll not,
[17.16c] but also imposed a penalty upon them and foretold the future, yet in such a way that they did not understand, but marched against Tegea to meet with disasters known of all men. And yet, while plainly denying Arcadia to them, he would not give them Tegea either. For this was the strongest and most important place in Arcadia. But, speaking generally, the majority of mankind are so covetous that they have not even ears to hear, nor do they so much as understand words of warning when spoken.
[17.17] At another time, when the Athenians asked about the island of Sicily, the oracle answered that they should annex to their city ‘Sicily,’ this being the name of a hill near the city. But they paid no attention to what was near at hand and before their eyes; so bereft of sense were they on account of their lust for more, that they imagined the god was telling them to enclose without one wall Athens and an island some ten thousand stades distant. As a result they sailed thither, and not only failed to get Sicily, but lost Attica as well, and saw their city itself in the hands of her enemies.
[17.18] And if you should wish to enumerate all such examples as these, it is clear that not even in a year’s time would you run out of them. Then consider, I beg of you, that most men regard physical strength as one of the blessings of life; yet I believe that in the case of those who have the greatest physical strength and greatly excel in bodily vigour, it is of advantage to sacrifice a part of this; for in my opinion what exceeds the right proportion is very troublesome. In the same manner wealth which may be put to use does not, if it be moderate, injure its possessor, but makes his life easier and certainly frees it from want; but if it becomes excessive, it causes far more worries and troubles than that which passes for pleasure; and many have rued the day when they acquired enormous wealth, while some for this very reason have come to lack even the barest necessities.
[17.19] So far so good! But let us take our own selves: If each element that makes up our being should wish to have the advantage, would it be possible for us to keep alive for the shortest time? I mean, for example, if the blood should increase a little beyond the proper proportion, or even if something or other in us should increase the pressure of the warm breath beyond its due and proper proportion, do you not know that serious and dangerous illnesses inevitably come on? And in the harmonies of these instruments of our bodies, if any one of the strings should get more than its share of tension, in Heaven’s name must not the harmony as a whole be destroyed?
[17.20] As for me, I wonder greatly how we should have acted if we had not received the shortest span of life from the gods! However, just as if we were making our plans for an endless life, we strive earnestly each to have more than his neighbour. Just as any man, then, who knowing that he has a voyage of only two or three days’ duration at the most before him, should nevertheless put enough provisions on board to last a year, will be regarded as a fool; in the same way, any man who, being fully aware that he could not live more than the allotted span of seventy years, should provide himself with substance to last him a thousand years would he not be equally and in the same way insane? Indeed there are some who lay in stores so great that, if they were out at sea, their ship would founder at once. And I swear it does happen to countless numbers.
[17.20b] So much for that. Well then, if a man has invited ten or fifteen guests to a banquet and although needing to satisfy only so many, should then go on and make ready food enough for five hundred or a thousand, will he not be thought to be quite out of his mind? In like manner we also, although we know that the needs of the body are easy enough to count — for clothing, I suppose, and shelter and nourishment we do need — nevertheless strain ourselves to the utmost as if we were gathering supplies for an army and, I swear, there is good reason for our doing so; for the great majority are feeding in their hearts a whole army of desires. As for clothing, nobody wants to have it too large for his body, knowing that it would be inconvenient to wear; but property altogether too large for their needs all men crave, net understanding that this is more objectionable than the other.
[17.22] I think, too, that Croesus the Lydian, when he wanted to expose the insatiable greed of men, did this admirably. He conducted a group of men into his treasure-house and permitted them to take away just as much gold as each man could carry on his person. For we see that most of them not only filled the bosoms of their clothing, but carried away some of the dust upon their heads and in their mouths and that they could scarcely walk, cutting a ridiculous figure, all twisted out of shape as they were. In life also, methinks, certain men walk along in an unseemly posture and cut a ridiculous figure on account of their greed.

## THE EIGHTEENTH DISCOURSE: ON TRAINING FOR PUBLIC SPEAKING

DIO CHRYSOSTOM, DIONYSIUS of Halicarnassus, and Quintilian, gave select lists of authors for students to read. The fact that there are no great divergences in these lists gives the impression that there was general agreement in the ancient schools as to which were the best authors for students. Dio’s list we expect to differ in some respects from Quintilian’s because Quintilian, whose primary interest was in the Latin language, gives a select list of Latin writers as well; and in the second place, Dio was giving advice to a wealthy and influential man of mature years who wished to take some part in public life, but lacked the leisure or the inclination to work hard in order to fit himself for this, whereas Quintilian was writing for the benefit of youths whose chief interest was in the eloquence of the bar.
After complimenting this prosperous man and eulogizing oratory Dio proceeds to give his list, naming poets, historians, orators in this order; and then, without regard to the type of their literary works, he refers in general terms to the followers of Socrates. Through mentioning them last he gains a good opportunity to speak at length and in the highest terms of Xenophon, whom he so greatly admired, in this respect differing somewhat from the majority of modern critics.
In poetry it is the writers of Comedy and Tragedy that are really useful for the purpose he has in view, although the epic poet Homer is, of course, supreme. Other types of poetry his wealthy friend will not have time to read. Among the historians he gives the first place to Thucydides, and among the orators to Demosthenes, although he believes that Hypereides and Aeschines will be of more practical benefit because not so difficult to imitate. It is at first sight strange that he does not mention Isocrates at all, but probably he thought his long involved sentences not a suitable model for his correspondent. Of philosophers Dio names none at all if we except the indirect reference to Socrates, although we know from his writings that he must have been familiar with Plato; and the only reference to philosophy is where he says, apparently with approval, that Euripides had some knowledge of it. Quintilian on the other hand ends his list of Greek writers by naming as philosophers Plato, Xenophon, Aristotle, and Theophrastus.
Then comes the question as to whether this man in training himself to be an orator should write or dictate to a secretary. Dio thinks it better for him to dictate and advises him especially not to write school exercises, in all this taking a position opposite to that of Quintilian.
As to when Dio wrote this letter and to whom, great diversity of opinion prevails, since we have nothing to guide us except the contents of the letter itself and our imperfect knowledge of Dio’s life and the progressive change in his views. However, since Dio represents himself as considerably younger than the man he addressed, who was at the height of his powers, it does seem reasonable to refer this letter to the period before Dio’s banishment. Even then he was probably at least forty years old. A further consideration is the fact that Dio does not recommend the reading of any philosophical works to this would‑be orator, as he certainly would have done after he became a convert to philosophy.
Von Arnim, who takes στρατηγοῖς in § 16, where Dio is speaking of the advantages to be derived from a study of Xenophon’s speeches, to mean ‘provincial Governors,’ βασιλικοῖς to mean ‘imperial officials,’ and πλῆθος ‘the commons or citizen body’ of a Greek state, notes that στρατιῶται (soldiers) are not expressly mentioned, and infers from this that Dio’s correspondent has nothing to do with soldiers, but does have to deal with Roman provincial governors and imperial officials, and therefore is not a Roman himself, but a local Greek official occupying a high position in some large Greek city of Asia Minor. Von Arnim further supports this view by observing that, according to Dio, Xenophon’s speeches teach “not to trust too readily those in authority over you” — good advice for a Greek subject to Romans, and how a statesman can encourage the despondent — knowledge not needed by a Roman governor. He concludes his argument by saying that a Roman studied rhetoric solely for formal intellectual training. It might be objected, however, that Cicero and Caesar did not study it for this purpose alone.
As to why this man of high position wished such elementary instruction, and he a Greek, Dio suggests that for some especial reasons he had failed to get rhetorical training in his youth, or that he lived far removed from the centres of Greek culture. Finally, von Arnim faintly hints the Dio’s correspondent may have been Vespasian before he became emperor. Wilhelm Christ suggests that the man was Nerva before his elevation to the position of emperor, while Hammer and Lemarchand support the view that Dio’s letter was not addressed to any actual person.
The Eighteenth Discourse: On Training for Public Speaking
[18.1] Although I had often praised your character as that of a good man who is worthy to be first among the best, yet I never admired it before as I do now. For that a man in the very prime of life and second to no one in influence, who possesses great wealth and has every opportunity to live in luxury by day and night, should in spite of all this reach out for education also and be eager to acquire training in eloquent speaking, and should display no hesitation even if it should cost toil, seems to me to give proof of an extraordinarily noble soul and one not only ambitious, but in very truth devoted to wisdom. And for that matter the best of the ancients said that they went on learning not only in the prime of life but also as they grew old. [2] And you, as it seems to me, are altogether wise in believing that a statesman needs experience and training in public speaking and in eloquence. For it is true that this will prove of very great help toward making him beloved and influential and esteemed instead of being looked down upon. For when men are afraid, what does more to inspire them than the spoken word? And when they wax insolent and uplifted in spirit, what more effectively brings them down and chastens them? What has greater influence in keeping them from indulging their desires? Whose admonitions do they endure more meekly than the man’s whose speech delights them? [3] Time and again, at any rate, there may be seen in our cities one group of men spending, handing out largess, adorning their city with dedications, but the orators who support these measures getting the applause, as though they and not the others had brought these things about. For this same reason the poets of the earliest times, who received their gift of poetry from the gods, never spoke of either the strong or the beautiful as being ‘looked upon as gods,’ but reserved this praise for the orators. So it is because you not only have observed all this, but are also endeavouring to put it into practice that I commend and admire you.
[18.4] And I acknowledge on my own behalf a gratitude beyond the ordinary because you have believed that I could be useful to you in carrying out this purpose and this endeavour. For up to the present, as one of the writers of old said that he was ‘a good enough prophet for his own self,’ so I too considered that I should do well enough for myself in oratory, though barely even that. But you elate me and persuade me to take courage, in the hope that I can be of use to one who not only has attained so high a degree of culture, but is also as gifted as yourself. And perhaps I could, just as a boy or some aged herdsman might, be useful to a strong and vigorous wayfarer in pointing out a shorter road or a beaten track of which he did not happen to know.
[18.5] But to cut my preface short, I must at once endeavour to carry out your instructions.
[18.6] For a mere lad, now, or a young man who wishes to withdraw from political life and devote himself to training and to the acquisition of forensic ability, there is need of a different regimen in both tasks and activities. But you are not unacquainted with the task, nor are you able to forsake the political career, nor is it the eloquence and effectiveness of a pleader in the courts of law of which you stand in need, but rather that which is alike fitting and sufficient for a statesman. [6] So first of all, you should know that you have no need of toil or exacting labour; for although, when a man has already undergone a great deal of training, these contribute very greatly to his progress, yet if he has had only a little, they will lessen his confidence and make him diffident about getting into action; just as with athletes who are unaccustomed to the training of the body, such training weakens them if they become fatigued by exercises which are too severe. But just as bodies unaccustomed to toil need anointing and moderate exercise rather than the training of the gymnasium, so you in preparing yourself for public speaking have need of diligence which has a tempering of pleasure rather than laborious training.
[18.7] So let us consider the poets: I would counsel you to read Menander of the writers of Comedy quite carefully, and Euripides of the writers of Tragedy, and to do so, not casually by reading them to yourself, but by having them read to you by others, preferably by men who know how to render the lines pleasurably, but at any rate so as not to offend. For the effect is enhanced when one is relieved of the preoccupation of reading. [7] And let no one of the more ‘advanced’ critics chide me for selecting Menander’s plays in preference to the Old Comedy, or Euripides in preference to the earlier writers of Tragedy. For physicians do not prescribe the most costly diet for their patients, but that which is salutary. Now it would be a long task to enumerate all the advantages to be derived from these writers; indeed, not only has Menander’s portrayal of every character and every charming trait surpassed all the skill of the early writers of Comedy, but the suavity and plausibility of Euripides, while perhaps not completely attaining to the grandeur of the tragic poet’s way of deifying his characters, or to his high dignity, are very useful for the man in public life; and furthermore, he cleverly fills his plays with an abundance of characters and moving incidents, and strews them with maxims useful on all occasions, since he was not without acquaintance with philosophy.
[18.8] But Homer comes first and in the middle and last, in that he gives of himself to every boy and adult and old man just as much as each of them can take. Lyric and elegiac poetry too, and iambics and dithyrambs are very valuable for the man of leisure, but the man who intends to have a public career and at the same time to increase the scope of his activities and the effectiveness of his oratory, will have no time for them. [9] But the historians for many reasons the statesman must read attentively, because, even apart from the speeches they contain, it is most essential that the statesman, the man who chooses to conduct public affairs, should be acquainted with measures and successes and failures, which happen not only in accordance with reasonable expectation, but also at times contrary thereto, to both men and states. And the reason for this statement is that it is the man with the widest knowledge of what had happened to others who will best carry out his own undertakings, and, so far as it is possible, safely, while every reverse he will bear nobly because of the fact that even in his successes he was never unaware of the possibility of a change to the opposite fortune.
[18.10] As for Herodotus, if you ever want real enjoyment, you will read him when quite at your ease, for the easy-going manner and charm of his narrative will give the impression that his work deals with stories rather than with actual history. But among the foremost historians I place Thucydides, and among those of second rank Theopompus; for not only is there a rhetorical quality in the narrative portion of his speeches, but he is not without eloquence nor negligent in expression, and the slovenliness of his diction is not so bad as to offend you. As for Ephorus, while he hands down to us a great deal of information about events, yet the tediousness and carelessness of his narrative style would not suit your purpose.
[18.11] When it comes to the orators, however, who does not know which are the best — Demosthenes for the vigour of his style, the impressiveness of his thought, and the copiousness of his vocabulary, qualities in which he surpasses all other orators; and Lysias for his brevity, the simplicity and coherence of his thought, and for his well concealed cleverness. However, I should not advise you to read these two chiefly, but Hypereides rather and Aeschines; for the faculties in which they excel are simpler, their rhetorical embellishments are easier to grasp, and the beauty of their diction is not one whit inferior to that of the two who are ranked first. But I should advise you to read Lycurgus as well, since he has a lighter touch than those others and reveals a certain simplicity and nobility of character in his speeches.
[18.12] At this point I say it is advisable — even if some one, after reading my recommendation of the consummate masters of oratory, is going to find fault — also not to remain unacquainted with the more recent orators, those who lived a little before our time; I refer to the works of such men as Antipater, Theodorus, Plution, and Conon, and to similar material. For the powers they display can be more useful to us because, when we read them, our judgment is not fettered and enslaved, as it is when we approach the ancients. For when we find that we are able to criticize what hasº been said, we are most encouraged to attempt the same things ourselves, and we find more pleasure in comparing ourselves with others [13] when we are convinced that in the comparison we should be found to be not inferior to them, with the chance, occasionally, of being even superior.
[18.13] I shall now turn to the Socratics, writers who, I affirm, are quite indispensable to every man who aspires to become an orator. For just as no meat without salt will be gratifying to the taste, so no branch of literature, as it seems to me, could possibly be pleasing to the ear if it lacked the Socratic grace.
[18.14] It would be a long task to eulogize the others; even to read them is no light thing. [14] But it is my own opinion that Xenophon, and he alone of the ancients, can satisfy all the requirements of a man in public life. Whether one is commanding an army in time of war, or is guiding the affairs of a state, or is addressing a popular assembly or a senate, or even if he were addressing a court of law and desired, not as a professional master of eloquence merely, but as a statesman or a royal prince, to utter sentiments appropriate to such a character at the bar of justice, the best exemplar of all, it seems to me, and the most profitable for all these purposes is Xenophon. For not only are his ideas clear and simple and easy for everyone to grasp, but the character of his narrative style is attractive, pleasing, and convincing, being in a high degree true to life in the representation of character, with much charm also and effectiveness, so that his power suggests not cleverness but actual wizardry. [15] If, for instance, you should be willing to read his work on the March Inland very carefully, you will find no speech, such as you will one day possess the ability to make, whose subject matter he has not dealt with and can offer as a kind of norm to any man who wishes to steer his course by him or imitate him. If it is needful for the statesman to encourage those who are in the depths of despondency, time and again our writer shows how to do this; or if the need is to incite and exhort, no one who understands the Greek language could fail to be aroused by Xenophon’s hortatory speeches. [16] My own heart, at any rate, is deeply moved and at times I weep even as I read his account of all those deeds of valour. Or, if it is necessary to deal prudently with those who are proud and conceited and to avoid, on the one hand, being affected in any way by their displeasure, or, on the other, enslaving one’s own spirit to them in unseemly fashion and doing their will in everything, guidance in this also is to be found in him. And also how to hold secret conferences both with generals apart from the common soldiers and with the soldiers in the same way; the proper manner of conversing with kings and princes; how to deceive enemies to their hurt and friends for their own benefit; how to tell the plain truth to those who are needlessly disturbed without giving offence, and to make them believe it; how not to trust too readily those in authority over you, and the means by which such persons deceive their inferiors, and the way in which men outwit and are outwitted — [17] on all these points Xenophon’s treatise gives adequate information. For I imagine that it is because he combines deeds with words, because he did not learn by hearsay nor by copying, but by doing deeds himself as well as telling of them, that he made his speeches most convincingly true to life in all his works and especially in this one which I chanced to mention. And be well assured that you will have no occasion to repent, but that both in the senate and before the people you will find this great man reaching out a hand to you if you earnestly and diligently read him.
[18.18] Writing, however, I do not advise you to engage in with your own hand, or only very rarely, but rather to dictate to a secretary. For, in the first place, the one who utters his thoughts aloud is more nearly in the mood of a man addressing an audience than is one who writes, and, in the second place, less labour is involved. Again, while it contributes less to effectiveness in delivery than writing does, it contributes more to your habit of readiness. But when you do write, I do not think it best for you to write these made‑up school exercises; yet if you must write, take one of the speeches that you enjoy reading, preferably one of Xenophon’s, and either oppose what he said, or advance the same arguments in a different way. [19] And yet repeating what his speeches contain is better still if you have a good memory for it. For this makes one thoroughly familiar with both the way he expresses his thoughts and the accuracy with which his thoughts are conceived. I say this, not to encourage you to string together line for line an entire treatise, as schoolboys do, but that you may thoroughly master anything that happens to please you especially. I should have written at great length about this to a lad, but for you, thus much is sufficient. For if you call to memory only very small portions, you will derive great benefit; whereas if you should feel disinclined and find the effort painful, this work is not absolutely necessary.
[18.20] Well, I seem to have extended my advice to great length, but you yourself are to blame for that by persuading and challenging me. Just as expert wrestlers sometimes give way to those who are weaker and make them believe that they are stronger, so you seem to have led me on to write and tell what you, as it happens, know better yourself, just as if you did not know it so well. But I should prefer, if it proved agreeable to you, that we should get together some time and by reading the ancient writers and discussing them render some service to each other. [21] Just as it is not enough to say to painters and to sculptors that their colours should be just so and that their lines should be just so, but they derive the greatest help if the critic can see them at work, painting or modelling; and just as it is not sufficient for the gymnastic masters to name the different holds in wrestling, but they must go on and demonstrate them to the youth who wishes to learn; so too in consultations like this, the help would be greater if one were to see the man who has given the advice in action himself. I declare for my part that even if I had to read aloud to you while you listened, for the sake of helping you I should not hesitate, since I both love you and admire you for your ambition, and am grateful for the honour you have shown me.

## THE NINETEENTH DISCOURSE: ON THE AUTHOR’S FONDNESS FOR LISTENING TO MUSIC, THE DRAMA, AND ORATORY

IN THIS FRAGMENT Dio relates an incident which occurred during his exile. He had come to Cyzicus to meet some friends and fellow-townsmen who evidently wished him to deliver an address in which he should tell the story of his wanderings; but he was saved from doing so by the arrival of a bard who drew the attention of all, Dio included, to himself. Then he speaks of the great pleasure he gets in listening to those who sing and play the lyre and to actors. This leads him to refer to the state of Comedy and Tragedy in his day. At this point the Discourse as we have it breaks off, and we can only conjecture as to what was the subject of the Discourse proper. Possibly Dio went on to speak in detail of music or of the drama.
This pleasing introduction to his main subject reminds us of the seventh Discourse, in vol. I, where Dio tells of his experience with the hunters of Euboea in order to secure our attention to what follows.
The Nineteenth Discourse: On the Author’s Fondness for Listening to Music, the Drama, and Oratory
[19.1] A number of my intimate friends had long been asking for an opportunity to meet me; and besides, many of my fellow-citizens were said to be eager to see me, considering that I have a certain advantage over most men because of my wanderings and the reversal of my fortunes, and the bodily hardships which I was supposed to have experienced. And finally they went so far as actually to find fault with me and maintain that I was not treating them fairly. But I for my part refused to go near to the actual boundary; on the contrary, it seemed to me that any such act befitted a man who was utterly crushed by his exile and very eager to be restored; just as those who have left nothing in the cup are evidently very thirsty. [2] So I went to Cyzicus and stopped there to give any of my friends who wished it the chance to confer with me. And then came the bard of the proverb and saved me by singing a song to them.
[19.3] For there came to Cyzicus a bard who, as some assert, is the best of those of this time and in fact a man inferior not even to any of the great bards of the past, nay not even to Arion, who was saved from the sea — they must evidently have judged by divination, for how else could they be sure when they had not heard that famous bard of old? — and as soon as they learned that the man was in town, straightway tremendous interest was aroused and all the people began to wend their way to the senate house. [3] So I too, thinking that I also might listen and thus enjoy a share in such a splendid entertainment, as one of the throng of three thousand and more, arrived among the first, very expectant indeed. I am fond of indulging my ears and absolutely devoted to music, although I have no great skill myself in it; so that, if it had been my fortune to live in Orpheus’ time, I fancy that I should have been the first one to follow in his train, even though I should have been obliged to mingle with a drove of fawns and calves; and I should have felt no shame. For even now I am often affected as they were, whenever I attend a sophist’s lecture, on account of the uncontrolled craving which possesses me for the spoken word; and so I herd with the sort of creatures I have mentioned, graceful and beautiful, to be sure, but yet noisy and eager for a chance to kick up their heels.
[19.4] And this is the way I have nearly always been affected when listening to sophists and orators. Just as beggars on account of their own destitution envy the moderately well-to‑do, so I admire and applaud those who are in any way at all proficient in speech, because I myself am lacking in such proficiency. But I must say that the performance of those who sing to the harp, aye, and of the actors too, seems to me in no small degree superior to the pleasure it gives. For their voices are louder and undoubtedly better modulated, while their language is not extempore like that of the orators, who generally try to speak without preparation; but poets have composed painstakingly and at their leisure. [5] And the most of what they give us comes from ancient times, and from much wiser men than those of the present. In the case of comedy everything is kept; in the case of tragedy only the strong parts, it would seem, remain — I mean the iambics, and portions of these they still give in our theatres — but the more delicate parts have fallen away, that is, the lyric parts. I might illustrate by the case of old men: all the firm parts of the body resist the ravages of time, namely, the bones and the muscles; but everything else shrivels up. This is the reason that the bodies of the extremely old men are seen to be wasted and shrunken, whereas all those old men who are corpulent because of their wealth and luxury, although they have no strength left but only fat instead of flesh, do seem well nourished and younger to the great majority.

## THE TWENTIETH DISCOURSE: ON RETIREMENT

HERE DIO DISCUSSES the real meaning of ‘retirement.’ It does not consist in going away somewhere to avoid a duty or a danger, or even to get freedom from distraction. To retire in the true sense is to fix one’s mind upon the things that truly matter and to disregard trivial things and distractions from without. Retirement from the haunts of men merely affords foolish and wicked men an opportunity to give themselves up to their foolish and wicked thoughts and to plan how they may make their imaginings come true. Nothing is said of the good use to which the good may put such retirement. The similarities between this Discourse and Seneca’s fifty-sixth Letter led E. Weber (De Dione Chrysostomo Cynicorum Sectatore, ) to the conclusion that Dio and Seneca drew from a common Stoic or Cynic source.
Von Arnim, who maintains that Dio, with the disappearance of his anti-monarchical feelings, dropped the use of the word μόναρχοι (‘monarchs’), which occurs in § 24, would place this Discourse in the reign of Domitian. We may be sure at any rate that it was not written in Dio’s youth, when he was a sophist.
The Twentieth Discourse: On Retirement
[20.1] Just what, pray, is the meaning of the word ‘retirement,’ and whom should we define as men who are ‘retiring’? Is it those who are giving up their proper tasks and activities of whom we should say that they are retiring? For example, if some one enjoying Athenian citizenship, when the obligation falls on him to serve in the field in defence of his country because the Spartans have invaded Attica, or Philip is attacking them, or some other enemy, should retire or withdraw to Megara or Aegina in order to avoid serving or risking his life, could this man be described as having retired? [2] Or if some one possesses a great fortune should for the sake of avoiding the public services required of the rich leave the city? Or if a man who is qualified to heal the sick, and then when the sick are friends and intimates of his, should abandon them and go on a visit to some other place in order to avoid catching the disease and the trouble of treating them? Or if somebody else, on being required to present himself for public duty in the city along with the rest, should be unwilling to hold an office or assist those in office or do any service as guard which would necessitate his losing sleep, but in order to be rid of all these duties and not let even one man call him to account or hinder him from drinking and sleeping and loafing, should retire to some other place — should these men be described as ‘retiring’? No, these men are evidently fleeing and deserting, and there can be no excuse for them or pardon for taking a vacation in this manner and running away.
[20.3] It may be, then, that it is those who withdraw from unprofitable enterprises and time-consuming activities which do not properly concern them, and who get themselves some leisure from useless annoyances, that should be defined as ‘retiring.’ But if that is right, it is not the man who has moved from some city to another one or from one place to another that could be described as ‘retiring.’ For wherever he goes, there will be many things getting in his way and not allowing him to do the things which properly concern him. For the fact is that spending much time in somebody’s company and in continual drinking, or dicing, or in doing some other harmful and unprofitable thing are practices to be met with everywhere — and wasting all one’s time in palavering with anyone you happen to meet, and in listening to talk that is utterly futile, or spending your time discoursing about the affairs of the Emperor or of what’s his name, as some one has said. [4] For the fool is not master of his own soul, but is whirled this way and that and is easily led by any chance pretext or association.
[20.5] Consequently the majority of men are just like spendthrifts, who would be unable to render an accounting for the money they have spent, explaining what they have spent each several item for, although enormous sums have clearly been expended: so neither could these men render an accounting for what they have spent each day, or month, or year, although life is clearly passing by and time being spent, this being of no little value to man, of no less value to him, in my opinion, than money. [5] But all the same, when one drachma has been lost, the man cannot help noticing it and being in some way distressed; and if a person loses several, there are not many who remain undisturbed by such a matter. I do not mean that they are pained and hurt because of their carelessness and because they failed to give heed to avoid such conduct as should properly have hurt them, but simply at the loss of the drachmas. [6] But when a day is gone and lost, or two or three of them, there is no one who gives that a thought! Yet in the one case they are able to reckon thus much: that if they fail to give heed and take thought of such matters, all their property may slip away and be lost without their noticing it. But in the matter we are now discussing, men are not able to apply the same method of reckoning in order to reach the same conclusions, to wit, that if they do not take thought for each day and watch lest they aimlessly throw it away, their whole life may slip away and be lost before they know it.
[20.7] But clearly it is not the place where you are nor this going abroad that affords an escape from doing sundry trivial things, nor is it even one’s having retired to Corinth or to Thebes, but rather the being occupied with one’s own self, when one so wishes. For in Thebes and in Megara, yes, anywhere almost that one may go, whether in Greece or in Italy, it is possible for one to live in idleness and to take one’s ease; and one will not lack a pretext, wherever he happens to be, for spending quite a good deal of time, if it so happens, in busying one’s self with affairs as well as in loafing. [8] I am therefore inclined to think that the best and most profitable kind of retirement is retirement into oneself and giving attention to one’s own concerns, whether one happens to be in Babylon, or in Athens, or in a military camp, or alone on a little island. For retirements and sojournings abroad of the kind we have mentioned conduce very little to one’s having leisure and doing only what one ought to do. Sick persons, for instance, by changing from one bed to another do sometimes get a little relief, but certainly not enough nor such as would rid them of their malady. [9] And we often see how even in the midst of a very great turmoil and throng the individual is not hampered in carrying on his own occupation; but, on the contrary, the man who is playing the flute or teaching a pupil to play it devotes himself to that, often holding school in the very street, and the crowd does not distract him at all, nor the din made by the passers-by; and the dancer likewise, or dancing master, is engrossed in his work, being utterly heedless of those who are fighting and selling and doing other things; and so also with the harper and the painter. But here is the most extreme case of all: The elementary teachers sit in the streets with their pupils, nothing hinders them in this great throng from teaching and learning. [10] And I remember once seeing, while walking through the Hippodrome, many people on one spot and each one doing something different: one playing the flute, another dancing, another doing a juggler’s trick, another reading a poem aloud, another singing, and another telling some story or myth; and yet not a single one of them prevented anyone else from attending to his own business and doing the work that he had in hand.
[20.11] However, you will object, there is none of these occupations that concentrates the mind, steadies it, and causes it to look with disdain upon all other things; and education, apparently, and philosophy, which best accomplish this, do require great seclusion and retirement; and, just as the sick, unless there is silence and quiet all about them, are unable to get any sleep, so, you see, it is with seekers after learning — unless everybody about them is quiet, and unless there is nothing distracting to be seen or heard, their mind will find it impossible to give attention to its own affairs and to concentrate on these.
[20.12] Yet I for my part notice that people who live by the sea are not affected by its sounds, but are able to put their minds on anything they like, that they speak and listen and sleep when they feel that the time has come for these things, because they think that the sound is no concern of theirs and so do not mind it. But if they did care to take notice when the roar increased or diminished, or to count the waves that break upon the shore, or to watch the gulls and other birds, how they alight on the waves and float easily on them, they would not have time to do anything else.
[20.13] So, too, the man who can bring himself to reflect in regard to the crowds and the din they cause and their various affairs, that these things differ not one whit from what takes place on the sea, will not be troubled by any of them. Nay, we have in this, it would seem, a very valuable lesson and bit of instruction — that we should accustom the mind to follow reason and not to let it be diverted to any other thing whatsoever than the matters which are before it and thought to be fitting. [14] And when we have thus accustomed the mind by reason will be able to accomplish all its proper work; but the mind that spins this way and that and fidgets and turns to one thing after another, whenever anything comes in sight at any time which offers some pleasure or relaxation, like water that turns in every way as it chances on a piece of uneven ground, will derive no benefit whatever from even perfect quiet and seclusion.
[20.15] I myself know that when well trained and willing dogs are unleashed, they straightway pick up the trail, and not even if all the hunters should try to call them back, would they ever leave it; no, not even if many voices from all sides should reach them and many odours emanating from the fruits and flowers should be mingled with the scent, and a great host of men and other creatures should come to view, and tracks of horses here and cattle or sheep there. Such a dog sees none of these things, picks out the trail on all sides and follows until she finds and puts up the hare; and after this she keeps up the pursuit, no matter what country she has to pass through, and neither plain nor road nor exceedingly rough ground, nor ravine nor stream can stop her, in spite of all the doublings the hare makes in its attempts to put her off the scent. [16] But ignorant and untrained dogs I find are slow to pick up the trail and quick to give up the chase, and if a noise reaches their ears from any quarter, whether the barking of dogs, or the shouting of men, whether wayfarers or herdsmen, they straightway lift their noses from the trail and rush off in that direction. For all these things, just as I have said, habit is responsible. And in the same way the mind also should be made accustomed never to turn aside or withdraw from what it regards as its proper work. Otherwise it will not be easy to rise above one’s surroundings or to accomplish anything satisfactorily.
[20.17] Or is it not wildernesses and places undisturbed by sounds, or chiefly there, that foolish men, trying not to concentrate their thoughts upon the essential things, have conjured up many strange imaginings, things amid which they yearn to live, shaping for themselves in fancy sovereign power and riches and other such marvels? Some dig up treasures of gold and silver and thus suddenly come into possession of an enormous quantity of them; and others make themselves emperors and absolute rulers of cities and nations, then straightway putting into practice everything that goes with a tyranny: putting some to death and banishing others, making free with any virgins or boys or matrons that they choose, and taking part in the most costly banquets and feasts; [18] others put out money on usury or engage in other enterprises, dreaming all kinds of bright dreams to themselves just as if they were wide awake with their eyes open. Aye, and sometimes, to be sure, as the result of these dreams there comes from them the most trivial and absurd awakening from such dreams! For tyrannies are not at all likely to spring from such things, since a tyranny is not apt to be sought by a mind that is slothful and in a sense always asleep, but on the contrary, by keen and unsleeping thought. But lavish expenditures, love intrigues, and such like adventures have undoubtedly often fallen to the lot of many.
[20.19] I may cite Alexander as an instance: I fancy that, when he happened to be enjoying a respite from his herdsman’s duties on Mount Ida, the thought and with it the desire came to him, what a fortunate and blissful thing it would be to have the most beautiful woman in the whole world to wife, and that neither a throne was as valuable as this prize, nor wealth, nor the conquest of the whole world in war; next he began to speculate as to who and where this woman of his fancy might be, among what people she lived, and by what means he could compass to splendid an alliance; [20] and so he began to despise the nymphs and maidens of Ilium with a prince’s disdain and to think them not worth his winning, and in the same way also he despised the women of Lydia and Phrygia, and those in Lesbos and Mysia. But learning that in Sparta there was a certain reputed daughter of Zeus, living in wedlock with Menelaus, a king in his own right and brother of the king of all Greece, a woman whom the first and foremost of the Greeks had wooed and sought to win by offering many wedding-gifts and presents and, to crown all, that she had, according to report, brave brothers twain, Polydeuces and Castor, true sons of Zeus. So he coveted this woman for his wife. [21] Now in the ordinary course of events he thought that this was not at all feasible, but that if some god should promise and give her, so wild an ambition might perhaps be realized. What goddess, then, he asked himself, was likely to grant favours of this kind other than she who held authority and ruled over all that pertained to marriage and to love? Therefore, if she offered him this bride, he thought the marriage not impossible. How, then, could he persuade her to grant him this favour unless in some way he should ingratiate himself with the goddess by giving her some boon or favour? But he reflected that she did not stand in need of wealth, since she was ‘golden’ and possessed all the wealth in the world, absolutely; nor sacrifices either, since all men everywhere offered her sacrifice; nor would she readily heed anything else one might say or any mere petition. But if, he thought, one were to present her with the thing which she desired most of all, what she had looked upon as the most valuable thing in the world, and should bear witness for her that she was the most beautiful goddess, perhaps she would consent. [22] Then to win the victory and to be preferred in this contest of beauty — over what divinity, he asked himself, would she think she could afford to prevail except over the foremost and greatest of them, Athena and Hera? And this would be all the more so if these two should put in an appearance, offering great and wonderful gifts for the sake of winning. So after canvassing the matter in this way and elaborating his own imagining and conceit, like a soul which in its sleep follows out its phantasies and imaginings and spins out some long and coherent dream, he is appointed by Zeus, he fancies, umpire over the goddesses; and as to the other goddesses, he disregarded both their persons and their gifts, and chose the third in return for the bribe and gift of winning that woman as wife who had been the object of his thoughts and for whom he had prayed.
[20.23] If, then, he had been nothing more than a herdsman and a commoner in rank, no trouble would have come to him from that ambitious dream. But as it was, since he was of kingly blood and a mighty prince, and of great influence owing to his wealth and the dominion over the greatest city of those days, and the affection which his parents bore for him, he forthwith realized the rest of his dream, just as if the first part had actually happened; and after building ships and assembling a retinue, he sailed for Greece and Sparta, entered the home of Menelaus and Helen, where he was hospitably received, induced her to leave her husband and Hellas, and then returned to his home, bringing into Troy the beginning of many grievous troubles and disasters.
[20.24] Thus, whereas the thoughts and desires of the soul of a man in private station and without influence are wind-begotten and ineffectual, and no difficulty arises from them, but just as real dreams are gone at once when the dreamers rise from their beds, and no part of them can endure the sun or the day, as the saying is, so it is with desires and hopes of this kind; yet those of monarchs, on the other hand, or of men of wealth or of those who possess some other power, quite often reach a fulfilment that is both grievous and terrible. [25] And this sort of thing, in my opinion, is just like wind-begotten products of generation. For they do indeed say that some eggs are produced in this way without the intercourse and impregnation of the male seed, and they are called wind-eggs as if begotten by a gust of wind. And this is the reason, as it seems to me, why even Homer, in the belief that it was not impossible or incredible that a wind-begotten breed of horses should have appeared to men, said that the North Wind, becoming enamoured of some Trojan mares, impregnated them with his seed so that a breed of horses came from them. In like manner, what begins with a mistaken and impossible idea often ends in an accomplished fact.
[20.26] All that I have said follows from that initial digressive remark that the mind should accustom itself to do and think what is essential to it everywhere, even in a perfect din as well as in perfect quiet. Otherwise seclusion and quiet offer no advantage and no greater safeguard, for men who are fools, to keep them from conceiving and committing many strange and wicked deeds.

## THE TWENTY-FIRST DISCOURSE: ON BEAUTY

THE DATE OF this Discourse may be determined roughly from a consideration of § 10, where Dio says that everybody wishes that Nero were still alive. This statement was approximately true if made in the reign of the bloodthirsty tyrant Domitian. At that time even Dio, who was unjustly suffering exile by Domitian’s orders, would have preferred Nero. In the good reigns of Vespasian and Titus, who preceded Domitian, and of Nerva and Trajan, who followed him, Dio could not have made that statement. Then too, at Domitian’s death in A.D. 96 Nero would have been in his sixtieth year had he lived, so that in the following period, some twenty-eight years after Nero’s death, it is unlikely that the great majority, as Dio says in the same section, still believed him to be alive. Finally, at the end of this section Dio’s companion accuses him of “everlastingly” ridiculing his fellow-men. This was a characteristic of the Cynic philosophers, and we infer from the thirteenth Discourse that Dio did not appear in the rôle of a philosopher before his banishment, even if he was converted to a belief in philosophy prior to this.
At the opening of the Discourse Dio is led by the sight of the statue of a handsome youth to express regret that beauty among males is dying out because unappreciated, while that of females is increasing. If, then, there are no longer any really handsome men, we Greeks are coming round to the view of the Persians that women are superior to men in beauty. The mention of the Persians leads Dio to speak of certain unnatural sexual practices among them, and this in its turn recalls to his mind the wickedness of Nero. Finally Dio’s companion gets a chance to ask about the parentage of the young men represented by the statue and is told that he had no father. However, he is distinctly Greek in type, for maintains that there is a distinctly Greek type of beauty.
This Discourse, then, is in the form of conversation between Dio and another man, younger probably and a Greek also, in which Dio informally gives some of his views on beauty. One cannot fail to notice the discursiveness and loquacity so characteristic of our author.
The Twenty-first Discourse: On Beauty
[21.1] Dio. How majestic the youth is and handsome; and, what is more, his appearance is ancient or classic in type, such as I have not seen in our modern statues, but only in those set up at Olympia, the very old ones. The images of the subsequent periods even show a steady decline and clearly represent less noble features, to some extent owing to the sculptors, but chiefly because the persons portrayed are themselves like their statues.
[21.1b] Interlocutor. It is surely a sad state of affairs, according to what you say, if the beautiful have died out in the course of time just like some plant or animal — the fate which they do say has overtaken the lions in Europe; for the race of lions is now extinct there, though formerly they were to be found in Macedonia and in other places as well — it is unfortunate, I repeat, if beauty has really disappeared from mankind in this way.
[21.2] Dio. Masculine beauty at least has, my good sir; feminine beauty, however, is perhaps increasing. But a handsome man is not only getting to be a rare sight nowadays; but when there is one, the majority fails to notice his beauty, much more than muleteers fail to observe beautiful horses. And if people do by any chance take an interest in handsome men, it is in a wanton way and for no good purpose. The result is, in my opinion, that even the handsome men that do appear speedily drop out and disappear. For it is not only virtue that is increased by commendation, but so is beauty likewise by those who honour and revere it. But when it is disregarded and esteemed by no one, or when wicked men esteem it, it fades away like reflections in a mirror.
[21.2b] Int. Should we, then, adopt the frequent practice of the Athenians and in a similar way record the present time as being an interregnum [3] because there is no beautiful man?
[21.3] Dio. Yes indeed we ought, at least as the Persians regarded beauty; but no one of the Greeks so regarded it, except one of the Thirty. Or do you not know the story about that Critias, who was a member of the Thirty? He said that the most beautiful figure among males was the effeminate, but among the females, on the other hand, the opposite. Therefore the Athenians were justified in choosing him as lawgiver that he might alter the old laws, for in fact he left not one of them unchanged.
[21.3b] Int. Very well! But how did the Persians regard beauty?
[21.4] Dio. Why, does it need any explanation, seeing that they made eunuchs of the beautiful males in order that they might have them as beautiful as possible? So greatly superior in beauty did they think the female to be. And practically all the barbarians treated them in the same way, just as they did the animals — because the only thing they thought of was the lust of the flesh. Then, just as Daedalus is said to have acted when he deceived the bull by stretching a cow’s hide over a framework of wood, so they try to put a feminine appearance on the males, being incapable of loving them in any other way. [5] But perhaps in the case of the Persians the way the boys are reared is the cause, I mean that for a long time they are brought up by women and the older eunuchs, and that young boys do not associate much with other young boys, nor the striplings with others of their own age, and that they do not go naked in the wrestling schools and gymnasia. This is the reason why, in my opinion, cases have occurred where they had intercourse with their mothers; just as colts, when they still follow their dams although fairly well grown, try to cover them. [6] Moreover, the influence of their nurture is shown in the following case also. A horse is certainly far more beautiful than an ass, but yet the asses, because they are of a different breed, feel no passion for mares, except when they have been raised on mare’s milk; and similarly, a horse that has been suckled by an ass is affected in the same way.
[21.4b] In human beings unlimited power also is a lawless sort of thing. Take Nero for instance: we all know how in our own time that he not only castrated the youth whom he loved, but also changed his name for a woman’s, that of the girl whom he loved and his subsequent wife, for whom he conceived a passion and wedded after openly incarcerating his former wife, to whom he was already married when he became Emperor.
[21.7] Int. And what was the woman’s name which he gave to the eunuch?
[21.7b] Dio. What concern of yours is that? At any rate she was not called Rhodogunê. But that youth of Nero’s actually wore his hair parted, young women attended him whenever he went for a walk, he wore women’s clothes, and was forced to do everything else a woman does in the same way. And, to cap the climax, great honours and boundless sums of money were actually offered to anyone who should make him his wife.
[21.7c] Int. Well, then, did they actually promise to do so?
[21.8] Dio. Why should they not have promised that man who offered so much? Or do you not know how great the might of the giver is? For example, wherever and whenever it is necessary to appoint an Emperor, they choose the wealthiest man, any one from whom they hope to get the most money; but as to the other qualifications, they do not care what sort of man he is, even if he sooner or later is to geld them all after taking over the government — everybody including the men who have received the money, and, besides, intends to deprive them of every blessed thing they have. [9] This, indeed, was especially true of Nero, and no one contradicted him in anything, whatever he said, or affirmed that anything he commanded was impossible to perform, so that even if he ordered anyone to fly, the man promised that too and for a considerable time he would be maintained in the imperial household in the belief that he would fly. For Nero was the only man who was utterly regardless of money both in giving and in taking. It was solely on account of this wantonness of his, however, that he lost his life — I mean the way he treated the eunuch. For the latter in anger disclosed the Emperor’s designs to his retinue; and so they revolted from him and compelled him to make away with himself as best he could. Indeed the truth about this has not come out even yet; [10] for so far as the rest of his subjects were concerned, there was nothing to prevent his continuing to be Emperor for all time, seeing that even now everybody wishes he were still alive. And the great majority do believe that he is, although in a certain sense he has died not once but often along with those who had been firmly convinced that he was still alive.
[21.8b] Int. You are everlastingly hunting up reasons for ridiculing what your fellow-men do and think, and now with scarcely a shadow of a pretext you have got round to this topic. Consequently you have given me no chance to ask a question I wanted to ask.
[21.11] Dio. Oh yes, I suppose you look down on me and think that I am drivelling because I am not talking about Cyrus and Alcibiades, as the wise-acres do, even at this late date, but about Nero and subjects of that kind, more recent and inglorious, which I can remember. The reason for this is that I do not much care for the writers of Tragedy nor try to emulate them; for I know that it is a disgrace to mention people of the present day in a tragedy, but that it is some ancient event which I should have touched upon and one not very credible either. Yet men of former times certainly were not ashamed to name people of their own day whether in speaking or in writing; but those of the present day strive to name the ancients on any pretext. [12] I shall tell you what wisdom they show in doing this — and don’t you declare everything I say is nonsense; perhaps, however, it is anything but nonsense — for surely you have noticed what some of our booksellers do?
[21.11b] Int. Just what is your reason for asking me this?
[21.13] Dio. Because they, knowing that old books are in demand since better written and on better paper, bury the worst specimens of our day in grain in order that they may take on the same colour as the old ones, and after ruining the books into the bargain they sell them as old. But what was it that you have been wanting all this while to ask me?
[21.13b] Int. It is about this young man here. Who is he and to whom does he belong? I declare that I have never been so struck with admiration for anyone. For while his appearance shows him to be a boy of sixteen perhaps, or seventeen years, he is as tall as any man; and then his modesty is such that he makes anyone approaching feel abashed at once. And it is impossible to gaze longer at his face unless he himself should chance to look away. For no one is so shameless or made of stone as to hold his ground and stand looking at him face to face, but one must at once turn away and drop one’s eyes. And this effect surprises me very much — that beauty when combined with modesty makes even brazen-faced men turn away and forces them to feel abashed.
[21.14] Dio. Yes, for perhaps you have not noticed what occurs in the water.
Int. What is that?
[21.14b] Dio. That when the sun is shining straight down, the reflection is strongest. And perhaps you have seen on walls a moving and dancing light, not a real light, but the reflection of the sun’s light in the water — in contrast to the most direct reflection. Now there is a somewhat similar reflection from true modesty, which makes the beholders appear to be abashed. Then as soon as they go away, they are once more unashamed.
[21.14c] Int. Just as I thought that even the gymnastic trainer, hardened as he is, seemed in the youth’s presence to be, as it were, dumbfounded as well as entranced.
[21.15] Dio. Therefore you will be all the more surprised to learn that this handsome youth belongs to no one.
[21.15b] Int. What do you mean by his belonging to no one?
[21.15c] Dio. Just what you meant by asking to whom he belongs. For I suppose you were asking whose son he is.
[21.15d] Int. Well, is he one of the Sown Men?
[21.15e] Dio. That would be in keeping with his stature and manliness, if they had been gentle and kindly in disposition, just as this youth is, and not altogether rough and wild, real children of the earth; for as to his physique, you are not far wrong in likening him to a Boeotian rather than to a Spartan or an Athenian. For that he is utterly Greek, I presume is quite patent.
[21.16] Int. Why, I should like to know? Can there be any racial distinction as regards beauty? Or do you think that no handsome man is to be found among foreigners?
[21.16b] Dio. Well, do you not think that there is a foreign type of beauty, as there is of general appearance, and an Hellenic type, just as their language and dress differ, or do you think that Achilles and Hector were handsome in just the same way?
[21.16c] Int. Why, does not the poet discourse about Hector as a brave man only?
[21.16d] Dio. Yes, where he is setting fire to the ships. For it would not, I think, have been fitting to mention beauty at that point. But after he had been slain and stripped, the Achaeans were simply amazed on beholding his beauty, so the poet says in about the following words:
[21.16e] “Then gazed they upon the wonderful form and beauty of Hector.”
[21.17] For I imagine that before this they had been too busily occupied to gaze upon him critically. And the poet goes on to describe him more vividly, one may almost say, and in great detail than he describes any other of the most handsome men. For he says that his head was graceful, his hair quite black, and his body not hard. But about Achilles’ appearance he gives no detail except to say that his hair was auburn; and he mentions the hair of Euphorbus and of Patroclus as of men who had died in the very prime of life; and about each of the other men and most beautiful women he has very little to say; however, nobody would assert that these men could have been handsome in the same way, or that Alexander, or Euphorbus, or Troïlus bore any resemblance to Menelaus and Patroclus and Nireus, any more than among the barbarians Sesostris the Egyptian did or Memnon the Ethiopian, or Ninyas, Eurypylus, or Pelops.

## THE TWENTY-SECOND DISCOURSE: CONCERNING PEACE AND WAR

WE HAVE HERE just a fragment of this Discourse. In § [3] Dio does mention his subject, but all that precedes and follows is of an introductory nature. He says that there are many questions which are the common concern of both philosophers and orators. One class of these common questions comprises those which have to do with the state (πολιτικὰ ζητήματα); and some of these, such as that about peace and war, have to do with what is advisable. Then in questions of advisability the philosophers and orators make a division, the philosophers dealing with those of a general nature and the orators with particular cases.
This was the division made by Posidonius, the distinguished Stoic philosopher, born in 135 B.C. at Apamea, a city not far from Dio’s native Prusa. That the followers of Plato and Aristotle made the same division appears from Cicero, De Oratore . and. In this matter, then, Dio is clearly siding with the philosophers against the rhetoricians or teachers of oratory such as Hermagoras, who claimed all political questions for oratory and rhetoric. It is possible that what Dio says here is based upon Posidonius, as von Arnim thinks, and at any rate we may conclude that Dio composed this Discourse after his conversion to philosophy.
The Twenty-second Discourse: Concerning Peace and War
[22.1] Many things in general and absolutely everything involving any work or activity will be found common to philosophers and orators — all those orators, that is, who do not carry on their business in the market-place and work for hire with their eyes fixed on matters of money only and on private disputes regarding contracts or loans out at interest, but aspire to advise and legislate for the state. That is, I think, what Pericles and Thucydides must have done at Athens, and Themistocles still earlier, and Cleisthenes, and Peisistratus, so long as he still let himself be called ‘orator’ and ‘popular leader’ — [2] for Aristeides, Lycurgus, Solon, Epaminondas, and others of the same sort should be regarded as philosophers in politics, or orators in the noble and real sense of the term. And I use the word ‘philosopher’ of men who, for example, deliberate and legislate about the training of the young, just as Lycurgus did at Sparta, and about the association of ‘lovers,’ about the acquisition of money — how much one should make and in what manner — about marriage, about the duties of citizenship, about coinage, about civic rights and the loss of them, about the setting up of households, and as to whether one should live in a walled city or, as the god advised the Spartans, in an unwalled one; about training for war and the organization of not merely the heavy-armed troops in general, but also of the formation which Epaminondas is said to have invented, in which he put the ‘lovers’ along with their beloved in order that they might have a better chance of coming through safely and might be witness to one another’s courage or cowardice — and history tells us that this Sacred Band, as it was called, conquered the Spartans in the battle of Leuctra though these were supported by all Greece. [3] But the main question of all, and one with which many have often had to deal, concerns peace and war; and this now, as it so happens, is my theme.
[22.1b] All problems of this sort are called by the philosophers questions of propriety: for example, whether one should marry, whether one should go into public life, whether a monarchy should be adopted, or a democracy, or some other form of government; and in these subjects, in my opinion, is included this one too, whether war should be entered into.
[22.4] Indeed the philosophers not only considered these questions in their general aspect, but also these: when, with reference to whom, and after what occurrence or non-occurrence each separate action should be taken. But there is this important difference — that the orators consider definite cases; for example, whether it is of advantage for the Athenians to make war on the Peloponnesians, for the Corcyraeans to go to the help of Corinthians, for Philip to support the Thebans in the war against the Phocians, or for Alexander to cross over into Asia. [4] Then too, in all these deliberations the following sort of question is apt to crop up: Is it right to go to war with those who have not provoked a war by some wrongful act? if a wrong has been done by those against whom you propose to wage war, how serious is this wrong which has been done?
[22.5] But philosophers look at events from a distance and examine into what their character is in the abstract; for it is much better to have already deliberated about everything a long time in advance and since they have already reached a decision, to be able, when the moment for any action has come, with full knowledge either to handle the situation themselves or to give advice to the others, and not to be caught off their guard, as it were, and so be in a state of confusion and obliged to resort to improvising measures concerning situations of which they have no knowledge. [5] For whenever the orator-politicians have to consider any question, since they know nothing more than anybody else and have not considered the matter before, in a sense they both deliberate themselves and give advice to the others at one and the same time. The philosophers, on the other hand, know in advance about the course to be adopted and have deliberated upon it long beforehand. Consequently, if they are called in to advise cities, nations, or kings, they are in a better and safer position to set forth, not just what occurs to them, nor one thing at one moment and the opposite at the next, influenced by anger, contentiousness, or bribery, acting just as the tongue of a balance does, as I believe some one of the orator-politicians themselves said, ever tipping according to what is received. And I say this, not to criticize the art of oratory, or the good orators, but the poor ones and those who falsely claim that profession as their own.

## THE TWENTY-THIRD DISCOURSE: THAT THE WISE MAN IS FORTUNATE AND HAPPY

THIS IS ONE of the twelve discourses that are in the form of a dialogue between Dio, the teacher, and one of his pupils, reported directly. It would appear to reproduce an actual experience of Dio’s in which he sets forth the Stoic doctrine that only the wise man is happy.
The line of thought is as follows: Homer and Euripides have said that man is unfortunate and unhappy; but just the opposite is true, or rather, partially true. For each man has a fortune or guiding spirit; and if this fortune or guiding spirit is good, then the man is good-fortuned (i.e., fortunate) and happy. But if the man has a bad fortune or guiding spirit, then the man is bad-fortuned (i.e. unfortunate) and unhappy. But if the guiding spirit is good in the sense that it gives good fortune, it is also good as meaning ‘just and useful and sensible’ — which is a non sequitur — and since it apparently gives its own qualities to the man who has it, this man is at the same time also just and useful and sensible, in other words, wise. The good δαίμων, to use the Greek word, being good in both senses, gives both happiness and wisdom. The two are inseparable.
Then the pupil raises the question as to whether any guiding spirit can be bad, since all are divine; and Dio admits that he has merely been accepting the popular belief, not following his own, in assuming that some guiding spirits are good and others bad. He really believes with the philosophers that all guiding spirits are good. If a man listens to his good and wise guiding spirit, he gets at one and the same time both happiness and wisdom; if he does not, he is both unhappy and a fool. Therefore, only the wise man is happy.
The Twenty-third Discourse: That the Wise Man is Fortunate and Happy
[23.1] Dio. Do you believe man is happy, and if not, that he has been or will be; or do you hold that such a thing as this is impossible to predicate of man, just as if a person were to say that man is immortal? For it is, perhaps, possible that you hold the same view as Homer and a good many others of our poets.
[23.1b] Interlocutor. And where does Homer express this view on this question?
[23.1c] Dio. Where he has represented Zeus himself, and not some other one of the gods, as saying that none of all living creatures is more miserable than man,
Of all that breathe and move upon the earth.
[23.1d] Do you not think that by misery he means expressly some great unhappiness?
[23.2] Int. I do.
Dio. And another poet, not speaking of any particular man, but expressing a general sentiment to the audience in a contest of tragedies, proposes that we should
That man bewail who’s born and all life’s ills confronts,
But him who’s dead and free from all his toils
he thinks we should “with joy and gladness speed from out the house.”
[23.3] Int. That is so.
Dio. Well, that was not sound advice he gave; for if we ought to weep once for mankind because of their misfortune, then it is fitting that we should both bewail their lot when they are born, because of all the evils that are in store for them, and when they die, because they have had experience of many terrible sufferings, and likewise while they live, because they are in the midst of evils. [3] Consequently there would never be a fitting time, according to the poet, for men to cease lamenting — much more truly than for the nightingales. For while those creatures are said to mourn for Itys in the springtime only — yet in the case of human beings it stands to reason that they should mourn both summer and winter. But how much better it would be to let them perish at once of their ills as soon as they are born, instead of wrapping them up in swaddling clothes and bathing them and nursing them and giving them so much care, simply in order that they may be wretched — for such solicitude would befit enemies, not friends or those who care for them — or, better still, to remove their own selves from life in the first place! [4] For it is very likely, according to this line of reasoning, that the only sensible people to be born were those born in Colchis from the dragon’s teeth which Jason sowed. For these people, just as soon as they understood that they were born, forthwith proceeded to make away with one another until they left not one, helping one another, evidently, and doing this through friendship, not through hatred.
[23.5] Int. Well, for my part, I think that what this poet says is nonsense. But Homer’s statement disturbs me because, wise though he was, he expressed that view about mankind.
[23.5b] Dio. And what absurdity is there in it? He does not say that all men without exception are wretched, but that there is no creature more wretched than man when he is wretched, just as we too undoubtedly should say; for, mark you, man is perhaps the only unfortunate creature of them all, just as he is the only fortunate one; for, you see, man alone is said to be ‘senseless,’ just as man alone is said to be ‘sensible.’ It is clear that a horse cannot be either unjust or dissolute, nor can a pig or a lion, just as it cannot be uncultured or illiterate.
[23.6] Int. Well, I think you have made an excellent correction of Homer’s statement, and I reply that I believe man is fortunate.
[23.6b] Dio. Then when a man’s fortune or guardian spirit is good, you maintain that the man is fortunate, but when it is bad, that he is unfortunate, do you?
Int. I do.
[23.6c] Dio. And do you speak of a guardian spirit as good in a different sense?
Int. What do you mean?
[23.6d] Dio. In the sense in which a man is good and, still more, a god; or if you do think that the gods are good, do you think that they are not just and sensible and self-controlled and in possession of all the other virtues, but unjust and senseless and intemperate?
[23.6e] Int. I certainly do not.
Dio. Then in the case of a guardian spirit also, if you really consider any to be good, is it not clear that you consider it just and useful and sensible?
[23.6f] Int. Why, of course.
Dio. Pray, when you think that any person is bad, do you believe that he is at the same time evil and unjust and senseless?
[23.6g] Int. Most assuredly so.
[23.7] Dio. Well, then, do you not think that each man lives under the direction of his own guiding spirit, of whatever character it may be, and is not directed by a different one?
[23.7b] Int. Certainly not directed by that of a different one.
Dio. Then do you believe that the man to whom Fortune has given a good guardian spirit lives justly and prudently and temperately? For this is the character that you agree his spirit has.
[23.7c] Int. Certainly.
[23.7d] Dio. And that the man to whom Fortune has given the bad guardian spirit lives wickedly and senselessly and foolishly and intemperately?
[23.7e] Int. That appears to follow from what we have just said.
[23.7f] Dio. Then when a man is in possession of intelligence and is just and temper, is this man fortunate because he is attended by a good spirit; but when a man is dissolute and foolish and wicked, must we maintain that he is unfortunate because he is yoked to a bad spirit and serves it?
[23.8] Int. True.
Dio. And do you describe as wise anyone except the man who is sensible and just and holy and brave, and as a fool him who is unjust and unholy and cowardly?
Int. I do.
[23.8b] Dio. Then you should no longer be surprised when people say that they hold the wise man alone and without exception to be fortunate or happy, whereas of fools there is none that is not unfortunate or unhappy; you should agree to this inasmuch as you also seem to hold that view.
[23.9] Int. What you have said so far I think has been quite reasonable; but how are we to consider any spirit to be wicked and unjust and senseless, I am unable to say; and besides, it is not like you philosophers, if you really hold that the guiding spirit is divine, to assume any such thing.
[23.10] Dio. Well, just now I have not been expressing my own view for the most part except in this one matter — that I believe every wise man is fortunate and happy and he alone; but in everything else I have accepted the views of the majority of men, that I may not seem to be forcing my own views on them. [10] For just consider: If you really believe that the guiding spirit is divine and good and the author of no evil to anyone, how do you explain a man’s becoming unfortunate, that is, unhappy? Or does that happen when he does not heed or obey his guiding spirit, this being good? It is just as if we should think that all physicians are good in the matters of their profession and that none of them is a bad physician or harmful, but yet should see some of their patients doing poorly and suffering harm in their illnesses; evidently we should say that they refuse to obey orders and that such patients as do obey cannot but come through well; and nothing that should happen to them would surprise anyone.
[23.10b] Int. That is right.
[23.11] Dio. Do you think, therefore, that the really self-controlled and sober and sensible patients are those who would disobey their physicians when these are skilled and prescribe the treatment that is good for them, or, on the contrary, the senseless and uncontrolled?
[23.11b] Int. Evidently the uncontrolled.
[23.11c] Dio. Then again, do you hold that to obey the guardian spirit when it is good, and to live in conformity with its direction, is a mark of those who are temperate and sensible or of those who are wicked and senseless?
[23.12] Int. Of those who are temperate.
Dio. And that to refuse to obey and give heed and to act contrary to that which is divine and from the guardian spirit is a mark of the bad and foolish?
[23.12b] Int. How could we say anything else?
[23.12c] Dio. And that those who obey the guiding spirit, since it is of this character, are ‘fortunate and happy,’ and that those who disobey are ‘unfortunate and unhappy?’
Int. Necessarily so.
[23.12d] Dio. Therefore, here also it turns out that the wise and sensible man is ‘fortunate and happy’ in every case, but that the worthless man is ‘unfortunate and unhappy,’ not because his guardian spirit is bad, but because, although it is good, he does not heed it.

## THE TWENTY-FOURTH DISCOURSE: ON HAPPINESS

THIS DISCOURSE, LIKE the fourteenth, sixteenth, and seventeenth, begins by saying that the majority of men act wrongly in respect to something and then proceeds to set them right. This same admonishing attitude is found also in Discourse .‑, where Dio tells of the beginning of his ‘preaching’ activity during his exile. For this reason von Arnim believes that all these Discourses, except the last of course, belong to the period of Dio’s exile.
The great majority of men, says Dio, select their occupation in life without first considering the important question of what the life of man should be, and what is the highest good for him, the ideal toward which he should strive. Only the man who knows what this highest good is and subordinates everything else to it can gain true success and happiness.
The Twenty-fourth Discourse: On Happiness
[24.1] The majority of men have not as a rule concerned themselves at all with the question of what kind of men they ought to be, nor of what is ideally man’s best good, to the attainment of which he should direct all his other activities; but, each in accordance with his taste, they have devoted themselves, some to horsemanship, some to military commands, some to athletic competitions, others to music, or farming, or expertness in oratory. But what practical utility each of these pursuits has for themselves, they do not know or even try to ascertain. [2] The consequence is that while some become good horsemen — in case they work hard at that and train diligently — and some become more efficient in wrestling than others, or in boxing, or running, or in other contests, or in avoiding crop failures, or in sailing the seas without wrecking their ships, and in knowledge of music some surpass others; yet the good and prudent man, one who can answer the all-important question, ‘What man is he who is virtuous and intelligent?’ cannot be found among them all.
[24.3] Take oratory, for instance. There are many well-born men and, in public estimation, ambitious, who are whole-heartedly interested in it, some that they may plead in courts of law or address the people in the assembly in order to have greater influence than their rivals and have things their own way in politics, while the aim of others is the glory to be won thereby, that they may enjoy the reputation of eloquence; but there are men who say they desire the mere skill derived from experience, some of these being indeed speakers, but others only writers, of whom a certain man of former times said they occupied the borderland between philosophy and politics. But what their activity profits them, or to what end the glory is of use to them, or in what respect this experience is worth their while, all this they fail to consider.
[24.4] But as for me, I claim that without this knowledge of which I speak and the quest for it, all the other things are little worth; but that for the man who has reflected upon that important point and has come to understand it, then practicing eloquence, exercising military command, or any other activity that may occupy him, is to his advantage and is directed toward a good. For the truth is that, for and of itself, receiving the approbation of senseless persons, which is just what the majority are, or having influence with men of that kind, or leading a pleasant life, will not, so far as happiness is concerned, be one whit better than being censured by them, or having no influence, or leading a laborious life.

## THE TWENTY-FIFTH DISCOURSE: ON THE GUIDING (OR GUARDIAN) SPIRIT

THIS DISCOURSE, LIKE the twenty-first, twenty-third, and twenty-sixth, is one of the twelve Discourses which are in the form of a dialogue reported directly and are believed to belong to the period of Dio’s exile, although in this case after the first few exchanges Dio does all the speaking. He introduces and illustrates the apparently original view, a suggestion for which he may have got from Plato’s Republic 540B, that the ‘guiding spirit’ (δαίμων) is not something within the man himself, but is some other man who controls him and determines his destiny. One man may even control a great number of men, such as are found in a city, a race, or an empire, and be the cause of their faring well or ill. In this case he is their δαίμων.
Even though Dio does not in this Discourse keep his promise given at the outset, to tell about the view of the philosophers that only the wise man is happy, yet the Discourse appears to be complete in the form in which we have it.
The Twenty-fifth Discourse: On the Guiding (or Guardian) Spirit
[25.1] Interlocutor. People say the philosophers maintain that really only the wise man can be happy.
[25.1b] Dio. Yes, that is what they maintain.
Int. Well, do you think they speak the truth?
Dio. I do.
[25.1c] Int. Then why have you never stated their view to me?
[25.1d] Dio. I will, if you tell me first what you think the guiding spirit is.
[25.1e] Int. For my part, I believe that it is that which controls each individual and under whose direction each human being lives, alike whether he be a free man or a slave, whether he be rich or poor, a king or a plain citizen, and no matter what his business in life is.
[25.1f] Dio. And do you think that this principle is within the man himself, this thing which controls the individual, which we call the guiding spirit, or that, while being a power outside of the man, it yet rules him and is master of him?
[25.2] Int. The latter is my belief.
Dio. Do you mean a different person? For I suppose it is a person who in one case controls one particular man, and in another case many men, one who leads them where and how he himself wishes, by using either persuasion, or force, or both. And I am saying nothing that is unknown, but refer to the popular leaders whom the cities obey in everything and do exactly as those men direct and advise, whether they advise them to go to war, or to remain at peace, or to build fortifications, or to construct triremes, or to offer sacrifices, or to banish some of their number, or to confiscate their property, or even to cut their throats; and I refer also to both kings and tyrants, and likewise to all masters of servants, who whether by paying down money for a person or by some other means have got anybody into their possession. [3] It is just as if you should call Lycurgus a guiding spirit of the Spartans — for at his command even now the Spartans are scourged and sleep in the open and go lightly clad and endure many other things that would seem hardships to other peoples — and Peisistratus the guiding spirit of the ancient Athenians. For you know, I presume, that when Peisistratus was leader and ruler, the people did not come down to the city, but stayed on the land and became farmers, and that Attica, which was formerly bare and treeless, they planted with olive trees by the order of Peisistratus, and in everything else they did exactly as he wished.
[25.4] And, later on, one might perhaps say that not only others but Themistocles and Pericles also became guiding spirits; for I take it that you have heard about these two men, how the one compelled the Athenians, who had been foot soldiers before, to fight on the sea, to give up their country and their city to the barbarians, as well as the temples of their gods and the tombs of their ancestors, and stake all their fortunes on their fleet, and afterwards to fortify the Peiraeus with walls of more than ninety stades in length and enjoined upon them by his orders other measures of the same kind, some of which they continued to carryº out only as long as he was present, and others even when he was in banishment and after his death. Yes, and at a still later time certain other men, you may perhaps say, have become guiding spirits of the Athenians, for example, Alcibiades the son of Cleinias, and Nicias, Cleon, and Hyperbolus — some few of them honourable men perhaps, but the rest utterly wicked and cruel.
[25.5] Then again you might say that Cyrus became for a time a guiding spirit of the Persians, a spirit kingly indeed and liberal in character, who, when the Persians were enslaved to the Medes, gave them liberty and made them masters of all the peoples of Asia; and you might go on to name Cambyses and Darius and their successors; Cambyses, who squandered their money, shot his subjects down, sent them on toilsome campaigns without intermission, and never allowed them to stay at home; and Darius, who amassed as much money as possible, caused the land to be cultivated, and like the other forced them to wage difficult and dangerous wars, for instance, as I recall, the one against the Scythians and the one against the Athenians.
[25.6] And thus also by the Romans Numa might perhaps be named as their guiding spirit, and Hanno and Hannibal by the Carthaginians, and Alexander, by the Macedonians, or else Philip, who, when the Macedonians were inglorious and weak, and his father had ceded part of his kingdom to the Olynthians, made them strong and warlike and masters of nearly all Europe. Then afterwards Alexander, succeeding Philip, led them over into Asia and made them at once the wealthiest of all peoples and at the same time the poorest, at once strong and at the same time weak, the same men being both exiles and kings, because while he annexed Egypt, Babylon, Sousa, and Ecbatana, he deprived them of Aegae, Pella, and Dium. [7] And the Carthaginians Hanno made Libyans instead of Tyrians, forced them to live in Libya instead of Phoenicia, caused them to possess great wealth, many trading-centres, harbours, and warships, and to rule over a vast land and a vast sea. Then in addition to Libya, Hannibal enabled them to control Italy itself for a period of seventeen years; but after that he was responsible for their being driven from their homes and for their capital itself being moved at the order of the Romans, after he had previously slain great numbers of these Romans and come within a little of taking Rome itself, although, men say, he had no desire to do this, on account of his political opponents at home.
[25.8] And yet Hannibal, perhaps, neither the Carthaginians nor the Romans could fittingly claim as their good guiding spirit. [8] But Numa took over Rome when it was still small, unknown to fame, and situated in a land owned by others, when it had as its inhabitants an unprincipled rabble, who were, besides, at enmity with all their neighbours, were both poverty-stricken and savage, and lived a precarious existence because of the harshness of Romulus’ rule; caused them to hold their land in security and to be on terms of friendship with their neighbours, and gave them a code of laws, and gods to worship, and a political constitution, thus becoming the author of all their subsequent felicity of which all men speak.
[25.9] I could go on to speak in the same way about the other cities, and populations which have fared well or ill on account of certain men who were their rulers and leaders. However, my own opinion has, I think, been made sufficiently clear. So, if you do call those I have mentioned in very truth guiding spirits of those who were under their sway and who severally fared better or worse on account of them, I should be glad to hear what you have to say.

## THE TWENTY-SIXTH DISCOURSE: ON DELIBERATION

THIS IS ANOTHER of the twelve dialogues reported directly and probably all written by Dio while in exile. In this one Dio considers with his interlocutor the meaning of ‘deliberation’ (τὸ βουλεύεσθαι). It does not mean making a blind guess as to the truth of something. There must be some knowledge, however imperfect, upon which to base the conjecture. If, on the other hand, there is complete knowledge of the thing, no room is left for conjecture, that is, deliberation. Then Dio attempts to show that one cannot deliberate about the future because it is non-existent. One must have something real about which to deliberate. This position rather surprises us, because deliberation is most naturally about some course of action in the future. After this Dio, unconsciously perhaps, shifts his position and maintains that to deliberate is to form correct conclusions about a matter from a full knowledge of all factors involved. However, one must admit that it was Dio’s companion, rather than Dio himself, who was so certain that deliberation comes into play only in those cases where there is some knowledge, but not enough to enable one to decide with certainty. Dio concludes by exhorting men earnestly to strive to gain full knowledge about the most important things in life in order that their deliberations in these matters may lead to the right conclusions.
Sonny (Ad Dionem Chrysostomum Analecta, f.) expresses the view that this Discourse and the pseudo-Platonic Sisyphus, which apparently was written about 350 B.C., were drawn from a common source, while Dümmler (Academica, ) would go further and name Antisthenes’ paradox ὅ τι οὐκ ἔστι ζητεῖν (seeking that which is not) as this common source. On the other hand, Hirzel (Der Dialog II, ), von Arnim, as one may infer from his note on §§ 4‑5, and Wegehaupt (De Dione Chrysostomo Xenophontis Sectatore, ff.) maintain that Dio used the Sisyphus directly. Wegehaupt points to so many parallels between this Discourse and the Sisyphus as to make his theory appear very reasonable. If this theory is not correct, then Dio and the author of the Sisyphus followed their common source very closely.
The Twenty-sixth Discourse: On Deliberation
[26.1] Dio. For a long time, as I sat and listened to you men when you spent many hours at the home of one of our public men in deliberating about certain affairs of state, I have been considering by myself and examining the meaning of that which you call deliberation, or what deliberation in the abstract is. Does a person really deliberate about a matter which he knows and understands?
[26.1b] Interlocutor. I do not think that when a person knows certain things, he deliberates about them, but that he already knows them.
[26.1c] Dio. Well then, when there are things he does not know or understand, is it about these that he deliberates, casting about as it were like a diviner, and thus seeking to find out what he does not know?
[26.1d] Int. It does not seem to me that this man, either, can deliberate about things when he has no knowledge about them.
[26.2] Dio. Then can deliberation be something like this — that when men know some things but do not know other things, this is the subject about which they deliberate? And in order that we may follow the argument better, we shall make it clear by an illustration. For instance, we assume that we know Charicles and Charixenus, but do not know where they live, and so are making conjectures about their place of residence; [3] is not this deliberation — the drawing of inferences from what we do know about that which we do not yet know? Or, just as people playing at odd and even know that the challengers have something in their hands but now how much; yet sometimes they do hit upon the right answer and in that way come off victorious. May we conclude, then, that deliberation too is like this — that though there is something we do know, yet concerning all the other things which we do not know, we make a guess and sometimes accidentally hit it although without any knowledge?
[26.4] Now come, let us see what the nature of the thing is: Things which are in being both are, and have come to be, and exist, while things that are not in being neither are, nor have come into be, nor do they exist. Now we do not need deliberation for things which are already in being; for there is no profit in deliberating about things which have come into being and exist. In fact, what imaginable reason will we have for deliberating about them? In order that things that have come into being may not come into being? It is impossible for them not to have come into being. Well, is it in order that things which are in being may not be? Absurd! Can we prevent their being just as they have come to be? Well, is it in order that they may not exist? Everything which is in being has existence. But about things that are in being why should a person deliberate anyway? [5] About what things, then, do we deliberate? About the future, as the argument suggests. But the future neither is, nor has been, nor exists. Hence, about things that are not and do not exist, who is able to deliberate? For the thing not in being is nothing, and about that which is not no one can deliberate. Hence no one can deliberate about things which are yet to be; for deliberation deals with a thing that is, and that which is yet to be does not exist. Therefore deliberation cannot possibly be about the future either.
[26.6] Take another case: Would the unmusical person and the one who has no knowledge of harmony, melody, rhythm, and their arrangement and movement be able to deliberate successfully about music and the operations involved in music?
Int. Certainly not.
[26.6b] Dio. Another point: Would the man who has no knowledge of geometry, in deliberating about a solid body, its length, width, and height, deliberate successfully?
[26.6c] Int. No, he also would not.
Dio. Then further: Would the man who does not know how to command a ship, in deliberating about the command of a ship and the duties of the captain, deliberate competently?
[26.7] Int. No, he would not, either.
Dio. Then a person who has had no competent education and no knowledge whatever about a thing is not competent to deliberate about it, either. Therefore it is necessary to give the greatest attention to prudence and education, in order that it may be easy for us to deliberate about all things whatsoever and to know what is going to suit each deliberation and not to make serious mistakes; but just as musicians, geometricians, and ship-captains consider with professional skill their own particular work, and as all persons who possess skill in any matter are also competent to understand their work, in like manner let us also be competent to deliberate and speak about our own business. [8] For it is absurd that while those playing at odd and even show intelligence, and that too when they are guessing and do not see the thing about which they make a guess, yet those who are deliberating about public matters should display neither intelligence, nor knowledge, nor experience, although these matters are sometimes of the greatest importance, such as concord and friendship of families and states, peace and war, colonization and the organization of colonies, the treatment of children and of wives.

## THE TWENTY-SEVENTH DISCOURSE: A SHORT TALK ON WHAT TAKES PLACE AT A SYMPOSIUM

DIO BEGINS BY saying that it is at symposia and at the great national festivals that the characters of men are shown most clearly. Then, after speaking of the varied effects of wine on men according to their characters, he passes on to a description of the different types of men seen at one of the national festivals such as the Isthmian games. The last type mentioned is the philosopher, who finds it just as difficult to get the attention of men as the physician does. The elaboration of this thought, and the comments on the foolishness of men in giving no heed to either their bodies or their souls, take up the second half of the Discourse.
From this brief outline it will be seen that the title is not very suitable. What Bio says about symposia and national festivals is merely to gain attention for his real theme, which is the folly of men in taking no thought of either body or soul until trouble is actually upon them. It is very natural for Bio here, as in other parts of his writings, to refer to bodily infirmities, because he suffered from ill health himself as a result of the hardships incurred in exile.
The simplicity of the ideas expressed and their similarity to those found in the eighth and ninth Discourses, which belong to the period of Dio’s exile, make it seem probable that this Discourse also was written in that period.
THE TWENTY-SEVENTH DISCOURSE: A SHORT TALK ON WHAT TAKES PLACE AT A SYMPOSIUM
[27.1] The qualities of mind and character of individual men stand revealed at our national festivals no less than at symposia, except that at festivals the revelation is more varied and extends over a longer period of time.
[27.2] As of the symposia, we may assume that some persons attend for the sake of drinking and devote themselves to that, just as thirsty wayfarers when they come to a spring stoop down and drink. Yet travellers, when they have drunk their fill and quenched their thirst, quietly go their way without having done or said anything indecorous, but the others, on the contrary, both say and do many disagreeable things at times. [2] For Dionysus does not welcome his votaries who need him with the same sort of welcome as the Nymphs do theirs; but since he is of a frenzied nature and the child of lightning and thunder, as the poets say, he literally fills with fire those who use him in too ignorant a way, and actually makes the majority of them thunderstruck or stupefied. Nay rather, his votaries, being practically crazed, do many evil things, just as Homer says of the Centaur that in a fit of drunkenness he wrought evil in the home of Peirithoüs. [3] And others, too, who are naturally loquacious, feeling that they have got their table-companions for an audience, recite stupid and tedious speeches; while still others sing in tune and out of tune, although they have no gift whatever for music; and one might almost say that they give more annoyance than those who quarrel and use abusive language. But there is another class of men who claim to be abstemious and temperate, that bore people to death by their disagreeable manner, since they will not condescend either to drink moderately or to take part in the general conversation. [4] But the man that is gentle and has a properly ordered character, easily endures the rudeness of the others, and acts like a gentleman himself, trying to the best of his ability to bring the ignorant chorus into a proper demeanour by means of fitting rhythm and melody. And he introduces appropriate topics of conversation and by his tact and persuasiveness attempts to get those present to be more harmonious and friendly in their intercourse with one another.
[27.5] So much for symposia. But people also attend the national festivals, some just to see the sights and the athletic contests in particular; and all those who take a very great interest in these continue doing nothing else from early dawn. Many too bring in merchandise of all sorts, the tradespeople, that is; and some display their own arts and crafts; [6] while others show off their accomplishments, many of them declaiming poems, both tragedies and epics, and many others prose works, so that they annoy the man who has come for a rest and wishes to have a holiday. And these people seem very much like those who hum tunes and sing songs at the symposia, whom you cannot help hearing even if you do not wish it.
[27.5b] But the man who in the midst of these folk has the ability to speak words edifying and profitable and thus make the whole gathering more decorous and better, because of the general disturbance and the great throng of those of the other sort keeps quiet and withdraws into himself.
[27.7] For really most men feel towards the words of philosophy exactly as they do, I believe, toward the drugs which physicians administer; that is, no one resorts to them at first, nor buys them until he contracts some unmistakable illness and has pain in some part of his body. And in the same way people are, as a general rule, not willing to listen to the words of the philosopher until some affliction visits them, something which men consider grievous. [8] To give an illustration: the prosperous man — I use the term in the sense in which the majority use it — for instance, a man who derives a large income from his loans, or has a good deal of land, and not only enjoys good health, but has children and a wife living, or a man who has some position of authority and a high office without war, or rebellion, or any open dangers — such a person you would not easily find approaching these philosophers, or caring to listen to the teachings of philosophy. [9] But if some disaster should overtake any one touching his livelihood, and he should become either poor after having been wealthy, or weak and powerless after having been influential, or should meet with some other misfortune, then he becomes much more friendly disposed toward that craft, somehow manages to endure the words of the philosophers, and practically admits that he needs comfort. And if it is his misfortune to lose any of his relatives, either his wife, or child, or a brother, he asks the philosopher to come and speak words of comfort, as if he thought it were only then necessary to consider how one may endure with resignation what happens and be able to face the future; before that he does not. [10] It is much the same as the feeling of ignorant persons in regard to their bodies: ordinarily they have no concern whatever about their health, but enjoy foods, wine, and women, and all their other regimen as intemperately and unconcernedly as possible; but if any weariness or fever does unexpectedly seize them owing to the changes in the weather, then they indeed demand to be treated, since their health is greatly disordered and they are suffering from severe illnesses, such as you expect would attack people of this sort. But how to avoid having any need of a physician is a problem which they do not consider at all.

## THE TWENTY-EIGHTH DISCOURSE: MELANCOMAS II

DIO, ACCOMPANIED BY at least one friend, comes up from the harbour — of Naples presumably — to witness the athletic contests then being held, and has his attention drawn especially to a tall handsome boxer who is training, surrounded by a great crowd of admirers. On asking one of the bystanders who the man is, he learns that it is the boxer Iatrocles, so often the antagonist of Melancomas, who has recently died. This bystander speaks in the highest terms of Melancomas both as a boxer and as a man, and is evidently greatly distressed by his death. Thereupon Dio offers various reflections to comfort him.
vonº Arnim, chiefly from a study of this Discourse and the following one, which is the funeral oration for Melancomas, comes to the conclusion that the occasion of it was the Games in honour of Augustus (Ludi Augustales) as held at Naples in the year A.D. 74, when Titus, soon to be emperor and now thirty-three years old — Dio himself would be of about the same age — was either Director of Games (γυμνασίαρχος) there or Exhibitor of Games (ἀγωνοθέτης).
On the other hand, Lemarchand (Dion de Pruse, Les Oeuvres d’avant l’Exil,º ff.) gives various reasons for thinking that Melancomas is a purely imaginary character. He considers it rather remarkable that, apart from one passage in Themistius (i.e. Oration 10, ), who got his information from Dio (see Scharold, Dio Chrysostomus und Themistius, Burghausen 1912), there is no other reference in ancient literature to this incomparable athlete and boxer, no inscription that has come to light commemorating any victory of his. He also shows in detail that this Melancomas is the embodiment of all the youthful qualities and virtues for which Dio shows admiration in other Discourses, and that Dio at times, as in the Euboean Discourse, describes what is ideal rather than actual. And in Dio’s time, he adds, the Romans began to take an interest in athletics, so that outstanding athletes came from Greece and Asia Minor to give exhibitions — note that Melancomas’ father is represented as coming from Caria in Asia Minor. Their contests served to recall the glorious past of Greece. Therefore, may not Dio, who was an ardent Hellenist and who looked with disapproval on the cruel gladiatorial exhibitions (see Discourse .), have wished to increase the interest in athletics by creating and describing this ideal athlete, this gentle boxer, who would not think of injuring his opponent by striking him with his fist armed with the terrible caestus? But this gentleness would make little appeal to most men of Dio’s time.
As a literary effort the twenty-eighth Discourse is superior to the twenty-ninth, and toward the end the hortatory and preaching element, which is regarded as typical of what Dio wrote during his exile, is somewhat in evidence. It is possible, then, that this Discourse was written considerably later than the following one.
THE TWENTY-EIGHTH DISCOURSE: MELANCOMAS II
[28.1] After coming up from the harbour, we strolled over at once to have a look at the athletes, just as if the sole purpose of our trip had been to view the contests. When we got near the gymnasium we saw a number running on the track outside of it, and there was a roar as the crowd cheered them on; and we also saw the athletes who were exercising in other ways. To those, however, we thought it hardly worth while to pay attention; but wherever we saw the biggest crowd, there we would stroll. [2] So we noticed a great number of people standing near the Arcade of Heracles and a stream of others coming up, and some also going away because they could not see. At first we tried to see by looking over other people’s shoulders, and with difficulty managed to catch a glimpse of the head of a man who was exercising with his hands up. Then we gradually got in closer. He was a very tall and beautiful young man; and besides, the exercises he was taking made his body seem, quite naturally, still taller and more beautiful. He was giving a most brilliant performance, and in so spirited a way that he seemed more like a man in an actual contest. [3] Then, when he stopped exercising and the crowd began to draw away, we studied him more closely. He was just like one of the most carefully wrought statues, and also he had a colour like well blended bronze.
[28.4] After he had gone, we asked one of the bystanders, an old man, who he was; and the man said with a frown:
[28.4b] “Why that is Iatrocles, the opponent of Melancomas, the only man who would not give in to him, at least, that is, if he could help it. Still he could not get the better of him, for he was always defeated, sometimes after competing for a whole day. However, Iatrocles had already given up trying, so that in the last contest here in Naples, Melancomas defeated no opponent more quickly than he did Iatrocles. But you see how confident he is now, and how large a crowd he has about him as he takes his exercise. For my part, I really believe that he feels a malicious joy at the other man’s misfortune; and naturally enough, for he knows that not only the next crown but all others are now his own.”
[28.5] “What!” I exclaimed, “Is Melancomas dead?” — for even we knew his name at least, although we had never seen the man himself.
[28.5b] “Yes,” he replied, “he died not long ago. I believe this is the second day since he was buried.”
[28.5c] “And in what respect,” I asked, “was he superior to this man and to the others also? Was it in size, or in courage?”
[28.6] “That man, sir,” he replied, “was more courageous and bigger than any other man in the world, not merely than any of his opponents; and furthermore, he was the most beautiful. And if he had remained an amateur and had not gone in for boxing at all, I believe that he would have become widely known simply on account of his beauty; for even as it was, he attracted everybody’s attention whenever he went anywhere, even that of people who did not know who he was. [6] And yet he did not dress up in fine clothes or in any other way try to attract notice rather than to remain inconspicuous; but when he was stripped, nobody would look at anyone else, although many boys and many men were training. And although beauty is wont to lead to softness, even with those who are only moderately endowed with it, beautiful as he was, he was even more remarkable for his self-control and moderation; and though despising his beauty, he none the less preserved it in spite of his rough profession. [7] At any rate, although boxing was his specialty, he remained as free from marks as any of the runners; and he had trained so rigorously and went so far beyond others in toilsome exercising that he was able to remain for two whole days in succession with his hands up, and nobody could catch him letting them down or taking a rest, as athletes usually do. Then he used to force his opponents to give up, not only before he himself had received a blow but even before he had landed one on them. For he did not consider it courage to strike his opponent or to receive an injury himself, but thought this indicated lack of stamina and a desire to have done with the contest. [8] But to last out the full time without either being done up by the weight of his arms, or becoming out of breath, or being distressed by the heat — that, he thought, was a splendid achievement.”
[28.6b] “He had the right idea though,” said I, breaking in. “For in war the worst soldiers throw away their shields though they know well enough that when unprotected they are more apt to be wounded. Thus, we see, they are overcome more by their exhaustion than by their wounds.”
[28.9] “That is just the reason,” he rejoined, “why, from the time Melancomas began to compete in the Pythian games, he was the first man to our knowledge who remained undefeated, after winning the most and the greatest crowns and facing antagonists who were neither negligible nor few in number. And his own father — a very famous man, the well-known Melancomas who came from Caria and among his other victories also won at Olympia — he had surpassed before he came to manhhod; for his father did not remain undefeated. However, splendid as this young athlete was, [10] he came to a wretched end, after enduring the laborious work of athletics to the uttermost without experiencing any of the joys of life. And he was by nature so exceedingly ambitious that even on his deathbed he inquired of Athenodorus, the pancratiast, who had been his friend from boyhood, just how many days of the athletic meet were left.” And as he said this, the old man burst into tears.
[28.11] “Ah!” said I, “it is pardonable in you to grieve so excessively; he must certainly be related to you in some way.”
[28.11b] “In heaven’s name no,” he answered, “no relation of mine. For he was neither a blood kinsman of mine, nor was he trained by me; no, I trained one of the boys among the pancratiasts. As for him, he was such a splendid fellow that all who know him felt grief at his death.”
[28.12] “Then,” said I, “you have no reason for calling him wretched. On the contrary, he must be most blessed and fortunate if he was the sort of man report makes him. It was his good fortune to come of an illustrious family, to possess beauty, and, in addition, courage, physical strength, and self-control — things that are certainly the greatest blessings. But what was indeed the most surprising thing about a man is, to have remained undefeated not only by his opponents but also by toil and heat and gluttony and sensuality; for the man who is going to prove inferior to none of his opponents must first be undefeated by these things. [13] And as for pleasures, who ever enjoyed greater than he, who, being very ambitious, always won, and being admired, knew that he was admired? And it seems to me that the gods loved him exceedingly and honoured him especially in his death, in order that he might experience none of life’s great sorrows. For if his life had been spared, he would inevitably have become more ugly after being most beautiful, weaker after being strongest, and perhaps have been defeated too. But the man who passes away in the midst of the greatest blessings after the finest achievements, that man has the happiest death; and you will find that in ancient times too, those whom the gods loved had a short span of life.”
[28.12b] “Whom do you mean?” he asked.
“Achilles,” I replied, “and Patroclus and Hector and Memnon and Sarpedon,” and as I was going on to name still others, he exclaimed:
[28.12c] “What you have said is well suited to comfort those who are in mourning, and I wish that I could listen to you longer; but really it is high time for me to be at the training of the boy, and I am off.”

## THE TWENTY-NINTH DISCOURSE: MELANCOMAS I

THIS DISCOURSE IS in the form of a funeral oration for a young boxer Melancomas, who had died very suddenly. As to the question whether there ever was such a Melancomas and as to the time and place of this oration the reader is referred to the Introduction to the preceding Discourse.
If we follow von Arnim and others in believing that there really was such a Melancomas and that this funeral oration really was delivered, then arises the question of who delivered it. Apparently it was not Dio himself, because the speaker had been a close friend of the deceased and was deeply moved by his death; while Dio, on the other hand, had known Melancomas only by name, as he says in Discourse .. Then too, the speaker represents himself as quite youthful and not a fluent speaker. But if Dio merely wrote the oration for some one else to deliver, who was that person? One thinks first of Titus, who according to a Neapolitan inscription was the agonothete at the Games in Naples three times and gymnasiarch once before A.D. 81 and was reputed to have been a lover of Melancomas (Cf. Themistius, Oration 10, Hard.). But it seems unlikely that a man of Titus’ disposition, high place, and maturity — he was possibly thirty-three years old at the time when this oration is supposed to have been delivered — and fresh from the capture of Jerusalem, would have represented himself as youthful and immature; or have ranked athletics higher than warfare, as the speaker does in § 15. It is more likely that this oration was delivered by a Greek who was a high official at the Games.
The thought content of this Discourse and the information given about Melancomas are practically the same as in the preceding Discourse; but a good deal more is said in praise of the deceased; and athletics, as already said, are put on a higher plane than warfare.
THE TWENTY-NINTH DISCOURSE: MELANCOMAS I
[29.1] Ah sirs! I cannot think of anything at all to say, so great is my grief alike and my consternation at this sudden bereavement; for not only on account of the office which I hold does the disaster come home to me more than to any other citizen, but Melancomas was also a personal friend of mine beyond all others, as most of you know. And to me at least it seems an absurd custom, when citizens die, that those most deeply afflicted should be thought the most fitting persons to speak at their obsequies; since those who are most grief-stricken are for that very reason incapable of speech. [2] Moreover, I am at the time of life when all men find that, while their ability to speak is always less than it was, yet the emotions of both joy and sorrow are greatest in intensity. Since, however, a eulogy spoken by a general over a good soldier who has passed away does him a greater honour, and one spoken by any ruler a greater honour than one spoken by a private citizen, so it devolves upon me also, in view of the office I hold, to speak to the best of my ability. And it would be in keeping with the merit of the deceased and my own youth to demand of me no lengthy or studied eulogy, but praise that comes from the heart.
[29.3] In the first place, he had the good fortune to be truly well-born. For it is not because he chanced to have forebears who were rich — nay, not even if they were kings but in other respects were quite without merit — that this man was well-born. [3] That term applies to those who have come from good parents, as this man did. For his father stood out conspicuous among all men of his time for those fairest gifts — nobility of soul and bodily strength. This is proved by the victories that he won, both at Olympia and in the other games.
[29.4] Then he was himself by nature’s gift the most beautiful of men, not only of those of the present day but, as one may infer from his surpassing beauty, of absolutely all those of all time who have been renowned for beauty, all those, I mean, who were born mortal. [4] For the majority of those who have been regarded as beautiful because they did possess comeliness in certain parts of their body afterwards have got the reputation of being beautiful; since the eye ever wishes to direct itself to the most pleasing things to the neglect of what is inferior. And certain others were not favoured by nature with a beautiful body, but a lovely prime had arrived for them, so that those who met them, succumbing thereto, called it beauty, since the heyday of life always bourgeons in all animals and plants alike. [5] Thousands of persons of this sort can be found who at one time seem beautiful and at another time ugly; and though they please some exceedingly, with others they get no notice at all. But when it is a question of perfect and true beauty, it would be surprising if anyone ever possessed it as this man did. For he had it in his whole body and always to the same degree, both before he reached years of manhood and afterward; and he would never have lived long enough, even if he had reached an extreme old age, to have dimmed his beauty.
[29.6] And here is an indication of the surpassing quality of his beauty: not that he stood out pre-eminent in any company of professional men, or was admired merely by some few who saw him, no indeed, but that he was always admired when in a company of those who are perhaps the most beautiful men in the world — the athletes among whom he moved. For the tallest and most comely men, whose bodies receive the most perfect care, are these. And he was seen by practically all mankind. For there was no city of repute, and no nation, which he did not visit; and among all alike the same opinion of him prevailed — that they had seen no one more beautiful. And since he was admired by the greatest numbers, and amongst the most beautiful men he alone possessed the fame of sheer beauty, it is evident that he was blest with what we may term a form truly divine.
[29.7] I therefore in the first place felicitate him for his beauty, a thing which certainly is the most conspicuous of the blessings that can fall to man, which, while being most pleasing to gods and most pleasing to men, is yet fraught with least pain to its possessor and is easiest to recognize. For while the other blessings that a man may have might easily pass unnoticed, such as courage and temperance and wisdom, unless some deed should happen to reveal them, yet beauty cannot remain hidden. For it becomes manifest the moment its possessor appears; nay, one might say that it becomes manifest even sooner, so penetrating is the impression it makes on the senses. Furthermore, most men envy all other blessings and become hostile to their possessor, but beauty makes friends of those who perceive it and allows no one to become an enemy.
[29.8] But if anyone says that I am uttering an encomium of beauty and not of the man himself, his criticism is unjust. To illustrate: it would be called a eulogy of a man if we should dwell upon his manly courage. Very well, then: when it is a matter of dispute as to whether a person possesses any given quality, then it is necessary to prove he does; but when he is known to possess it, we need only to praise the nature of the good trait which is admittedly his. For the eulogy of this will be at the same time also a eulogy of its possessor.
[29.9] And what is most admirable in Melancomas is that, with all his beauty of figure, he surpassed in manly courage. [9] Indeed, it seems to me that his soul vied with his body and strove to make herself the means of his winning a greater renown. He therefore, recognizing that, of all the activities conducive to courage, athletics is at once the most honourable and the most laborious, chose that. Indeed, for the soldier’s career no opportunity existed, and the training also is less severe. And I for my part would venture to say that it is inferior also in that there is scope for courage alone in warfare, whereas athletics at one and the same time produce manliness, physical strength, and self-control. [10] Furthermore, he chose, not the easiest branch of athletics, but the most laborious, since he trained for boxing. Now it is difficult to reach the top even in the humblest branch, let alone to surpass all others in the greatest and most difficult one, as this man.
[29.11] To give the full record, one after another, of his crowns and the contests in which he won them is superfluous in the presence of you who know of them, and especially since anyone could name others who gained these same victories. But that which has fallen to the lot of no one else, [11] although you are aware of it as well as I, yet for that very reason must be mentioned; for even those who do not know of it also find it difficult to credit — I mean that, although he met so many antagonists and such good ones, he went down before none of them, but was himself always victorious. Yet you could find in all the past no general who was never defeated, no hero in war who did not actually some time or other flee from battle. For one could not say of our friend that he remained undefeated simply because he died early, since, after all, he went through far more contests than anyone else; and the chance of losing depends upon the attempts made and not upon the length of life. Furthermore, a person might have been amazed at this — that he won all his victories without being hit himself or hitting his opponent, so far superior was he in strength and in his power of endurance. [12] For often he would fight throughout the whole day, in the hottest season of the year, and although he could have more quickly won the contest by striking a blow, he refused to do it, thinking that it was possible at times for the least competent boxer to overcome by a blow the very best man, if the chance for making it were offered; but he held that it was the truest victory when he forced his opponent, although uninjured, to give up; for then the man was overcome, not by his injury, but by himself; and that for an adversary to give up because of the condition of his whole body and not simply of the part of his body that was struck, meant brilliant work on the part of the victor; whereas the man who rushed in to win as quickly as possible by striking and clinching was himself overcome by the heat and by the prolonged effort.
[29.13] But if anyone does not look at the matter in this light, let him reflect that boars and stags, as long as their strength holds out, do not come to close quarters with either men or dogs, and that it is only when they give out from exhaustion that they come in close and prefer wounds and death to enduring the fatigue of pursuit any longer. It is the same with men in war: although they know well that they are more likely to be struck when in flight than when they stand their ground, yet because they are unwilling to suffer distress through weariness any longer, they retire, in this way exposing themselves to the blows of their enemies in their rears. Therefore contempt for wounds is not a mark of courage but of the opposite.
[29.14] So I think that under one and the same head everything has been said, not only about manliness and courage, but also about self-control and about temperance. For if Melancomas had not been self-controlled and temperate, I imagine that he would not have been so superior in strength, even if nature did make him the strongest man. And I for my part should not hesitate to say that even of all the ancient heroes whose praises everyone chants, he possessed valour inferior to none, inferior neither to those who warred at Troy nor to those who in later times repulsed the barbarians in Greece. Indeed, if he had lived in their day, his deeds would have matched theirs.
[29.16] And, speaking generally, I give athletics the preference over distinction in warfare on the following scores: first, that the best men in athletics would distinguish themselves in war also; for the man who is stronger in body and is able to endure hardship the longer time is, in my opinion, he who, whether unarmed or armed, is the better man; second, it is not the same thing to contend against untrained opponents and men who are inferior in every way, as it is to have for one’s antagonists the best men drawn from the whole inhabited earth. Besides, in war the man who once conquers slays his antagonist, so as not to have the same opponent the second time; whereas in athletics the victory is just for that one day, and afterwards the victor has for his opponents, not only the men he has beaten, but anyone else who cares to challenge. [16] Further, in athletics the better man proves superior to the inferior man, since he must conquer with nothing else but his courage and physical strength; while in war the might of steel, which is much superior to mere human flesh, does not allow the excellency of men’s bodies to be tested and often takes the side of the inferior man. Moreover, everything that I have said about athletics I have also said about one who was an athlete, aye, and one who has been proved to be the best of the men in that profession; and perhaps both for me and for this audience my speech may appropriately show that this is for the best.
[29.17] Now since his was beauty of body, his was courage and a stout heart and, besides, self-control and the good fortune of never having been defeated, what man could be called happier than he? [17] And yet for a man like him these twin virtues, courage and self-control, are most difficult to achieve; since beauty is stronger than any other influence to make people conceited and to entice them to a life of luxury and ease, as though they had no need of any other glory when they are noted for their comeliness, and as though an idle life were more pleasant. And one might find in reckoning over the most beautiful men of former times from the beginning that the great majority of them did no deed which gave proof of manliness or of virtue in general. Nay, while in the case of Ganymede they thought it was because he disappeared from the sight of man when a boy that he did not perform any brilliant exploit; [18] yet regarding Adonis, or Phaon, or similar men, all of whom gained extraordinary fame for their loveliness, we hear nothing except about their beauty. The only exceedingly beautiful men who were brave that we can mention were Theseus and Achilles, and these men did not have very much self-control; for otherwise the former would not have carried off Helen by force, and the other would not have quarrelled at Troy for reasons that he did. Hippolytus did have self-control, but it is not clear whether or not he had manly courage, since hunting is no real proof of it.
[29.19] But the man who actually gained all the blessings found among mankind must be worthy to be accounted happy in his death also. For if the longest possible time were best for man, we might well have lamented over him in that regard; but as it is, seeing that all the life given to man is but short, you will find that with very many men it would have been much better if they had died sooner, so many are the misfortunes that overtake them. [20] Again, in the case of the most eminent men of ancient times, history tells us that none of them reached a great age, neither Patroclus nor Antilochus, and further, neither Sarpedon, nor Memnon, nor Achilles, nor Hippolytus; nor the Boeotians, Otus and Ephialtes, who, Homer says, were the tallest and handsomest men ever born next to Orion, nor Orion himself. But these men perished owing to their folly, while the others whom I have mentioned were called by men children and offspring of gods. Now the gods would not have given an early death to their own children and those whom they especially loved if they did not consider this a good thing for mankind.
[29.21] Therefore, sirs, you should take these considerations into account and regard him as blessed, and should yourself therefore be none the less eager for toil and the distinction it brings, since you may be sure that, if it should be anyone’s lot to die too soon, he will be without part in any of these blessings; for the man who gains fair renown departs laden with blessings. Come then, train zealously and toil hard, the younger men in the belief that this man’s place has been left to them, the older in a way that befits their own achievements; yes, and take all the pride in these things that men should who live for praise and glory and are devotees of virtue. [22] And after the departed, honour him by remembrance, not by tears; for that tribute would not be a seemly one for noble men to give a noble man, nor should I commend Homer for saying that the sands and their armour were bedewed with the tears of the Achaeans. However, he aimed rather to give poetic pleasure when he pictured excessive lamenting, but do you bear your grief with self-control.

## THE THIRTIETH DISCOURSE: CHARIDEMUS

AT THE BEGINNING Dio is speaking with a certain Timarchus and the younger of his two sons, also named Timarchus, about the death of the older son, Charidemus, who had had a great love and admiration for Dio. From the father Dio learns that Charidemus shortly before his death had dictated an address for the consolation of his father, brother, and friends. On learning this Dio at once urges the father to read the address to him and the father complies.
In this address three possible explanations of the life of man are offered. According to the first one, §§ 10‑24, this world is a prison in which men are punished by the gods, who hate them because they are of the blood of the Titans. When any man’s punishment is completed, or he has left a son to suffer punishment in his stead, he is allowed to escape by death. According to the second explanation, §§ 26‑27, this world is a colony founded by the gods for men, their descendants, whom at first they kept under their protection, but afterwards allowed to shift for themselves. The third explanation represents this world as a beautiful palace where men are entertained at a banquet from which God summons to himself those who have comported themselves best.
After hearing this address Dio commends it highly and attempts to console the bereaved father and the younger son.
In form this Discourse is a dialogue, reported directly, which contains a verbatim report of Charidemus’ address, which, in its turn, is made up almost entirely of indirect reports of what certain men, not definitely indicated, have said in explanation of man’s life in this world. The important part of the Discourse is, of course, Charidemus’s address, which gives these three explanations, while the conversation between Dio and the two bereaved ones is merely a framework to hold it. In Plato’s Phaedo also, which according to Philostratus (Lives of Sophists, 8.1 f. K.) was Dio’s favourite book on philosophy, the important part consists of the last words of Socrates as reported by Phaedo to his friend Echecrates. Corresponding to these last words of Socrates we have here the deathbed message of Charidemus. And further, Charidemus shows in the face of death the same fortitude and resignation that Socrates did.
But did such a person as Charidemus, Dio’s ideal of a young religious philosopher, ever have an existence, as Socrates did; or have we merely a product of the imagination? von Arnim feels sure that he is a real character, while others are not so certain. On this point there is the same difference of opinion as there is regarding the actuality of Melancomas, Dio’s ideal young athlete. All, however, seem agreed that the conversation between Dio and the two bereaved is fictitious. But those who believe that Charidemus is a real character have next to consider whether the address on the life of man is really his work, modified perhaps by Dio, or whether it is altogether Dio’s. von Arnim thinks that the address is not at all like any of Dio’s work, but Friedrich Wilhelm (Philologus, vol. 75, 1918, p‑365) has pointed out enough idea of Dio’s in it that are found in other Discourses of his, and also enough of his familiar words and phrases, to refute this view.
In the next place, can we identify the man who, Charidemus says, offered him the explanation that this world is a prison? Dümmler (Academica, f.) and Hagen (Questiones Dioneae, ) suggest that he is the Cynic philosopher Antisthenes, while Friedrich Wilhelm (loc. cit., , footnote) maintains that he is a fictitious character. But we note that, although Charidemus begins with giving this explanation with § 10, he gives no hint of its source until he reaches the end of § 19, where, as if forgetting himself for the moment, he speaks as if it were his own. Then, at the beginning of § 20, he credits a wandering philosopher with giving him when a child some details about the chain to which all men are bound. After giving these details and therewith finishing the first explanation of man’s life, Charidemus says in § 25 that he believes this explanation comes from ‘some morose man who had suffered a great deal in his life and only late had gained true education’ (just like the two dogs in Discourse .). — It is this description of the man which makes Dümmler, Hagen, and Sonny think of Antisthenes. Now is Charidemus crediting this ‘morose man’ with the first explanation as a whole, or only with the part beginning with § 20? If the latter is the case, and the ‘wandering philosopher’ is identical with the ‘morose man,’ then Dio himself answers fairly well to this description. For Dio became a wandering philosopher during his exile and only then, as he believed, got true education, when he was [42] years of age or older. This would be ‘late in life’ for getting an education; or does he mean that this ‘morose man’ learned later not to regard this world as a prison? And it may well be that he was made ‘morose’ for the time being from having ‘suffered a great deal in his life.’ Is Dio thinking of himself when he uses these words, just as he is in Discourse ., where he speaks of a ‘sore distressed soul, having in the course of life drained the cup of many misfortunes and griefs, nor ever winning sweet sleep’? And besides, would not the injustice of his exile and the hardships which he endured tend to make him have a gloomy outlook on life and accept the opinions of those who regarded this world as a prison?
Of course, when we identify the ‘morose’ man with the ‘wandering philosopher’ the first part of the explanation, where the world is spoken of as a prison, is not really credited to any one person, but it would seem reasonable to suppose that the man believing the second part of the first explain would accept the first part also, especially as the idea of men being bound to a chain is common to both. On the other hand, if we think of the ‘morose man’ as not identical with the ‘wandering philosopher,’ then in this morose man with his many sufferings in life we still have a fairly good description of the exiled Dio with only the one detail of his wandering life lacking, and the first explanation as a whole is definitely ascribed to him.
Once more, who is the ‘peasant,’ also mentioned in § 25, ‘who spoke with a very rustic drawl and accent,’ the one from whom Charidemus says he heard the second and third explanations? Dümmler believes that it was one of the later Cynics, possibly Bion; but Sonny, while agreeing in the main, thinks that this later Cynic was more likely Cleanthes, because the man is described as a peasant. For Diogenes Laertius (7.2, p‑171) says that Cleanthes made his living by watering a garden and digging earth. And further, the words ‘in praise of Zeus and the other gods’ may refer to Cleanthes’ Hymn to Zeus. Friedrich Wilhelm, on the other hand, thinks that this peasant is a purely imaginary character.
But no matter how we identify the ‘morose man’ and the ‘peasant,’ it seems reasonable to suppose that the three explanations of life represent three stages in Dio’s own belief. After returning from exile he naturally acquired a more cheerful outlook on life and came to think of the gods as merely having become indifferent to men, and then later the prison has become a beautiful palace in which the king of the gods gives royal entertainment to men and rewards the best. Yet some parts of Dio’s belief did not change. He believed throughout that the gods exist, that they have something to do with man, and that man may overcome evil and receive his reward.
And finally, there is the question as to the immediate and the ultimate sources of these three explanations of life and this world. Of course, if we believe that Antisthenes, the founder of the Cynic sect, offered the first and Cleanthes the second and third, for us a good deal of the question is settled. If we do not, then there is a great uncertainty. However, it has been shown that the idea of the world as a prison is Pythagorean and Orphic in origin, while Friedrich Wilhelm has offered a good many reasons for believing that Dio drew upon Posidonius for parts of all three explanations, although he with others thinks that there is a large Cynic element in the third. And since there are some thoughts that can be paralleled in Xenophon and Plato, it is reasonable to suppose that Dio drew to some extent also from these, his favourite authors.
THE THIRTIETH DISCOURSE: CHARIDEMUS
[30.1] Dio. I had heard about the death of Charidemus some time ago, even before I saw you; for when I landed here, I straightway made inquiries about certain other persons and most especially about these two, wishing to learn where they were and how they were getting on. Then I chanced upon a man who did not know them very well, but had merely heard their names, who asked me if I meant the sons of Timarchus; and when I replied in the affirmative, he told me that this one, meaning the younger, was still in Messenia with you on account of his mourning for his brother; for, he said, the elder of the two had died. [2] So it was clear that he was reporting the death of Charidemus. Yet even then there appeared to be some uncertainty, although the man had spoken clearly enough; but afterwards we came to know with more certainty. Now I believe that I myself was almost as deeply pained as you men were; for to say ‘more pained’ would not be right nor proper for me, even if it were indeed true that one had loved him more than you, his father and his brother, did. [3] And yet the strength of natural affection does seem to be not very great in persons of the common sort. Something like this happened, I hear, in the case of our Opuntian friend here after he had lost a son, an agreeable and clever young man, who was also our companion; but nevertheless they tell me that he grieved less over his death than if he had lost anything else out of his house. You two, however, seem to be very much distressed by your affliction, and no wonder; for such a man as Charidemus certainly would speedily have turned out to be, would have been useful, not only to your city, but to all Hellas, if he had lived. I, for my part, never knew any young lad of higher spirit than he nor of better natural parts.
[30.4] Timarchus. Yes, and if you knew how he felt towards you, your praise would be much warmer. It seemed to me that he held you in more honour than he did even me, his father, not to mention other people, since in his illness and even when he was practically at death’s door, and we were at his bedside along with other relatives, fellow citizens and acquaintances, he kept mentioning you by name, although by then he could scarcely speak at all, and bade us say when we met you that he was thinking of you when he died. For he retained consciousness and the power to speak up to the very last. Furthermore, even when he was alive and well, he was so attached to you that he imitated you in his taciturnity, his gait, and in all other respects, as people who knew used to say.
[30.5] Dio. Oh no, he was not imitating in those matters either me or anybody else; but they were natural with him. Perhaps you did not notice it at first when he was still a child; then as he grew older, it became more marked. For a manly and dignified bearing came much more naturally to him than to anybody else. But I wonder if he pained you at all by these characteristics or appeared to you to be somewhat gloomy of countenance.
[30.5b] Tim. No, on the contrary, I thought that he was more cheerful than many and ready to play such games as were proper for free-born children, and always somehow ready to give a smile to people whom he knew; but I did not often see him laughing without restraint. So he caused us no worry; and what is more, he won the commendation of many people, and our fellow citizens had more respect for him, although he was only twenty-two years old — for that was his age when he died — than they had for those who were older and in the public eye.
[30.6] Dio. But did he give you any other commission or say anything else on his death-bed?
[30.6b] Tim. Yes, many remarkable things — at least, so I, his father, think. For, although he was departing from life at such an early age, so far was he from lamenting his fate or showing any grief that on the contrary he tried to comfort us. Then finally, he called the servant and dictated to him, like one inspired, an address for our consolation, so that I began to suspect that perhaps it was because his mind was now wandering on account of the nearness of death that he was doing this. Those who were at his bedside, though, praised it highly.
[30.6c] Dio. Pray, have you what he wrote?
[30.7] Tim. Yes, indeed.
[30.7b] Dio. Then are you willing to repeat it?
[30.7c] Tim. O yes, only ashamed for fear that it is not in proper shape, because it was spoken by a comparatively young man and at such a time. For I really thought that he would have been more careful in what he said, had you been the only one present, than he was with all the rest there.
[30.7d] Dio. It is no outsider that you will be reading to, my good friend; and, at the same time, it is not the style that I am anxious to observe so much as what his state of mind was as revealed by what he said, whether he was really of good cheer and courageous on his deathbed.
[30.8] Tim. Well, here it is:
The Dying Words of Charidemus
“What has happened to me has happened in accordance with God’s will; and we should not consider anything that he brings to pass as harsh, nor bear it with repining: so wise men advise us, and Homer not least when he says that the gifts of the gods to man should not be spurned by man — rightly calling the acts of the gods ‘gifts,’ as being all good and done for a good purpose. [9] As for me, this is my feeling, and I accept the decree of fate calmly, saying this, not at any ordinary time, but when that fate itself is present, and I see my end so near at hand. And do you, I pray, believe me, since I have had even greater concern for the truth than for you, and, so far as in you lies, do not give way to your grief, knowing that nothing terrible has befallen me; no, not even if one offers the explanation of death which is the most difficult to accept.
[30.10] This explanation I will now give to you, although it is very likely not at all cheering, nor pleasing — for I imagine it was not devised to please us — and it has something of the marvellous about it perhaps. It is to the effect that all we human beings are of the blood of the Titans. Then, because they were hateful to the gods and had waged war on them, we are not dear to them either, but are punished by them and have been born for chastisement, being, in truth, imprisoned in life for as long a time as we each live. And when any of us die, it means that we, having already been sufficiently chastised, are released and go our way.
[30.11] This place which we call the universe, they tell us, is a prison prepared by the gods, a grievous and ill-ventilated one, which never keeps the same temperature and condition of its air, but at one time is cold and frosty, and infected with wind, mud, snow, and water, and at another time is hot and stifling; for just a very little time of the year it is endurable; it is visited by cyclones, typhoons occur, and sometimes the whole of it quakes to the very bottom. Now all these are terrible punishments. [12] For men are invariably dismayed and terrified by them whenever they occur. Then in addition to all this, because men cannot endure the bad air and changes of temperature, they devise for themselves other small prisons, namely, their houses and cities, which they construct of timber and stone, just as if a person should build other smaller enclosures inside of a large one.
[30.13] And the plants which grow all about us and the fruits of the earth are created, they assure us, simply in order that we may serve out our time here. They are just like the unappetizing and wretched food which is given to prisoners, but we nevertheless put up with it on account of the necessity which is upon us and our helplessness. [13] For in the case of men who are being punished by us, whatever is furnished appears appetizing because they are hungry and used to it. These foods are in reality bad and spoiled, and that they are spoiled is shown by the frailty of our bodies. And, further, it is not even furnished us ready at hand, nor yet supplied in abundance to everyone, but must be won with intolerable toil and hardships.
[30.14] “Also, we are composed of the very things which torture us, namely, soul and body. [14] For the one has within it desires, pains, angers, fear, worries, and countless such feelings; and by day and by night it is ever racked and wrenched by them. Even the man who is of a better bodily condition than most, is free from none whatever of these troubles, but has them shut up within him just like wild animals compelled to keep quiet by force and persuasion alike; but if he stops singing charms to them and watching them, for even a short time, they instantly become very active. [15] Our body too is subject to vertigo, convulsions, epilepsy, and other diseases, so numerous that it is not even possible to enumerate them, since it is full of blood and air, and, further, is composed of flesh and sinews and bones, of both soft and hard things, of moist and dry things, complete opposites. Then our foods, as I said, being bad and the weather variable, aggravate some of our diseases and bring us others, which, though they do not seem to be there at first, yet are actually inherent in the nature of our bodies. These are the evils which lie within our own selves. [16] The other chastisements, which come from without, are lighter in comparison with those that come from our own nature. For the effect of fire or steel, of blows, or of other things is sharp and quickly passes from consciousness even if it becomes at any time a little excessive. But in the case of diseases sometimes the effects last for a very long time.
[30.17] “Such, then, are the tortures, and so numerous, by which men are afflicted while they remain in this prison and dungeon, each for his appointed time; and the majority do not get out until they produce another person from their own loins and leave him to succeed to the punishment in their stead, some leaving one and others even more. They do not stay voluntarily, but are all bound fast by one chain, body and soul, just as you may see many persons bound by us by one chain in a row, some of them small, some large, some ugly and some good looking; but none the less all of them are held on equal terms in the same constraint.
[30.18] “And, likewise, men are superior one to the other in their fortunes, reputations, and honours, just as they are in their bodies. Some of them are kings, others are in private station, some are wealthy, and others are without means. Yet no whit less on this account do the fortunate, as they are called, suffer and are held fast in the same bondage, than do the poor and unknown, nay, they suffer more than the others. [19] For since the poor are leaner, the bond which lies about each of them is looser and easier. But as for kings and tyrants, just because they are puffed up in soul and are in exceedingly good bodily condition, so the chains lie heavier upon them and gall them the more; exactly as in the case of persons whose bodies are bound, the fetter pinches the stout and bulky more than it does the thin and under-nourished. However, a very few enjoy some relief by the kindness of God; and while they are indeed bound, yet the bond is very light on account of their goodness — a class of men concerning whom we shall speak again.
[30.21] “But first it is right to say that once when a child I heard a wandering philosopher explain what the nature of the chain is, that it is not at all like such chains as we have, made of iron or bronze as our chains are, but much stronger, and yet similar in form and construction. For just as our chains are forged out of a number of links that are interlocked with one another, and that from one end to the other; so too is that other one by which we asserted that men are bound by the gods. [21] This chain, he said, is composed entirely of both pleasure and pain, and these things are intertwined, the pleasant and the painful, and the one always of necessity follows the other, just as, I suppose, are the links of a chain. Great pleasures are followed by great pains, the small pleasures by smaller pains, and very greatest pleasure at the end is death. This is the reason that the pain which comes before death is the greatest; for it is clear that man has no greater pain and suffering than this which ends in death.
[30.22] “He said, further, that for each man there are other bonds, in some cases lighter, in other cases heavier, which lie upon him just like fetters: they are called hopes by us. Now just as the fetters are at the lower part of the body and around our extremities, so the hopes too are at the very bottom and surround the final part of our life. They most of all hold men in their thrall and compel them to endure even though they suffer all tortures. In the case of the senseless and the foolish, these fetters are massive and exceedingly thick, but for the more intelligent, the shackles that surround them are loose and light.
[30.23] “And, mark you, he also compared something to a file, very manfully sticking to his parable. This, he said, is found only by the intelligent and shrewd; for it is locked away very carefully, just as a person might hide a file in a prison in order that none of the prisoners might get hold of it and then free himself. Now the ambitious and industrious have trouble in finding it, but still they do find it. And the name they give to it is ‘Reason.’ Then, as soon as they find it, they use it to file the fetters and make the part of the chain that binds themselves as thin and weak as possible, until they overcome the pleasures and pains so far as one may. [24] But this is slow work. Only with difficulty does their ‘reason’ affect the chains because they are of adamantine hardness, and it wears them away only gradually, but is not able to wear them entirely through and tear them asunder. And when a man does get hold of this remedy, and uses it industriously by day and night to the best of his ability, he now endures his confinement cheerfully, walks around past the others as if he were a free man, and when his fated time comes, he goes his way without hindrance, as though no longer restrained by force or clamped to the chain. Of such men the gods at times make some their coadjutors on account of their virtue and wisdom, after completely freeing them from their punishment.
[30.25] “Now this explanation was given, in my opinion, by a certain morose man who had suffered a great deal in his life and only late had gained true education; but it is not the right explanation, nor one that befits the gods. There is another one better than that, which I am much more eager to give. I heard it from a peasant who spoke with a very rustic drawl and accent. However, perhaps there is no need for us to imitate this, and we shall attempt merely to record his thought.
[30.26] “He said, in reciting the praises of Zeus and the other gods, that they are good and love us as being of kin to them. For it is from the gods, he declared, that the race of men is sprung and not from Titans or from Giants. For when they got the universe into their power, they established mankind upon the earth, which was hitherto uninhabited, as a sort of colony made up of their own people, on the basis of inferior honours and felicity, but with the same righteous laws as their own; precisely after the fashion in which great and prosperous cities found the small communities. And I thought that he meant, without expressly adding the proper names, just as Athens colonized Cythnos and Seriphos, or Sparta founded Cythera in ancient times, giving them the same laws as they themselves had. And in these various colonies you may behold copies of the customs and the form of government which their founders enjoy, but all are weak and inferior. [27] However, the superiority of the colonizers over their colonies not as great; for in the one case it is the superiority of men over men, whereas the greater excellence of the gods as compared with ourselves is an infinite one. Now, as long as life was but newly established, the gods both visited us in person and sent harmosts, as it were, from their own number at first to look after us, such as Heracles, for example, Dionysus, Perseus, and the others, who, we are told, were the children of the gods, and that the descendants of these were born among us. Afterwards they permitted us to manage for ourselves as best we could. And then it was that sin and injustice began.
[30.28] “The peasant also chanted a second monody, telling how the universe is a house very beautiful and divine, constructed by the gods; that just as we see houses built by men who are called prosperous and wealthy, with portals and columns, and the roof, walls, and doors adorned with gold and with paintings, in the same way the universe has been made to give entertainment and good cheer to mankind, beauteous and bespangled with stars, sun, moon, land, sea, and plants, all these being, indeed, portions of the wealth of the gods and specimens of their handiwork.
[30.29] “Into this universe comes mankind to hold high festival, having been invited by the king of the gods to a most splendid feast and banquet that they may enjoy all blessings. They recline in different places, just as at a dinner, some getting better and others inferior positions, and everything resembles what takes place among us at our entertainments, except that we are comparing the divine and great with the small and mean. For the gods furnish us with light of two kinds by means of lamps as it were, at one time a brighter and at another a dimmer light, the one at night and the other by day; [30] and tables are set beside us, loaded with everything, with bread and fruit, some of it wild and some cultivated, and with meats too, some from domestic animals, some from wild, and fish also from the sea. And these tables, the peasant said, speaking like a true rustic, are the meadows, plains, vales, and coast-land, on which some things grow, others pasture, and yet others are hunted. And different persons have different things in greater abundance according to the tables at which they have severally reclined. For some happen to have settled by the sea, others on the plains, and yet others in the mountains. [31] And the waiters are the Seasons, as being the youngest of the gods, beautifully dressed and fair to behold, and they are adorned, not, methinks, with gold, but with garlands of all manner of flowers. And some of the flowers themselves they distribute and also attend to the viands of the banquet in general, serving some and removing others at the right time. And there is dancing and every other sort of merrymaking. [32] Furthermore, that labour which we think we undergo in farming and hunting and the care of the vines, is no more than it is for those at a table to reach out for a thing and take it in their hand. To return now to my statement that different persons reclined in different places, the reason for that is the differences in the climate. For those at the head of the tables and those at the foot, more than of the others, are either in the cold or in the heat, because they are either near the light or far from it.
[30.33] “Now all, so the man continued, do not enjoy the merrymaking and banqueting in the same way, but each according to his own nature. The dissolute and intemperate neither see nor hear anything, but bend over and eat, like pigs in a sty, and then nod in sleep. Again, some of them are not satisfied with what is near, but reach out their hands for the things that are farther away, as, for example, people living inland want fish and take trouble to get it; [34] while others, who are insatiable and wretched, fearing that food will fail them, collect and pile up for themselves as much as they can, and after this, when they have to go, they depart without having a share of anything, but utterly destitute, and leave these things to others; for they cannot take them with them. Now these persons are a laughing-stock and disgrace. [35] Others play at draughts and yet others with dice; but the draughts and dice are not like those to which we give these names, but are made some of gold and some of silver — we call them coins — and over them they quarrel and each seeks to get the greater share. It is these last-named men who cause the greatest uproar and disorder — I mean those who play at dice — and they appear to be the most disagreeable of the revellers. Sometimes, too, they fight and come to blows and wound one another. [36] But it is the drunken who are most inclined to act this way. However, it is not wine that makes them drunk, as it is with us, but pleasure. For this is the beverage that the gods furnish at this banquet to which all mankind is invited, so that the character of each man may be revealed. And two cup-bearers stand at their elbows, one male, the other female; the one of them is called Intelligence and the other Intemperance. Now those banqueters who are sensible have the male cup-bearer and from him alone they accept the drink sparingly, in small cups, and only when it has been so mixed that it is quite harmless; [37] for there is only one bowl, that of Sobriety, has been placed before them, nevertheless there are many bowls available for all and differing in taste, as though filled with many kinds of wine, and they are of silver and of gold; and besides, they have figures of animals encircling them on the outside and certain scrolls and reliefs. But the bowl of Sobriety is smooth, not large, and of bronze, to judge by its appearance. So from this bowl they must take many times as large a portion and mix with it a little of the pleasure and drink. [38] Now for those whose cup-bearer he is, Intelligence pours out the wine just so, fearing and giving close heed lest in some way he should fail to get the right mixture and cause the banqueter to stumble and fall. But Intemperance pours out a neat draught of pleasure for the great majority without mixing even a little of sobriety with it, though for some she puts in just a very little for the name of it; still this little straightway disappears and is nowhere to be seen. And the drinkers do not take intervals of rest, but hurry her on and bid her come faster to them, and each one of them grabs first at what she brings. But she hurries and runs about panting and dripping with sweat. [39] Some of her guests dance and lurch, falling prostrate in the sight of all, and fight and shout, just as men do who are drunken with wine. However, these do so only for a little while and moderately; for they are content to sleep a little while, and after that they feel better than ever, since their intoxication was slight. But those who have become stupefied by pleasure, being affected by a stronger potion, act this way all through life; and it is impossible for them to get free while they live but only when dead. For death is the only sleep for people intoxicated in this way and it alone helps them. [40] Many too vomit from surfeit, and it is accompanied by retching and the severest pain — this casting out of the pleasure. But whoever persists is relieved and gets on better for the future. Yet it rarely happens that a person wishes to vomit; much rather do they wish to keep on drinking. For their thirst does not cease, but ever becomes more intense, just as with people who use untempered wine.
[30.41] “Such, then, is the character of these people, and they disgrace and insult the bounty of the gods; whereas the temperate and reasonable enjoy pleasure in moderation and at intervals, owing to their fear; and just as a gentleman who has been invited by some superior, such as a king or a prince, neglects the food and drink, except in so far as he cannot avoid eating and drinking, and pays attention to what is in the palace and enjoys this; so the reasonable neglect the drinking and draughts and dice and look at the state of things within, admire the banqueting-hall in which they are reclining, try to learn how it was made, and observe everything that is in it, just as they would some fair and beautiful paintings; and they notice the management also and its orderly system, and the Seasons too, observing how well and intelligently they do everything; they observe attentively all these things and alone perceive their beauty. [42] They are anxious also not to appear to take part in all this like persons who are blind and deaf, but they wish to have something to tell about it when they leave, if anyone should ask them about what they saw and observed. And throughout the banquet they continue to take thought for these things and to enjoy the pleasure intelligently and moderately, while they debate man to man, or in congenial groups of two or three. Sometimes, however, when a great noise and disturbance is caused by those who are drunk, they look in their direction and then straightway again give attention to their own concerns.
[30.43] “And when they have to depart, the dissolute and intemperate are pulled and dragged away by their slave attendants with discomforts and spells of sickness, shouting and groaning all the while, and having no knowledge whatever where they have been or how they have feasted, even if one or another of them remains a very long time. But the others depart erect and standing securely upon their own feet after bidding farewell to their friends, joyous and happy because they have done nothing unseemly. [44] God, therefore, looking upon these things and observing all the banqueters, as if he were in his own house, how each person has comported himself at the banquet, ever calls the best to himself; and if he happens to be especially pleased with any one, he bids him remain there and makes him his boon companion; and thenceforth this man regales himself with nectar. This resembles the beverage of Sobriety, but is clearer by far than the other and purer because, as I think, it belongs to divine and true sobriety.”
[30.45] Dio. Alas, Charidemus, what a man has been lost to us in your death! How far you would have surpassed the men of your generation, and what a splendid revelation of your character you have given to your father and your fellow citizens, a display, not of words assuredly, but of great and true manliness. For my part, I know not how to console you of his family, bereft of such a man, by exhorting you not to sorrow too deeply, for I am not able adequately to console even myself for the purpose. [46] You alone, Timarchus, are able to lighten this father’s grief and to bring healing to his misfortune, by making it your concern not to be found much inferior to the departed. For it would be strange indeed if, while you have already received part of his property, great as it was, and will receive the other part in the future when your father here dies, yet you should forsake sobriety, courage, and a love for all that is most beautiful, as if in these matters you were of no kin at all to Charidemus.

## THE THIRTY-FIRST DISCOURSE: THE RHODIAN ORATION

SOME INFORMATION ABOUT the island of Rhodes and its capital city of the same name may contribute to an appreciation of this Discourse.
The island, which has an area of approximately 424 square miles, lies in the extreme eastern part of the Aegean Sea and is about ten miles south of Cape Alypo, the ancient Cynossema Promontorium, on the coast of Asia Minor. From it one can see to the north the elevated coast of Asia Minor and in the south-west Mount Ida of Crete. It is still noted for its delightful climate and its fertile soil.
There is a legend that the earliest inhabitants of Rhodes were the Telchines, skilled workers in metal, and the Children of the Sun, who were bold navigators; yet, whatever the racial affinity of these people may have been, in historic times the population was Dorian.
In the fifth century before Christ its three cities of 1 Lindus, 2 Ialysus, and 3 Camirus were enrolled in the Delian League, but in 412 B.C. they revolted from Athens. Then in 408 they united to form the new city of Rhodes on the north-east tip of the island. This city presented a very impressive appearance, laid out as it was by the architect Hippodamus in the form of an amphitheatre on a gentle slope running down to the sea.
After the founding of this city the prosperity and political importance of the island steadily increased. It threw off the yoke of Athens in the Social War, 357‑354, and although it submitted first to Mausolus of Caria and then later to Alexander the Great, it reasserted its independence after the latter’s death, greatly expanded its trade, and became more powerful than before, so that its standard of coinage and its code of maritime law became widely accepted in the Mediterranean. In 305‑4 the city successfully withstood a siege by the redoubtable Demetrius Poliorcetes, who by means of his formidable fleet and artillery attempted to force the city into an active alliance with King Antigonus. On raising the siege Demetrius presented the Rhodians with his mighty siege-engines, from the sale of which they realized enough to pay for the Colossus, the celebrated statue of the Sun-god, one hundred and five feet high, which was executed by Chares of Lindus and stood at the entrance of the harbour.
In 227 Rhodes suffered from a severe earthquake, the damages of which the other states helped to restore because they could not endure to see the state ruined. Chiefly by her fleet Rhodes supported Rome in her wars against Philip V of Macedon, Antiochus III, and Mithridates, who besieged the city unsuccessfully in 88. It assisted Pompey against the pirates and at first against Julius Caesar; but in 42 that Caius Cassius who formed the conspiracy against Caesar’s life captured and ruthlessly plundered the city for refusing to submit to its exactions; and although befriended by Mark Antony after this, it never fully recovered from the blow. In the year 44 of our era, in the reign of Claudius, it lost its freedom temporarily, but recovered it at the intercession of Nero, who throughout his life remained very friendly to Rhodes. Then at the beginning of the reign of Vespasian it was reduced to a Roman province. This has been considered the end of Rhodes’ freedom. Von Arnim, however (Leben und Werke, 217‑218), gives good reason for believing that Rhodes was given its freedom again for a short time under Titus. This view is accepted by Van Gelder (Geschichte der alten Rhodier, 175), who suggests that this may have occurred somewhat later under Nerva or Trajan, by Hiller von Gaertringen in his article on Rhodes in Pauly-Wissowa, Suppl. V, col. 810, and by Lemarchand in his Dion de Pruse, 84.
Rhodes was noted for its paintings and its sculpture. In Dio’s time the city is said to have had 3000 statues. (See Pliny the Elder .. and cf. § 146 of this Discourse.) Then too it was the birthplace of the philosopher Panaetius, whose pupil, the philosopher and historian Poseidonius, had his school there; Apollonius Rhodius also spent part of his life there; and in this city both Cicero and Caesar in their youth studied rhetoric under Apollonius Molo.
This Rhodian oration, by far the longest of Dio’s extant Discourses, purports to have been delivered by Dio before the Rhodian Assembly. In it Dio urges the Rhodians by all possible arguments to give up their bad habit of not actually having the statue of a man made and set up when one was decreed him as an honour, but of simply having his name engraved on some statue already standing, after first chiselling out the name, if any was there, which was already on the statue.
This Discourse throws an interesting light upon the time in which Dio lived. Then it was thought one of the highest honours for a man to have a statue of himself which was erected by public decree in a city like Rhodes, so that even Romans sought this honour. No doubt it was because so many Romans whom Rhodes could not afford to offend brought pressure to bear in order to secure the honour of a statue, that this practice of ‘switching inscriptions’ developed. The city already had some 3000 statues in its temples and streets, and yet many others were anxious for the honour of a statue. This was all the vogue at that time. Lemarchand (op. cit., 58) quotes from Cicero, Plutarch, Philo, Favorinus, Pausanias, Pliny the Elder, and Dio Cassius to show that the practice was not unknown elsewhere. Yet perhaps it had well-nigh ceased by Dio’s time, for in §§ ‑, he says that the Thracians alone are guilty of it.
Von Arnim thinks that this address was not actually delivered, that it was merely written. The Rhodians, he says, met in Assembly to deal with matters of state, would not have been willing to listen to such a “long-winded expectoration” on a subject not on the order of the day. He points also to the unusually careful avoidance of hiatus. Lemarchand, on the other hand, who believes that we have here at least two addresses by Dio on the same subject, which were later made into one by some editor (perhaps by Dio himself, who then carefully removed cases of hiatus), thinks that at least the first address was actually delivered. He feels that the speech is not a unit on account of the numerous repetitions and contradictions in it which he lists, and on account of two different styles and tones, the one dry and dull, the other vigorous and at times impassioned.
Von Arnim, in attempting to date this Discourse, takes into account three factors: Rhodes is a free city (see for example §§ 111‑), Nero is dead (as may be inferred from §§ 148‑), and the Discourse shows Dio as a sophist, yet not hostile to philosophy, as he was in early life according to Synesius. To be sure Rhodes was free until 70 or 71 of our era, but he feels that even then Dio, who would have been about twenty-four years old, he says (about thirty would be nearer the truth if Dio was born about A.D. 40), would still have been too immature to compose such a speech as this. Therefore he would put this speech in the reign of Titus, when, as he attempts to show, Rhodes regained its freedom for a time.
Lemarchand, on the other hand, with his theory of two speeches, at least, combined into one, would place the first speech in the early years of Vespasian’s reign, when Rhodes had just lost its freedom. For in this first speech Dio does not one refer to the freedom of Rhodes imply that it is not free, he says. The second speech, where Rhodes is spoken of as free, he would put in the reign of Titus; and he would accept von Arnim’s contention that Rhodes then regained its freedom for a short time.
The Thirty-first Discourse: The Rhodian Oration
[31.1] It is reasonable to suppose, men of Rhodes, that the majority of you are thinking that I have come to talk to you about some private matter; consequently, when you perceive that I am attempting to set right a matter which concerns your own general interests, you will perhaps be vexed that I, who am neither a citizen nor have been invited to come here, yet venture to offer advice, and that too concerning no one of the subjects for the consideration of which you have assembled. [2] But for my part, if after hearing me you find that the topic on which I am speaking is either inappropriate or not altogether urgent, I say that I shall be rightly regarded as both foolish and officious. But if you find that my topic is really of the greatest possible importance, and, furthermore, that the situation of which I speak is very bad indeed, so that the state as such is in evil repute on that account, and that you yourselves, one and all, though you bear a good reputation in everything else, in this one matter do not enjoy the general esteem to which you are entitled, you would have good reason to be grateful to me and to regard me as a true friend of yours. For it is evident that even if any person is not altogether content with you, the world at large, as you presumably know, cares not at all about those matters which may bring upon you some shame or injury. [3] Is it not, therefore, very strange that, whereas if a man, a foreigner or a resident alien, were offering you a gift of money out of his own means, you would not consider him officious just because, although under no apparent obligation to do so, he was zealous on your behalf even though you did not demand it, and yet, if a man offers you useful advice, just because he happens not to have been invited to do so or is not a citizen you are going to listen with considerable vexation to whatever he has to say? And yet as for money, perhaps you are in no pressing need of it at the present moment, and, besides, thousands can be found to whom it would be a greater benefit to have taken away from them some of the money they have; but as for good advice, there is no one who does not stand in need of it at every moment and for every circumstance of life, even the man who is regarded as most successful.
[31.4] Now if I were speaking about one of the questions which are before you, you would not be so greatly benefited by me, for you would be reasonably sure to arrive at the proper conclusion by yourselves if you were once to consider the problem. But since, in discussing the matter concerning which you are not even making any attempt at all to ascertain what the situation is, I assert that I shall prove that it is being most disgracefully managed, shall I not have done you an altogether useful service — that is, if I shall, indeed, prove not to be misrepresenting the facts? And what I think myself is, that it is right to welcome any man who, moved by a spirit of friendliness, has anything whatever to say, and to regard no such one as a nuisance, and especially, that you, men of Rhodes, should do so. For evidently the reason that you come together to deliberate every day and not, as other people do, reluctantly and at intervals and with only a few of you who are regarded as free-born being present, is that you may have leisure to hear about all matters and may leave nothing unexamined.
[31.5] So much it was necessary to say by way of preface in order that you might understand the situation at the very beginning; and now I shall proceed to the subject itself, after simply adding that I think it is our duty to conduct all the affairs of life justly and honourably, and especially is it the duty of those who do anything in the name of the people; not only because official acts are more readily observed than private misdeeds, but also because, while the mistakes of persons in private station do not at once put the city in a bad light, improper action in public affairs inevitably causes every individual citizen to be looked upon as a knave. [6] For in a democracy the character of the majority is obviously the character of the state, since it is their will, surely, and no one else’s, that prevails. And I myself would venture to say that it is especially fitting that the majority should scrupulously observe the noblest and most sacred obligations; for in the state where such considerations are neglected, such neglect even reveals a sort of vicious defect in the body politic and no other matter can be properly administered. [7] Furthermore, if we except the honours which we owe the gods, which we must regard as first in importance, of all other actions there is nothing nobler or more just than to show honour to our good men and to keep in remembrance those who have served us well — that is my opinion and needs no argument; and yet one may most clearly see in the principle also a practical advantage. For those who take seriously their obligations toward their benefactors and mete out just treatment to those who have loved them, all men regard as worthy of their favour, and without exception each would wish to benefit them to the best of his ability; and as a result of having many who are well-disposed and who give assistance whenever there is occasion, not only the state as a whole, but also the citizen in private station lives in greater security.
[31.8] It is in regard to these matters, men of Rhodes, that I ask you to believe that the situation here among you is very bad and unworthy of your state, your treatment, I mean, of your benefactors, and of the honours given to your good men, although originally you did not handle the matterº thus — most assuredly not! Why, on the contrary, just as a person might very emphatically approve and admire any other practice of yours, so it is my opinion that you once gave very especial attention to bestowing honour, and one might recognize this to be so by looking at the great number of your statues — but it is only that a habit in another way bad has prevailed here for some time, and that nobody any longer receives honour among you, if you care to know the truth, and that the noble men of former times who were zealous for your state, not alone those in private station, but also kings and, in certain cases, peoples, are being insulted and robbed of the honours which they had received. [9] For whenever you vote a statue to anyone — and the idea of doing this comes to you now quite readily because you have an abundant supply of statues on hand — though for one thing I could not possibly criticise you, I mean for letting a little time elapse and delaying action; for, on the contrary, as soon as any person is proposed for the honour by you — presto! there he stands on a pedestal, or rather, even before the vote is taken! But what occurs is quite absurd: your chief magistrate, namely, merely points his finger at the first statue that meets his eyes of those which have already been dedicated, and then, after the inscription which was previously on it has been removed and another name engraved, the business of honouring is finished; and there you are! The man whom you have decreed to be worthy of the honour has already got his statue, and quite easily, it seems to me, and at a good bargain, when you look at the matter from this point of view — that the abundance of supply is wonderful and your business a thing to envy, if you are the only people in the world who can set up in bronze any man you wish without incurring any expense, and in fact, without either yourselves or those whom you honour putting up a single drachma. [10] Who, pray, from this point of view, could help admiring the cleverness of your city?
[31.11] But I imagine that many things in life which require both special effort and no little expense can be done without cost and quite easily, if one disregards propriety and sincerity. Take, for instance, the sacrifices which we duly offer to the gods: it is possible simply to say they have been offered without offering them, merely, if you please, putting on our wreaths and approaching the altar, and then touching the barley groats and performing all the other rites as we do in an act of worship. And here is an idea! We might lead the same sacrificial victim up to all the statues in turn: to that of Zeus, to that of Helius, to Athena’s, and after pouring libations at each one, make believe that we have sacrificed to all the gods — would not that be easy? [11] Who is going to prevent our doing this? And if we wish now to set up an altar or a temple to some god — for even though altars of all the gods are to be found among you, I take it that it is not impossible both to build a better altar than the last one you built and also deliberately to honour the same god by a greater number of them — is it not quite feasible to dispossess one of the other gods, or to shift one that has been already consecrated? Or else simply to alter the inscription — exactly as we are now doing? Indeed, some do maintain that Apollo, Helius, and Dionysus are one and the same, and this is your view, and many people even go so far as to combine all the gods and make of them one single force and power, so that it makes no difference at all whether you are honouring this one or that one. But where men are concerned the situation is not at all like that; on the contrary, whoever gives A’s goods to B robs A of what is rightfully his.
[31.12] “Yes, by Zeus,” someone says, “but there is no similarity between violating our obligation towards the gods and that toward men.”
[31.13] Neither do I say there is. But still it is possible to violate one’s obligation towards men also, when one does not deal honestly with them, when one does not even permit those who have received anything to keep what they have justly acquired, or actually gives what the giver asserts he is giving to those who have been considered worthy of the same reward, but deprives the one class of their gift and deceives and hoodwinks the other. [13] Now the essential nature of the act is the same, and doing anything whatever with deceit and trickery and the extreme of niggardliness amounts to the same thing; but there is this difference, that unseemly actions in what concerns the gods are called impiety, whereas such conduct when done by men to one another is called injustice. Of these two terms let it be conceded that impiety does not attach to the practice under examination; and henceforth, unless it seems to you worth guarding against, let this matter be dropped. [14] And yet even impiety might perhaps be found to attach to such conduct — I am not speaking about you nor about your city, for you have never formally approved nor has the practice ever been officially sanctioned; I am considering the act in and of itself from the private point of view — for is it not true that wrong treatment of those who have passed away is rightly called impiety and is given this designation in our laws, no matter who those are against whom such acts are committed? But to commit an outrage against good men who have been the benefactors of the state, to annul the honours given them and to blot out their remembrance, I for my part do not see how that could be otherwise termed. [15] Why, even those who wrong living benefactors cannot reasonably be clear of this reproach. At any rate those who wrong their parents, because these were the authors of the first and greatest benefaction to us, are quite fairly held guilty of impiety. And as for the gods, you know, I presume, that whether a person makes a libation to them or merely offers incense or approaches them, so long as his spirit is right, he has done his full duty; for perhaps God requires no such thing as images or sacrifices at all. But in any event these acts are not ineffectual, because we thereby show our zeal and our disposition towards the gods. [16] But when we come to men, they require crowns, images, the right of precedence, and being kept in remembrance; and many in times past have even given up their lives just in order that they might get a statue and have their name announced by the herald or receive some other honour and leave to succeeding generations a fair name and remembrance of themselves. At any rate, if anyone should inquire of you, all things such as these having been taken away and no remembrance being left for future times nor commendation given for deeds well done, whether you think there would have been even the smallest fraction of men who are admired by all the world either because they had fought zealously in some war, or had slain tyrants, or had sacrificed themselves or their children in behalf of the common weal, or had undergone great labours for virtue’s sake, as they say Heracles did, and Theseus and the other semi-divine heroes of the past, no man here among you, I think, would answer yes. [17] For you will find that there is nothing else, at least in the case of the great majority, that incites every man to despise danger, to endure toils, and to scorn the life of pleasure and ease. This is the reason why brave men are found on the battlefield wounded in front instead of having turned and fled, though safety was often ready at hand. This is what the poet gives as Achilles’ reason for refusing to grow old and die at home, and for Hector’s standing alone in defence of his city, ready if need be to fight against the entire host. This is what made a mere handful of Spartans stand in the narrow pass against so many myriads of Persians. [18] It was this which made your ancestors fill every land and sea with their monuments of victory, and when the rest of Hellas in a sense had been blotted out, to guard the national honour of the Hellenes by their unaided efforts up to the present time. For this reason I think that you are justified in feeling greater pride than all the rest of them taken together. [19] For whereas the others at the beginning did win successes against the barbarians and made themselves a brilliant name, for the rest they failed by giving a display of jealousy, folly, and quarrelsomeness rather than of virtue, until, although no foreign power was troubling them, they deteriorated of themselves and finally invited anyone who wished to be their master. But you Rhodians, who have won so many wars, have settled them all no less honourably than you have gallantly waged them. [20] However, this much is clear, that neither you nor any others, whether Greeks or barbarians, who are thought to have become great, advanced to glory and power for any other reason than because fortune gave to each in succession men who were jealous of honour and regarded their fame in after times as more precious than life. For the pillar, the inscription, and being set up in bronze are regarded as a high honour by noble men, and they deem it a reward worthy of their virtue not to have their name destroyed along with their body and to be brought level with those who have never lived at all, but rather to leave an imprint and a token, so to speak, of their manly prowess.
[31.21] You see what hardships these athletic competitors endure while training, spending money, and finally often even choosing to die in the very midst of the games. Why is it? If we were to abolish the crown for the sake of which they strive, and the inscription which will commemorate their victory at the Olympian or the Pythian games, do you think that they would endure for even one day the heat of the sun, not to mention all the other unpleasant and arduous things which attach to their occupation? Well then, if it becomes clear to them that any statue of them which their countrymen may set up another man is going to appropriate, first removing the name of the victor who dedicated it and then putting his own name there, do you think that anyone will go there any longer even to witness the games, to say nothing of competing? It is for this reason, I think, that kings, too, claim such testimony as this. [22] For all men set great store by the outward tokens of high achievement, and not one man in a thousand is willing to agree that what he regards as a noble deed whole have been done for himself alone and that no other man shall have knowledge of it.
[31.21b] In Heaven’s name, do you fail to recognize that this action of yours not only deprives those men of honour, but also leaves the city destitute of men who will be well-disposed and strenuous in her behalf? For let not the thought enter the mind of any of you, that even if you do abolish that one honour, the honour of the grant of a statue, the other honours, nevertheless, cannot be taken away. For, in the first place, those who annul the greatest honour and that which every man is most anxious to gain, admit, I presume, that they are doing injury to the state in the greatest degree, since they concede that it would be injurious that all honours should have been abolished.
[31.23] Moreover, there is this also to be considered — that wherever one part of an institution has been changed, there all parts alike have suffered change and no similar institution is secure. For those who have infringed the principle by observing which it was believed that a certain undesirable thing would not happen, and because they thought the principle was of no importance, have thereby undermined every institution whose stability rested upon the same premises. For instance, if a person should do away with any one whatsoever of the penalties of the law, he has not left any of the others secure either. [24] And if a man were to do away with the greatest of your punishments, banishment or death, it would necessarily be thought in the future that the lesser penalties also were not even on the statute books. Therefore, just as men who falsely stamp the currency, even if they injure only a part, are regarded as having ruined the whole by making it suspect, in like manner those who annul any of the honours or the punishments are doing away with the whole system and showing that it is worth nothing whatever. [25] Moreover, if anyone were to put this question to me: Admitted that each of the two things causes the greatest possible harm, namely, that there should be no confidence in the honours which a city bestows and that the punishment it inflicts should be ineffectual, if it is not possible to guard against both, which of them I consider more conducive to justice and characteristic of more respectable men, I should unhesitatingly say in reply, “That its punishments should be ineffectual,” since this can be credited to humanity, to pity, and to other sentiments of that nature, the very qualities that characterize good men. But to let the memory of the noblest men be forgotten and to deprive them of the rewards of virtue cannot find any plausible excuse, but must be ascribed to ingratitude, envy, meanness and all the basest motives. Again, whereas the former, when they relax their punishments, merely slacken their constraint upon those who are really bad, the latter are themselves committing the greatest sins against their benefactors. This is just as much worse than the other as committing a wrong yourself is worse than failing rigorously to prevent another man from committing a wrong.
[31.26] So, then, it cannot be said, either, that this is not the greatest of the gifts that have been given to any persons, since, apart from the fact that the truth is patent to everyone, those who deny it will be contradicting themselves. For they protest that it is necessary to honour many of the leading men at the present time, and that if it proves necessary to get statues made for them all, enormous expense will be incurred, since the other honours are not in keeping with their position, and the men themselves would not accept them, as being far too inadequate. [27] As to the matter of expense, you will see in a short time what there is in that plea. But that this is the greatest of your honours which they are taking away from the former recipients, is by this protest conceded.
[31.28] Again, since it is preposterous to pass over any one of those who are worthy of honour and to offer no recompense for his benefaction, as those men above all others must admit who think it a terrible thing even to bestow a lesser honour than a person deserves; is it not an excess of wrong-doing to honour men and then, though having no fault to find with them, to deprive them of what has been given them? The one act, namely, means being ungrateful to your benefactors, but the other means insulting them; the one is a case of not honouring the good men, the other, of dishonouring them. [28] For whereas in the one case you merely fail to grant to men of excellent character what you believe is their due, in the other case you give them the treatment which is customarily accorded to men who are utterly base. If, for instance, any man who formerly was thought respectable should afterwards commit any unpardonable and grievous sin, such as plotting treason or a tyranny, the practice is to revoke this man’s honours, even if previously he had received the honour of an inscription. Then is it not a disgrace for you to consider that men who are admittedly the noblest deserve the same treatment as that which the laws command to be imposed on the impious and unholy, men who have not even a claim to a burial? [29] Consequently, I think that, great as is the desire which all men have to receive honour among other peoples, they will have just as great a desire, or even a greater, that they may never receive any such honour among you; inasmuch as everyone considers the insult and contumely to be a greater evil than he has regarded the honour a good. If, for instance, you were to invite anyone to take a seat of honour or should enroll him as a citizen with the intention of afterwards unseating him or depriving him of his citizenship, he would earnestly implore you to leave him alone. Take tyrants, for instance, or those kings whose statues were destroyed afterwards and whose names were blotted out by those who had been governed with violence and in defiance of law — the very thing, I am inclined to think, that has happened in your time also — I should emphatically say that, if they had foreseen that this was going to take place, they would not have permitted any city either to set up statues of themselves or to inscribe their names upon them.
[31.30] And yet this argument shows, not only that these men are suffering injustice and outrageous treatment, but also that the argument by which some will perhaps urge that you shall continue your present practice is only an empty subterfuge, or rather, that it argues against the practice. I mean, if they shall say that it is both necessary and expedient to honour men of a later time also, is it not the very reverse of this to insult the men who in the past have received these honours? For what any man of former times would not have chosen to accept if he had known that this was going to happen, is it at all reasonable to suppose that any man of the present day is glad to accept when he sees what is being done? Consequently, even if not on account of those former benefactors, yet at any rate on account of these whom we are now honouring, it stands to reason that you should guard against the practice. [31] For all men look with suspicion on gifts which are proffered by those who to their knowledge disregard in this manner any person who formerly received public commendation and was regarded as a friend; but those men are especially suspicious who are getting the very honours of which they see that the previous recipients have been deprived. But if your motive should be that they were to receive this honour themselves, or, rather, be thought to have received it, they must at once look upon the action as downright pretence and a mockery. It would be much better to tell those who prefer to have you give yourselves very little concern about those who have previously been honoured, that there is no longer any need for honouring anybody at all, rather than, on the contrary, to bring into disrepute that practice which men say your city has the greatest need of and with respect to a greater number of persons now than ever before.
[31.32] And yet, by Zeus and the gods, even if those who think they are now getting statues were going to feel the warmest gratitude towards you and to praise your democracy to the skies, not even so should this thing have been done. For merely to seek how one can please a person in what one does and how win his good will, and not to consider whether one will be wronging another person whom one should not wrong by so doing, or will be doing anything at all that one should not — by the gods I declare this befits neither liberal-minded men nor men of decent character. For no one, even the most wicked, chooses any base action which he does not think is to his own advantage at the time, but the essence of wickedness consists in being led by the desire of gain and profit to shrink from no base or unjust action and not to care about the nature of the act, but only whether it is profitable. [33] Therefore, the man who courts the person who is present but slights his former friend, and having forgotten the service this friend has rendered, places highest importance upon the hoped-for benefit from the other — do you not know the term that is applied to him? Is such a man not called a toady everywhere? Is he not considered ignoble, a man not to be trusted? As the case now stands, therefore, the city does not even get the advantage that sundry men are courted by her and so think they are getting a grand thing when their names are put into an inscription. For in fact the opposite is the case: they are annoyed and find fault when by themselves, even if on other occasions they are silent because they do not wish to give offence. Or if you should offer a man a counterfeit coin as a present, there is nobody who would ever willingly take it but would consider the offer an insult rather than a gift, and yet do you imagine that a counterfeit honour, a thing utterly worthless, is ever accepted by persons who have any sense? [34] Yet if any one sells another man’s slave, or chattel, falsely claiming that it is his own, the man who is deceived is without exception very indignant, and it would surprise me if you would not even punish the offence with death; but if a person should be tricked into taking another man’s statue to which he has no right from those who have no authority to give it — for what a person gives to another, he no longer has the authority to give to yet another — do you think that he is grateful to those who have duped him? [35] But I ask you, if my words seem rather bitter, not to be at all vexed with me; for I am by no means saying that it is you who do this, but that it happens, in a manner of speaking, against the wish of your city. Still, if the practice is of such a nature that it seems utterly shameful when subjected to examination, the more eagerly ought you to listen to the speaker, so as to be free from the shame of it for the future. For neither can our bodily troubles be healed without pain; and often the very presence of marked pain in the part treated is itself an indication that the treatment is making marked progress.
[31.36] So what I said at the beginning I would not hesitate to say at this point also — that in every situation it is proper that good men should show themselves to be morally sound and to have in their character no equivocal or hateful trait, but, on the contrary, should be utterly free from deceit and baseness — I mean men who are like yourselves — and I think this applies especially to conferring honour and the giving of gifts. For to put any shame upon a noble practice, and to carry out unjustly that which is the most just thing in the world, is the mark of men who have no delicate sense of the nature of each act. Hence just as those who commit sacrilege are worse than those who err in respect to anything else, so too are those who prove unjust and wicked in the matter under discussion. [37] For what is more sacred than honour or gratitude? Do you not know that the majority of men regard the Graces as indeed goddesses? Therefore, if anyone mutilated their statues or overturns their altars, you hold this man guilty of impiety; but if injury or ruin is done to that very grace (charis) from which these goddesses have derived their name (Charites) by anyone’s performing a gracious act in a way that is not right, but in an ignoble, illiberal, and crafty manner showing rank ingratitude to his benefactors, can we say that such a man has sense and is more intelligent than his fellows? Nay, tradesmen who cheat in their measures, men whose livelihood from the very nature of the business depends upon base gain, you hate and punish; but if your city shall gain the reputation of playing the knave in connection with her commendations of good men and of making a traffic of her gifts, will you feel no shame that she makes her sacred awards equivocal and subject to repeated sale? [38] And do you give not even a thought to this truth — that nobody will ever again willingly have dealings with those tradesmen whose measures are dishonest?
[31.39] And besides, that the practice is in essence such as I have shown, and that it is not my speech which casts reproach upon it, I ask you to see from the following consideration: If anyone were to inquire of you whether you prefer, in the case of those who receive honours from you and on whom you think you are bestowing the statues, that they should know the truth and what sort of transaction it is, or that they should be kept in ignorance, it is perfectly clear what you would say if you are in your right senses. For what was there to prevent your writing explicitly in the decree to begin with, just like its other provisions, this also: that ‘their statue shall be one of those already erected’ or ‘shall be So-and‑so’s’, if you really wanted the recipients also to understand? But you will never put this in your decrees, I warrant! [39] Well, it is perfectly clear that no one tries to disguise things that are done in a straightforward fashion and have nothing irregular about them. And I think it is even more obvious that nobody would be in the least inclined to take precautions to prevent men who are receiving favours at their hands from knowing in just what manner they were getting them and anything whatsoever that was being done in connection with the honour, at least if the action taken were done in a sincere and honourable way. So what is now happening must necessarily be contemptible in every way and ill-befitting for even a man in private station. For the man who, in the very act of doing a kindness to others either because he has previously received a kindness from them, or because he is actually taking the initiative and inviting them to be his friends, then deceives and cheats — what would such a man do in an honest fashion?
[31.40] So, then, you do know that no one is unaware of what is going on, nay, it is notorious and on everybody’s tongue, not only now that certain cities have followed this practice to great excess and with utter lack of restraint, but because it is being done even among you. [40] For the high standing of your city and her greatness allow nothing that goes on here to remain unknown; and the greater decorum of your conduct as compared with that of any other city; and, besides, I presume, your being the most prosperous of the Greeks, all arouse dislike and jealousy, so that there are many who watch to see if you appear to be at fault in any matter. Therefore those who prefer that what they do shall remain utterly unknown thereby reveal a sign of baseness, while those who think that what nobody is ignorant of goes unnoticed show their simplicity; and you would not care to have your city held guilty of both these faults!
[31.41] “Oh yes!” you say, “but we shall be put to expense if we do not use those we already have! And what sums will be required if we are to have new statues made for all those to whom we vote them!”
[31.41b] And how much better it would be to make the gift to fewer persons rather than to deceive a larger number, since you will be condemned and hated by a larger number, for they know well what you are doing!
Again, if they are not very distinctly superior men whose memorials you are now setting up in some fashion or other — and if you are wise, you will by no means say that they are — see what takes place: on account of the inferior you are wronging the excellent; for your ancestors, I dare assert, did not bestow their admiration at random or upon any undeserving person. On the other hand, if you are honouring good men, then these have good reason to be indignant at your action. [42] For what fair-minded man would wish another to be ill-treated on his account and deprived of what had been justly given? How could he help being angry at such treatment, instead of feeling grateful? To take another case: no man, if he were honourable, would consent to get a wife through having committed adultery with her, because by that act he had done an injury to her former husband; or rather, a man would not willingly take any woman at all away from another, her husband, although this is often done without any base motive. But an honour, which it is not possible justly to take away from another person or without inflicting an injury on him — do you think that anyone cares to have, even though he is not expecting to be subjected to any such treatment himself? Nay, a man who is buying a slave inquires if he ever ran away, and if he would not stay with his first master; but a gift or a favour which a man believes was not given in good faith and which he knows well enough has no permanence in it at all — would he willingly accept that?
“Yes,” you say, “for the majority of them are Romans and who would think of touching them? But those who stand beside them here are Macedonians, while these over here are Spartans, and by heavens, it is these we touch.”
And yet all that stood here formerly, or the most of them at any rate, you will admit were erected in acknowledgement of a benefaction, whereas of those now receiving honour many are being courted owing to their political power. Now the question which of the two classes has the greater right to be held in higher regard I will pass over; but this further question, which of the two classes — assuming that the honours granted are not to belong rightfully to all — can more reasonably be expected to take them on the basis of so uncertain a title, this question, I say, even these men themselves know well how to answer. For all know how much more permanent a benefaction is than power, for there is no strength which time does not destroy, but it destroys no benefaction. [44] Assuming, therefore, that we may reject that extreme view, which in a sense is true, that those who are seeking to be honoured in this way are quite displeased with your city and take what is done as an insult and affront to themselves, yet at least I assert positively that they feel no gratitude whatever to you and do not think that they are getting anything, knowing as they do what is taking place and the unscrupulousness displayed in it. In heaven’s name, when even if the men in question do accept from us honours which we should have no right to take away from their former recipients, are we, then, to take them away from whoever possesses them, even though we do not really ‘give’ them to another set of men?
[31.45] Furthermore, if in cases where the city is thought to need anything, we shall consider the expense alone and how the thing can be done most easily, examining into no other aspects of the matter, what is to prevent our having not only this gift ready at hand, but any other favour you may wish to bestow upon any one, such as land, money, or a house, by simply taking them away from those who have them? Or what need is there to seek ways and means and to expend the public money when occasion arises to repair either a wall or ships, instead of merely taking So-and‑so’s property, either that of some citizen or of one of the strangers who are sojourning among you?
[31.45b] “Never, by Zeus,” you say, “they will raise an outcry and say that it is an outrage.”
[31.46] Then it will be possible, presumably, to pay no attention to them. For even if there are now those to whom they can appeal when you act this way, in the old days, at any rate, there was no person who had greater authority than the people.
[31.46b] “Can it be that the men of that time treated individuals in that way?”
[31.46c] What nonsense! Why, they considered it to be the worst thing imaginable, and prayed the gods that the time might never come in which it would be necessary that each individual citizen should ever be obliged to pay a tax out of his own private means; and it is said that so extreme a measure has only rarely been taken among you in spite of all your wars, except at a time when your city was in extreme peril.
[31.47] Now perhaps some one will say that the statues belong to the city. Yes, and the land also belongs to the city, but none the less every one who possesses any has full authority over what is his own. Speaking in a political sense, if anyone inquires who owns the Island or who owns Caria, he will be told that the Rhodians own it. But if you ask in a different sense about this specific estate here or this field, it is clear that you will learn the name of the private owner. So also with the statues; in a general sense men say that they belong to the people of Rhodes, but in the particular or special sense they say that this or that statue belongs to So-and‑so or to So-and‑so, naming whatever man it has been given to. And yet, whereas in the case of estates, houses, and other possessions, you cannot learn who owns them unless you inquire, the statue has an inscription on it and preserves not only the name but also the lineaments of the man to whom it was first given, so that it is possible to step near and at once know whose it is. I refer to those on which the truth is still given.
[31.47b] Moreover, the plea that they stand on public property is most absurd, if this is really held to be an indication that they do not belong to those who received them, but to the city. Why, if that be true, it will be possible to say that also the things which are on sale in the centre of the market-place belong to the commonwealth, and that the boats, no doubt, do belong, not to their possessors, but to the city, just because they are lying in the harbours.
[31.49] Then, too, an argument which I heard a man advance, as a very strong one in support of that position, I am not disposed to conceal from you: he said that you have made an official list of your statues. What, pray, is the significance of that? Why, the country lying opposite us, Carpathos yonder, the mainland, the other islands, and in general many possessions can be found which the city has listed in its public records, but they have been parcelled out among individuals. [49] And in fine, even if each man who has been honoured does not in this sense ‘possess’ his statue as he would possess anything else he has acquired, it cannot for that reason be said that it belongs to him any the less or that he suffers no wrong when you give his statue to another. For you will find countless senses in which we say that a thing ‘belongs’ to an individual and very different senses too, for instance, a priesthood, a public office, a wife, citizenship, none of which their possessors are at liberty either to sell or to use in any way they like. [50] But certainly a common principle of justice is laid down in regard to them all, to the effect that anything whatsoever which any one has received justly — whether he happens to have got it once for all or for a specified time, just as, for instance, he obtains public offices — that is his secure possession and nobody can deprive him of it. How, then, is it possible to have anything more justly, than when a man who has proved himself good and worthy of gratitude receives honour in return for many noble deeds? Or from whom could he receive it that has fuller authority and is greater than the democracy of Rhodes and your city? For it is no trifling consideration that it was not the Calymnians who gave it, or those ill-advised Caunians; just as in private business the better and more trustworthy you prove the man to be from whom you obtain any possession, the stronger your title to it is, and by so much more no one can dispute it. Yet any city which one might mention is in every way better and more trustworthy than one private citizen, even if he has the highest standing, and arrangements made by the state are more binding than those which are negotiated privately.
[31.51] Then consider, further, that all men regard those agreements as having greater validity which are made with the sanction of the state and are entered in the city’s records; and it is impossible for anything thus administered to be annulled, either in case one buys a piece of land from another, a boat or a slave, or if a man makes a loan to another, or frees a slave, or makes gift to any one. How in the world, then, has it come to pass that these transactions carry a greater security than any other? It is because the man who has handled any affair of his in this way has made the city a witness to the transaction. [52] In heaven’s name, will it then be true that, while anything a person may get from a private citizen by acting through the state cannot possibly be taken from him, yet what one has received, not only by a state decree, but also as a gift of the people, shall not be inalienable? And whereas an action taken in this way by anybody else will never be annulled by the authority of the state, yet shall the state, in the offhand way we observe here, cancel what it has itself done? — and that too, not by taking it away in the same manner in which it was originally given, that is, by the commonwealth officially, but by letting one man, if he happens to be your chief magistrate, have the power to do so? [53] And besides, there are official records of those transactions of which I have spoken; for the decrees by which honours are given are recorded, I take it, and remain on public record for all time. For though repaying a favour is so strictly guarded among you, yet taking it back from the recipients is practised with no formality at all. Then, while the one action cannot be taken except by a decree passed by you as a body, yet the other comes to pass by a sort of custom, even though it is the will of only one person. Note, however, that, as I said, these matters have been recorded officially, not only in the decrees, but also upon the statues themselves, on which we find both the name of the man who received the honour and the statement that the assembly has bestowed it, and, again, that these statues are set up on public property.
[31.54] Well then, that there is nothing in the official list, or in the fact that these memorials stand on public property, which tends to show that they do not belong to those who have received them, has perhaps long been evident; but in order that nobody may even attempt to dispute it, let me mention this: You know about the Ephesians, of course, and that large sums of money are in their hands, some of it belonging to private citizens and deposited in the temple of Artemis, not alone money of the Ephesians but also of aliens and of persons from all parts of the world, and in some cases of commonwealths and kings, money which all deposit there in order that it may be safe, since no one has ever yet dared to violate that place, although countless wars have occurred in the past and the city has often been captured. Well, that the money is deposited on state property is indeed evident, but it also is evident, as the lists show, that it is the custom of the Ephesians to have these deposits officially recorded. [55] Well then, do they go on and take any of these monies when any need arises, or do they ‘borrow’ them at any rate — an act which, perhaps, will not seem at all shocking? No; on the contrary, they would sooner, I imagine, strip off the adornment of the goddess than touch this money. Yet you would not say that the Ephesians are wealthier than yourselves. The very opposite is the case, for not only were you the richest of the Greeks in former times, but now you are still richer; whereas the Ephesians, one can see, are less prosperous than many.
[31.56] Pray do not say this: “The people who deposited that money have the privilege of withdrawing it, but no one has in this way the disposal of his own statue,” and do not consider the cases dissimilar. For in my desire to show that not all things deposited in a public place and recorded officially belong forthwith to the city, I used this case as an illustration. The fact, however, that no one has a statue for any other purpose than to stand in your midst — the one respect in which these men differ from those who deposit their money there — speaks still more in their behalf. For when it is not lawful for even the recipients of gifts to annul them, can it possibly be right that the donors should have the power to do so?
[31.57] However, I seem to be arguing quite needlessly against the man who asserts that all the statues belong to the city; for this is no indication that what is being done is not an outrage. For instance, consider the votive offerings in the sacred places: the city made them at its own expense and dedicated them. No one would dispute that they are the property of the people. Then will it not be an outrage if we misappropriate them for some other purpose?
[31.57b] “Yes, by heaven,” you rejoin, “for these are dedications, but the statues are marks of honour; the former have been given to the gods, the latter to good men, who, to be sure, are nearest of kin to them.”
[31.58] “And yet,” I reply, “all men of highest virtue are both said to be and in fact are beloved of the gods. Can it be, then, that while not he who deprives us of any of our possessions, but whoever does an injury to our friends, is guilty of an altogether greater wrong, yet we are to say of the gods, as it seems we are doing, that they are more inclined to slight their friends than they are their possessions?
[31.58b] Nay, on the contrary, it is right that in regard to all sorts of possessions those who have acquired them should be secure in their tenure, especially in a democracy and among a people like yourselves, who take the greatest pride in having matters in your state handled in accordance with law and justice, and above all, I should imagine, your honours and expressions of gratitude; not only because even a man of no account might have all other things, such as money, houses, slaves, lands, whereas those two are possessions enjoyed by virtuous men alone, but also for the reason that these things can be acquired through some other means, such as inheritance or purchase, whereas such things as honours and grateful recognition are acquired through virtue alone.
[31.59] Furthermore, those things for which a man has paid the price to their owners nobody even thinks of maintaining, I presume, that he cannot justly be permitted to keep for himself, and the more so, the greater price he has paid. Well, each and every one of these men has paid a price for his statue and no moderate price either; some of them brilliant service as generals in defence of the city, others as ambassadors, while others have given trophies won from the enemy, and certain others money as well, perhaps — not, by heavens, a mere matter of a thousand or five hundred drachmas, sums for which it is possible to erect statues.
[31.60] Well, what then? Is it not the established usage, at any rate among men who are not utterly lacking in sense of justice, that whoever is dispossessed of any piece of property should recover at least what he paid from those who have seized it? Would you, then, be willing to give back the favours in return for which you voted those honoured men their statues? It is to your advantage, at any rate, to make payment — since there are those who think a man ought to look out for his own advantage from whatever source. [61] Therefore, if a man has carried through a war successfully, a war so threatening that, had he not had the good fortune to win it for the people of his day, we who now live would not have our city, or if he has won back our freedom for us, or is one of the Restorers of our city — for we cannot state specifically what persons have enjoyed this good fortune, or will enjoy it, since that comes as it will and only by caprice, so to speak — I am afraid the conclusion may be unpleasant to state, namely, that if we wish to do the right thing, we shall actually have to cede to him the city herself! But if there should be any man who has indeed made such a splendid offering that even with the best of intentions we are unable to repay him — and countless are those who have sacrificed their lives on behalf of the city and at the price of life itself have bought their statue and the inscription — are they not, as I asked before, being treated shamefully?
[31.62] And what is more, we cannot say that it is not ourselves who have received these benefits. For, in the first place, all the obligations incurred by our ancestors are debts which are owed, no less than they were owed by the ancestors themselves, by all those to whom their blood has descended. For you will not say that you withdraw from the succession! In the second place, all the benefits, valuable and great as they are, which have accrued from the services which certain men rendered to your ancestors in their time, and from what they gladly suffered or did in their behalf, are now yours: the glory of your city, its greatness, its pre-eminence over all other cities save one. [63] If, therefore, simply because these benefactors did not receive their gifts from you directly, you think you are committing a lesser wrong than if you take away from a man a piece of property that came into his hands in some other way, you are blind to truths most patent: first, that all those who deprive anybody of anything whatsoever do just as great a wrong to the man from whom he once happens to have received it; for instance, those who demolish any public building which some individual benefactor built as an expression of his gratitude to you, would seem to wrong the builder more than the city. Therefore, when it is the city that has given something to one of its own citizens, the same argument applies to the man who would deprive him of this. For this reason, in addition to wronging the persons whose statues you have set up, you are also, in my opinion, wronging the city which gave them, that is, your own selves. [64] But whereas he who sins against another man and thereby benefits himself is guilty of wrongdoing only, in the eyes of the majority, he who wrongs his own self while wronging another man shows an exceeding measure of depravity and is looked upon as needlessly a fool also.
[31.65] Besides this, one might consider another point also. The man who simply takes away from any one that which is justly in his possession, no matter how he got it, errs in this very act, since he is doing a thing which is by its very nature unseemly; but the man who deprives any one of what he himself has given in the way of honour and gratitude, not only violates that universal principle which says that we should injure no one, but also does wrong to a good man, and that, too, the man whom he ought least of all to wrong. For in no case do you see honours being given to worthless men or to those from whom no benefit has been received. [65] How very much worse it is to rob good men of honours bestowed than to rob anybody else, and to injure your benefactors than to injure any chance person, is something that nobody fails to see.
[31.65b] Moreover, let us take the case of the Ephesians: Leaving aside scruples having to do with the goddess, one would say that they commit a misdeed if they take from the deposits to which I have referred, so far as the act itself is concerned; but that people who treat the statues in this way do an injustice, not merely, to be sure, for the reasons already given — that they would be wronging persons in no wise related to themselves, the majority of whom they did not even know — but also on account of the ill repute which arises from their act. For to those who have not taken good care of a deposit entrusted to them nobody would thereafter entrust any of his own property; but those who insult their benefactors will by nobody be esteemed to deserve a favour. Consequently, the danger for you is that you will no longer receive benefactions at the hands of anybody at all, while the danger to the Ephesians is merely that they will no longer have other persons’ property to take care of.
[31.66] I wish, moreover, to mention a deed of yours which took place not very long ago, and yet is commended by everyone no less than are the deeds of the men of old, in order that you may know by making comparison whether on principle it is seemly for people like you to be guilty of such behaviour as this. After that continuous and protracted civil war among the Romans, during which it was your misfortune to suffer a reverse on account of your sympathy with the democracy, when, finally, the terrible scenes came to an end, and all felt they were safe at last, just as in a severe illness there is often need of some heroic remedy, so then, too, the situation seemed to require a similar corrective measure. Consequently all the provinces were granted a remission of their debts. [67] Now the others accepted it gladly, and saw in the measure a welcome gift; but you Rhodians alone of all rejected it, although the capture of your city had recently occurred, as I have said, and the enemy had spared nothing in the city except your dwellings. But nevertheless, you thought it would be a shame to violate any principle of justice in any crisis whatsoever and on account of the disasters that had befallen you to destroy your credit to boot; and while deferring to the Romans in everything else, you did not think it right to yield to them in this one respect — of choosing a dishonourable course for the sake of gain. [68] For the things, methinks, which you saw that Rome did not lack because of its high character at once and of its good fortune, these you demonstrated that your city did not lack, because of its high character alone. Certainly you will not say, men of Rhodes, that gratitude is owing less to those who have done a service than to those who were ready to contribute the amount of your debt.
[31.66b] After that, though you thought it a scandal not to pay your debts willingly, yet is it an equitable act, having discharged an obligation, then to rob the recipient of his requital? For surely you have not supposed that it is more shameful to act dishonourably in common with all the world than to be alone in so doing! And yet when that great revolution occurred at the time I have mentioned and there was repudiation of every kind, the gifts which had been made remained undisturbed in the possession of those who had received them previously, and no one was so bold as to try to exact a return from those who already had anything. You, however, are at this present time not leaving undisturbed even what you were so prompt to pay to your benefactors, but although at that time you would not consent to follow in any respect the same course as all the others took, and that too, in spite of the reverses you had suffered, now when you are prosperous you do what not a single one of the peoples in that crisis did!
[31.69] And yet the action taken in regard to the debts you will find was taken at other times as well; Solon, for instance, is said to have taken it once at Athens. For apart from the fact that this measure often becomes necessary in view of the insolvency of those who have contracted loans, there are times also when it is even justifiable on account of the high rate of interest, on occasions when lenders have got back in interest their principal many times over. But to deprive the recipients of the tokens of gratitude which they have received in return for their benefactions can find no plausible excuse, nor has anyone ever yet formally proposed the adoption of this procedure; no, this is almost the only thing in the world for which there has never yet been found any occasion.
[31.70] Furthermore, the following two practices have alike been considered worthy of being most carefully guarded against in our laws and as deserving of execration and the most extreme penalties, namely, a proposal that debts be cancelled, or that the land ought to be redistributed. Well, of these two measures, the former has never been adopted in your city; the latter, however, of which we have not the slightest knowledge that it ever has been taken, please consider by comparing it with the practice under examination. If the land were being parcelled out anew, the very worst consequence would be that the original holder should be put on an equality with the man who possessed no land at all; but where a man’s statue has been given to another, the one who has been robbed is by no means on an equality with the man who received it. For the latter has gained the honour, if you can really call it such, whereas the other has nothing left.
[31.71] Come, then, if any one were to question the magistrate who is set over you, who commands that the inscription be erased and another man’s name engraved in its place, asking: “What does this mean? Ye gods, has this man been found guilty of having done the city some terrible wrong so many years after the deed?” In heaven’s name, do you not think that he would be deterred, surely if he is a man of common decency? For my part I think that even the mason will blush for shame. And then if children or kinsmen of the great man should happen to appear, what floods of tears do you think they will shed when some one begins to obliterate the name? [72] No, not they merely, but everybody will protest, coming before you, in your assembly, creating an uproar. Let me ask you, then: Even if such a demonstration does occur, will you refrain from trying to prevent the deed, and take no notice at all? I for my part cannot conceive of your taking such a course, but rather maintain that even now you do not know that this is going on, but that you will not permit it, now that you have learned of it; anyhow you know it all now at any rate, I imagine, so that it is your duty to put a stop to the practice once for all.
[31.71b] “Oh! but assuredly your illustration is not apposite,” someone may object, “since many of them are persons who have no surviving relative and the practice is not followed in the case of any person who is well known.”
[31.73] Well, for my part, I will pass over the point that even if some are unaware, as is likely, that some of these honoured men are related to them, yet none the less on this account they suffer an injustice if their ancestors are dishonoured. But far more grievous at all events, it seems to me, is the wrong done to those honoured men who have not one single surviving relative. For in the case of the living it seems a greater indignity to wrong those who have not even one person left to help them. For on that principle you might as well say that it is not cruel to injure orphans either, children utterly alone in the world, who cannot protect themselves and have no one else to care for them. But you, on the contrary, look upon such conduct with even greater displeasure, and through the state appoint guardians to protect them from any possible wrong.
[31.74] But, speaking in general terms, while none of the pleas that these people intend to urge has any equitable basis whatever, the most absurd plea of all is to say that after all they are not molesting any of the statues of well-known persons, nor those whose owners any one knows, but that they take liberties with sundry insignificant and very ancient ones. It is as if a person should say that he did not wrong any prominent citizen, but only those of the common crowd, persons whom nobody knows! And yet, by heavens, I maintain that the two cases are not alike. For in the case of the living one person is more prominent than another owing to his good birth or his good character, and it may also be on account of his wealth or for other good reasons; but in the case of the statues, on the contrary, one cannot point to one group and say ‘These are statues of better men.’ For it is not due to their humble birth or any baseness that we do not know them, seeing that they have received the same honours as the most famous men, but our ignorance has come about through lapse of time.
[31.75] Moreover, insofar as the men of the past were, as all believe, always superior by nature to those of the succeeding generations, and as in ancient times it was a rarer thing for any men to receive this honour, just in so far were those better men and the authors of greater blessings against whom it is acknowledged we are sinning. And that both these statements are true is clear, for we know that the exceedingly ancient men were demi-gods and that those who followed them were not much inferior to them; in the second place, we understand that their successors steadily deteriorated in the course of time, and finally, we know that the men of to‑day are no better than ourselves. Indeed formerly even those who gave their lives for the state were not set up in bronze, but only the occasional man who performed extraordinary and wonderful exploits; but now we honour those that land at our ports, so that we should transfer to new owners, if transfer we must, rather the later statues and those which have been set up nearest the present time. [76] For you are not unaware, I presume, that all persons of good sense love their old friends more and esteem them more highly than those who have become their friends but recently, and that they honour their ancestral family friends altogether more than they do those whose acquaintance they themselves have made. For any who transgress the rights of these letter wrong them alone, but those who annul any of the rights of the former must also despise the men who accept their friendship. [77] And, to state a general principle, just as when any man now living whom you do not know very well personally or not at all is being subjected to a judicial examination in your courts, you listen to those who do know him and cast your vote according to what the witnesses say, especially if they are not knaves; so do the same thing now also. Since we too are speaking concerning men whom they say that no one now alive knows anything about, learn from those who did know them. Well then, those who lived in their time, who knew them perfectly, regarded them as benefactors of the city and considered them worthy of the highest honours. These are witnesses whom you have no right to disbelieve, being indeed your own forefathers — nor yet to declare that they were knaves.
[31.78] Furthermore, you cannot advance any such argument, either, as to say that those who were honoured long ago have held their honours for a long time. For it will not be possible for you to prove that those men have been honoured for a longer time by the city than the city has been the recipient of their benefactions. Hence, just as a man who incurred a debt long ago and long ago repaid it has done not a whit more than the man who pays back now what he has just received, so does a similar statement apply if it was very long ago indeed that a man requited another for a benefit received from him at that time. [79] But the case would be different if you had given exemption from taxes, money, land, or some other such thing and were now taking it away — then perhaps those who would have received such an exemption afterwards would indeed suffer a greater wrong; for the man who has held such things for any length of time has received benefit and advantage therefrom already. But in the case of an honour conferred there is nothing like this. For whereas the former are better off for the future as well, since what they acquired then is the source of wealth which they enjoy now; the others, on the contrary, find that they have suffered an actual diminution of their honours. For in the one case the loss is less because the men have enjoyed the usufruct for a long time, but in the other case the dishonour is greater, since the victims are being deprived of a very ancient honour.
[31.80] And that the present practice is not free from impiety either, especially in view of the way these men describe it, I shall now prove, even if some will think that I speak with intent to exaggerate — not, as I said before, because offences committed with reference to the dead are all without exception acts of impiety, but also because it is generally believed that the men of very ancient times were semi-divine, even if they have no exceptional attribute, simply, I presume, on account of their remoteness in time. And those who are so highly revered and have been held worthy of the highest honours, some of whom actually enjoy the mystic rites given to heroes, men who have lain buried so many years that even the memory of them has disappeared — how can they possibly be designated in the same way as those who have died in our own time or only a little earlier, especially when these latter have not shown themselves worthy of any honour? [81] And assuredly, acts of impiety toward the heroes everyone would agree without demur should be put in the same class as impiety toward the gods. Well then, is it not a wrongful act to blot out their memory? To take away their honour? To chisel out their names? Yes, it is a shame and an outrage, by Zeus. [82] But if anyone removes a crown that will last perhaps one or two days, or if one puts a stain on the bronze, you will regard this man guilty of impiety; and yet will you think that the man who utterly blots out and changes and destroys another’s glory is doing nothing out of the way? Why, if anyone takes a spear out of a statue’s hand, or breaks the crest off his helmet, or the shield off his arm or a bridle off his horse, you will straightway hand this man over to the executioner, and he will suffer the same punishment as temple-robbers — just as many undoubtedly have already been put to death for such reasons — and they give them no more consideration because it is one of the nameless and very old statues they have mutilated. Then shall the city in its official capacity prove altogether worse and more contemptible in the treatment of its heroes?
[31.83] Again, if a person comes in and says that some stranger or even citizen has stolen either a hand or a finger that he has taken from a statue, you will raise an outcry and bid him be put to the torture forthwith. Yet, even though the statue has been deprived of a hand or a spear, or a goblet if it happens to be holding one, the honour remains and the man who received the honour retains the symbol of his merits; it is the bronze alone that has suffered a loss. But when the inscription is destroyed, obviously its testimony has also been destroyed that the person in question is “considered to have shown himself worthy of approbation.”
[31.84] And so I now wish to tell you of a practice which I know is followed at Athens, and here too, I imagine, in accordance with a most excellent law. In Athens, for instance, whenever any citizen has to suffer death at the hands of the state for a crime, his name is erased first. Why is this done? One reason is that he may no longer be considered a citizen when he undergoes such a punishment but, so far as that is possible, as having become an alien. [85] Then, too, I presume that it is looked upon as not the least part of the punishment itself, that even the appellation should no longer be seen of the man who had gone so far in wickedness, but should be utterly blotted out, just as, I believe, traitors are denied burial, so that in the future there may be no trace whatever of a wicked man. Come, therefore, if anyone says that in the case of benefactors the same course is followed in your city as is customary among many peoples in the case of evil-doers, will you not be exceedingly offended? Then do not be vexed at the man who seems to have given expression to this criticism on the present occasion, for you may find that he is to be thanked for its not being said again in the future or even always.
[31.86] Again, if any one chisels out only one word from any official tablet, you will put him to death without stopping to investigate what the word was or to what it referred; and if anyone should go to the building where your public records are kept and erase one jot of any law, or one single syllable of a decree of the people, you will treat this man just as you would any person who should remove a part of the Chariot. Well then, does the man who erases the inscription on a statue commit a less serious offence than the man who chisels something off the official tablet? Indeed the fact is that he erases the entire decree by virtue of which that man received his honour, or rather he annuls the record of it. But if anyone who for any offence whatever is condemned to some punishment erases his own name secretly or by intrigue, he will be thought to be destroying the constitution. Accordingly, you think it a more serious matter for a person to free himself from punishment than to deprive another man of his honour!
[31.87] Neither can I, furthermore, pass over another thing, inasmuch as I have based my argument on the assumption of an act of impiety. For you Rhodians are perfectly aware that, while the whole city is sacred, yet you will find that many of the statues which stand within your very sanctuaries have been subjected to this indignity. For it so happened that these are very ancient; and whenever one of your chief magistrates wants to flatter any person, he is always eager, carrying out the idea that you are giving the honour, to have him set up in bronze in the finest possible place. What need is there of words? For I suppose that no one would deny that even of the statues so placed, even though the facts do not exactly accord with the statement I made a moment ago, the greater number have had the names on them changed, and some, I believe, that stand very close indeed to the statues of the gods. [88] What then? Is it not outrageous if we shall be found to be wronging our benefactors in the very place where it is not the custom to wrong even those who have committed some evil deed, if they flee there for refuge? And are such places to be unable, as seems to be the case, to afford to good men alone the sanctuary they afford to worthless men? Nay, if anyone merely shifts from its position a censer or a goblet belonging to the treasures dedicated inside a temple, he will be regarded as guilty of sacrilege just as much as those who filch those sacred things; [89] but if it is a statue and an honour that he shifts, does he do nothing out of the way? And yet any of us could say that the statues too are just as much votive offerings belonging to the gods, that is, the statues which stand in gods’ sanctuaries; and one may see many of them inscribed to that effect; for instance, “So-and‑so set up a statue of himself (or of his father, or of his son) as dedicate to a god” (whatever god it might be). Hence, if one removes the name of the person so honoured from any of the other dedications and inscribes the name of a different person, are we to say that the person now in question is alone not guilty of impiety? Apollo would not allow, as you know, the man of Cymê to remove the nestlings from his precinct, saying that they were his suppliants.
[31.90] Moreover, the arguments by which some persons will attempt to make the practice appear more consistent with honour will prove it to be in every way less creditable: for instance, when they say that itº is the very old statues that they misuse and that some of them also bear no inscriptions. Well, if one were inclined to concede to them that this is the case, I should not make the obvious retort, that, after all, I am at present speaking about those which do bear inscriptions; on the contrary, I maintain that they have no right to touch those others either. As for my reasons, just consider, men of Rhodes, what the motive was which in all probability led to the statues being set up uninscribed. For it is not reasonable to suppose that the man who set them up merely overlooked this matter, or hesitated to inscribe the names, or wanted to save the expense of an inscription; for there was no expense. [91] There remains, consequently, one of two possible reasons: in the case of some, since they were very great men indeed and in very truth heroes, it was considered unnecessary to add an inscription, in the thought that the statues would be recognized by everybody and because it was believed that, on account of the surpassing glory then attaching to these men, their names would remain for all future time; or else because the persons honoured, being the sons of certain demi-gods or even of gods, had later through lapse of time been forgotten. For it is not the custom to put inscriptions on the statues of the gods, so that I rather expect that some of the others, too, are in this class. [92] In Thebes, for example, a certain Alcaeus has a statue which they say is a Heracles and was formerly so called; and among the Athenians there is an image of a boy who was an initiate in the mysteries at Eleusis and it bears no inscription; he, too, they say, is a Heracles. And in various other places I know of many statues, some of which represent demi-gods and others heroes, as, for example, Achilles, Sarpedon, Theseus, which for this reason had not been inscribed from the first; and they say there is in Egypt a colossal statue of Memnon similarly uninscribed. But in the case of some of them their glory has remained and time has guarded their fame; but for some reason this did not happen in the case of all of them. [93] Therefore, among you also it is not impossible that there are some like these. So you might, for instance, be giving a statue of Heracles, or, let us say, of Tlepolemus, or of one of the children of Helius, to So-and‑so, no doubt an excellent man and deserving of honour. For even supposing all are such whose favour the city seeks to win — and we may well pray that they may all be good men, and especially your rulers — yet they are not the equals of those great men of the past. How could they be? Not even the men themselves would maintain that they are only a little inferior to them; nay, they would actually be afraid to make any such claim. Does it seem to you from the arguments which have been advanced that you should choose to begin with those statues — I mean with those which have no inscription — and extend the practice to all, or that you should very decidedly spare all of that kind?
[31.94] And yet, after all, this plea of ignorance and of antiquity is about the same as if a person should say that those who rifle the very old tombs do no wrong, on the ground that no one of the dead is related to them and we do not even know who they are. No, the tomb is rather an indication, not of its occupant’s excellence, but of his affluence; nor can we say of those who rest in sepulchres that they were good men, except where there is evidence in a particular case that the person had received burial by the state, just as I suppose happened to those men in a sense. But the statue is given for distinguished achievement and because a man was in his day regarded as noble. For that no one of these men was given a statue who had been convicted of theft or adultery is perfectly clear; nor was the award made for ordinary performances, but for the very greatest possible deeds.
[31.95] Again, because men such as these also share in a sort of divine power and purpose, one might say, I wish to tell of an incident that happened in the case of a statue. Theagenes was a Thasian athlete. He was thought to surpass in physical strength the men of his own day, and in addition to many other triumphs had won the victor’s crown three times at Olympia. And when he gave up competing and returned to his native city, thenceforth, though his body was past its prime, he was a man inferior to none in the affairs of his country, but was, so far as a man may be, a most excellent citizen. For that reason, probably, he incurred the enmity of one of the politicians. [96] And although while he lived, the other man merely envied him, yet after the death of Theagenes the other committed a most senseless and impious act; for under cover of night he would scourge the man’s statue, which had been erected in the centre of the city. Consequently, whether by accident or because some divinity was incensed at him, the statue at one time moved from its base and, following the lash back, slew the man. And since there was a law which required, in case any inanimate object should fall upon a person and cause his death, that they should first give it a trial and then sink it in the sea, the relatives of the dead man got judgment against the statue and sank it in the sea. [97] And then, when a most grievous pestilence broke out, so they say, and the people of Thasos, being unable in any way to get rid of the plague, finally consulted the oracle, the god announced to them that they should “restore the exiles.” When all who were in exile had returned and no improvement came, and the Thasians consulted the god again, the story is that the Pythian priestess gave them the following reply:
[31.95b] “Him that did fall in the ocean’s deep sands you now have forgotten,
Even Theagenes staunch, victor in myriad games.”
[31.95c] These lines make it evident both that the oracle was not delivered in the first place for the exiles’ sake but for Theagenes’, and also that what afterwards happened had been due to no other cause.
[31.98] And let no one interrupt and say:
“What of it? Do we make away with our statues or throw them aside?”
[31.98b] No, but you are dishonouring the men whose statues they are and you are robbing their rightful owners, just as the god felt on the occasion to which we refer, since it is not reasonable to suppose that it was the image of bronze about which he was troubled. Do not, therefore, think that, although the god was so indignant at the insult shown to the Thasian, no one of those who have been honoured in your city is dear to Heaven or that none is a hero.
[31.99] Neither can we be so sure, moreover, that such treatment might not be brought about by some persons through hatred, I mean if it so happens that one of your chief magistrates has a grudge against any of his predecessors. You have heard how the Theagenes incident, at any rate, grew out of political envy and jealousy. For even if they urge that now they follow this practice only in the case of the old statues, yet as time goes on, just as ever happens in the case of all bad habits, this one too will of necessity grow worse and worse. The reason is that it is utterly impossible to call the culprit to account because the whole business from first to last lies in his hands.
[31.99b] “Yes, by heavens,” you say, “but the kinsmen will certainly put a stop to it.”
[31.99c] Well then, if the kinsmen happen to be absent or to have had no knowledge of the matter, what do we propose to do when they do learn of it? Will it be necessary to chisel out again the man’s name which someone has been in a hurry to insert?
[31.100] Again, since this practice is quite improper, or impious rather, it would be less of an outrage if it were not done under the pretext which some offer by way of excusing the city. For everybody considers it a greater disgrace to do for money anything whatsoever that is in other respects disgraceful, than to do it for any other reason. So when they put forward as a plea the cost and the necessity of going to heavy expense if you shall ever undertake to make another lot of statues, and thus seek to condone the practice, it is clear that they make the reproach all the worse, since men are going to think that you are doing a wrong thing for the sake of money, and that too although you are rich, richer than the people of any other Hellenic state.
[31.101] And yet why, pray, did not something like this happen in the time of your ancestors, seeing that they had no more wealth than you now possess? For you must not suppose that anyone is unaware that your island has not deteriorated, that you draw revenue from Caria and a part of Lycia and possess tribute-paying cities, that large sums of money are continually being entrusted to your commonwealth by many men, and that none of the earlier depositors has withdrawn anything.
[31.102] Furthermore, you will not claim that you have heavier expenses than had the men of those earlier times, since in that period there were expenditures for every purpose for which they are made now — for their national assemblies, sacred processions, religious rites, fortifications, jury service, and for the council. But in these days the heaviest outlays of those borne in earlier times do not exist. For instance, their expenditures for war, seeing that they were almost continually at war and rarely, if ever, had a respite, are, in my opinion, not to be brought into comparison with those which are made in times of peace. [103] Indeed, it was not the same thing at all to send out an expedition of one hundred ships or even more, and again, one of seventy and then a third of thirty others, and then sometimes not to disband this expedition for three or four years; or for warships to sail continuously, not merely across to Cyprus and Cilicia, but sometimes to Egypt and at other times to the Black Sea and finally on the Ocean itself, or the keep mercenary soldiers to garrison the forts and the country — it is not possible to compare all that with what may now be seen in our time, when you appear with merely one or two undecked ships every year at Corinth. [104] I say all this, not by way of reproaching you, nor to show that you are inferior to your ancestors; for it is not because you are unable to match their deeds, but because the occasion for such things is past, that you live in uninterrupted peace. For it is clear that they too would have preferred to keep out of danger, and that their object in exerting themselves was in order to win security in the end. The point I am making, however, is that their scale of expenditures was not on as low a level as yours. To pass over the other items, such as your shipyards, the arms and armour, the war engines, the mere upkeep of the walls, to which I just made reference, as they are now kept up in your time, is assuredly not comparable. For if one does suppose that there is no difference in the care given to them, yet, you see, they are kept in shape in a leisurely fashion, a little at a time, and whenever a magistrate so desires; but in former times they had to be kept standing. And while now they are built to be tested by yourselves, then they were to be tested by the enemy. [105] So much for that. Well then, neither can it be said that the persons you honour are more numerous; for the mere number of the statues standing which date from that time reveals the truth. And apart from that, who would say that those who are zealous to serve the state are now more numerous than then?
[31.102b] Oh yes! you may say, “but we simply must honour the commanders who rule over us, one and all.”
[31.106] What of it? Do not also the Athenians, Spartans, Byzantines, and Mytilenaeans pay court to these same? But nevertheless, whenever they decide to set up in bronze one of these, they do so, and they manage to find the cost. [106] Indeed I once heard a certain Rhodian remark— “The position of those people is not comparable to ours. For all that they, the Athenians excepted, possess is liberty and the Athenians have no great possessions either; but our city is the envy of all because it is the most prosperous, and consequently it needs a greater number of loyal friends. Furthermore, none of the Romans particularly cares to have a statue among those peoples, but they do not despise that honour here.”
[31.107] All this is true, and that is all the more reason why you should give up that practice. For we may reasonably assume that those who put any value upon having this honour in your city do not overlook the manner in which they get it, but at the same time take into consideration also the spirit in which you give it; and on the other hand, it would not be reasonable to assume that those who acknowledge that the wealth of their city arouses envy should take into account the matter of the expense. For assuredly you do not because of that consideration honour a greater number than do the other states in proportion to the relatively greater wealth which you possess.
[31.108] And besides, even at this moment you are having statues made of the emperors and other men also who are of high rank. For even you must have noticed that to be set up in your present way means nothing! Whom, then, do you think of honouring in the future that you continue a practice so shameful and so unworthy of your own selves? [108] I ask this because, if you were treating everybody alike with the exception of the emperors, you would not be shown up as you being at present. But as it is, there are persons for whom you do set up statues of themselves; consequently from these cases you make it evident to all the others that you are not really honouring them. And if these persons are commoners and could have rendered no service at all, what motive have you for this unseemly conduct? What is your object in courting the favour of those persons, and that too when it is possible for you to show your solicitude for them in other ways? For the fact is that for the commoner several gifts of friendship and lavish entertainment were sufficient; and if a person is of higher rank a simple decree in addition was enough, whether indeed he was invited to dine in the city hall or to take a seat of honour. For as things are, you give the impression that you are doing what ship-captains do whose vessels are heavily laden and consequently in danger of foundering — jettisoning your statues!
[31.109] But come, consider: if anyone told you that it was better after all to sell the most of them in order to be well supplied with funds, you could not possibly help considering the speaker a base slavish sort of man. Yet this is just what you are doing now; for what a statue would cost to make is just so much gain for you; except that you are selling them to yourselves and not for export, just as you deport to foreign parts, I presume, your vilest slaves. But in general, you well know that there is nothing great or valuable in such gifts anyhow, except as it is in the givers — if they give it for what it is. But if a man makes a present from his own property of whatever any person wants, giving it carelessly and to any person that comes along, soon the gift will be looked upon as utterly valueless. [110] For this reason it is a matter of greater pride to the recipient to be invited to a seat of honour just once in your city than to get a statue elsewhere. And a resolution of commendation voted by you from your seats in the assembly is a splendid distinction; but other peoples, even if they burst their lungs with cheering, seem not to show honour enough.
[31.111] You doubtless know that the Olympian crown is olive leaves, and yet this honour many people have preferred to life itself, not because there is anything wonderful about the olive that grows there, but because it is not given carelessly or for slight achievement. This explains why very recently, in our own time, one of the emperors, as you know, was so taken with this practice and was so eager to win the victory that he actually competed at the Elean festival and considered this the height of happiness. But if it had been their custom to crown all the potentates that came to the spectacle, what emulation would the crown any longer have aroused and what sort of glory would it have won? On the contrary, they say that the Eleans do not even open the letters [111] written by those who would recommend a particular athlete, until he has competed. And this has never brought upon them any risk of harm, but, on the contrary, honour and applause, because they are considered worthy to supervise the games. For you must not suppose that the Romans are so stupid and ignorant as to choose that none of their subjects should be independent or honourable but would rather rule over slaves.
[31.112] Then again, whereas the Eleans, who are not superior in other respects to any of the other Peloponnesians, put so high a value upon their own position, are you Rhodians so afraid of all your casual visitors that you think if you fail to set up some one person in bronze, you will lose your freedom? But if your freedom is in so precarious a state that it can be stripped from you on any petty pretext, it would in every way be better for you to be slaves forthwith. So too when men’s bodies are so dangerously ill that there is no longer hope for their recovery, death is better than life. [113] Why, if your long-standing loyalty and good will toward that people, and your having shared with them every fortune, are unable to give your state security, nor yet the subjugation of Mithridates or of Antiochus, nor the command of the sea which you have delivered over to them at the cost of so many dangers and hardships, nor the vows of friendship taken so many years ago, nor the tablets which up to the present time have stood at the very side of your statue of Zeus, nor your mighty fleet, which has shared in their battles as far as the Ocean’s edge, nor finally, the capture of your city endured for their sake, yet if you omit to flatter ignobly this man and that man, all these things have come to naught — if this is your condition, so that you are always expecting some outbreak of wrath or hatred, then your position is extremely wretched and rests upon no firm foundation. And I, for my part, would say, even at the risk of angering you, that slaves in the interior of Phrygia, and those in Egypt and Libya, fare better than yourselves. [114] For it is less shameful that a man who is unknown and thought to be utterly without desert should resort to any and every expedient; but that a people so distinguished as yourselves and so admired throughout the world should be constrained like low-bred curs to fawn upon every passer‑by, is scandalous.
[31.112b] Come then, tell me this: Suppose that it should be necessary to honour all the world in this fashion and that we should assume the city to be in desperate financial straits, how much better it would be to send the simple decree in which the statue is voted to each man so honoured, in order that, if he chooses, he may set it up at his own expense!
[31.115] “Good heavens!” you exclaim, “but it would be a disgrace if we are to admit such straightenedº circumstances, and beneath the dignity of the people of Rhodes!”
[31.115b] And yet what person in his right mind would not prefer to be thought poor rather than unprincipled? Or does the present situation seem to you in a less degree disgraceful than any other — that a person is able to describe your statues in the same way as your houses, saying that this one used to belong to So-and‑so but that now it has come into the hands of So-and‑so; and when the present owner dies it will in turn belong to whoever has inherited it — or who buys it? And yet it is not possible for any right-minded man to transfer the ownership of a statue as he does that of a house.
[31.116] Well, I once heard a man make an off-hand remark to the effect that there are other peoples also where one can see this practice being carried on; and again, another man, who said that even in Athens many things are done now which any one, not without justice, could censure, these being not confined to ordinary matters, but having to do even with the conferring of honours. “Why, they have conferred the title of ‘Olympian,’ “ he alleged, upon a certain person he named, “though he was not an Athenian by birth, but a Phoenician fellow who came, not from Tyre or Sidon, but from some obscure village or from the interior, a man, what is more, who has his arms depilated and wears stays”; and he added that another, whom he also named, that very slovenly poet, who once gave a recital here in Rhodes too, they not only have set up in bronze, but even placed his statue next to that of Menander. Those who disparage their city and the inscription on the statue of Nicanor are accustomed to say that it actually bought Salamis for them. [117] But I, for my part, if any one makes these statements either to reproach the Athenians and to show that its present inhabitants are not worthy of it or of the glory which the Athenians of old bequeathed to them, or to express in a general way a feeling of commiseration for Hellas, that she has fallen to so low an estate, when such acts are committed by a people who for a time were regarded as the foremost of the race, I believe he is right; but if it is his thought that you also should be lacking in pride and should be no better than they, then I am unable to characterize the utter lack of fine feeling shown by the speaker. [118] For as it is the custom of all men to recount the admirable institutions and practices which are found among other peoples for the purpose of encouraging eager emulation of them, we should not in the same way mention any bad practice that is current elsewhere for the sake of encouraging imitation of it, but, on the contrary, only in order that one’s people may be on their guard against it and may not fall unawares into that sort of thing. Indeed if a man were in fact reciting any such things by way of praising that other people and of showing that they enjoyed a reputation no whit worse one that account, he must surely be reckoned a simple, or rather a reckless, person; but yet according to his own opinion he was not offering any incentive to those wishing to do wrong. But if all men cite these practices as a shame and a reproach and not one of those who eulogize the city would mention any such thing, but only a person who wanted either to slander or in some other way to criticize and assail it, that man is an utter simpleton who thinks that by such means he could induce you to abandon your own customs. [119] It is just as if a person, in trying to persuade an athlete to give up and forego the crown for the price of a piece of silver, should say to him: “Do you not see yonder man, the one who is being scourged, just in front of you, because he dropped out of the contest?” Or, by heavens, just as if a man should point out to one of the actors several who were being hissed off the stage, and should offer this sort of encouragement: “See to it that you also pay no attention to your part, but go through the performance the way they did.” And now those whom we have just described are to all intents and purposes saying to you: “Do you not see how the Athenians are disgracing themselves, how they are getting a bad name, how they are an example to all the world of baseness and of the kind of insolence with which they outrage their own country?”
[31.120] And yet, let me ask, shall anyone class the Athenians as your rivals, as these persons demand, or rather — and this is in every way better and fairer — hold both them and the Spartans and all others like them to be your co‑partners, or you theirs? But it is not sensible to imitate your rivals when they err, but on the contrary to endeavour so much the more to do right yourselves, in order that you may be found superior to them in every respect and ever win credit, not only on account of their demerits, but also on account of your own virtue; nor should you copy your friends and relatives, but should try to check them if possible, or, if you do copy them, should by the merit of your own conduct try to minimize their shortcomings.
[31.121] Moreover, if you were no whit superior to the Athenians in other respects, perhaps you would not find it necessary to feel any jealousy of them in this one matter and to consider how you might have a reputation better than theirs. But as matters now stand, there is no practice current in Athens which would not cause any man to feel ashamed. For instance, in regard to the gladiatorial shows the Athenians have so zealously emulated the Corinthians, or rather, have so surpassed both them and all others in their mad infatuation, that whereas the Corinthians watch these combats outside the city in a glen, a place that is able to hold a crowd but otherwise is dirty and such that no one would even bury there any freeborn citizen, the Athenians look on at this fine spectacle in their theatre under the very walls of the Acropolis, in the place where they bring their Dionysus into the orchestra and stand him up, so that often a fighter is slaughtered among the very seats in which the Hierophant and the other priests must sit. [122] And the philosopher who spoke about this matter and rebuked them they refused to obey and did not even applaud; on the contrary, they were so incensed that, although in blood he was inferior to no Roman, but enjoyed a reputation greater than any one man has attained for generations, and was admittedly the only man who since the time of the ancients had lived most nearly in conformity with reason, this man was forced to leave the city and preferred to go and live somewhere else in Greece. But you, O men of Rhodes, would not tolerate any such thing as that, since among you there is a law which prescribes that the executioner must never enter the city.
[31.123] What, then, was my object in mentioning this? Not, I assure you, any desire to abuse the Athenians; for, on the contrary, all decent men instinctively feel pity for them; it was rather in order that you might know that from this time on your reckoning is not with them but your own selves and with all others who are sober-minded. And yet everything that might be said in criticism of the Athenians or of the Spartans or any other peoples among whom are found other practices which are bad and due to gross carelessness, will reinforce my argument; for in the matter of statues you can find no such abuse among them as prevails here; must we not, therefore, of necessity conclude that this particular form of wrongdoing, which is not practiced even among those we have mentioned who are utterly lost to shame, is beyond all exaggeration monstrous?
[31.124] And this characterization becomes still more convincing if some few details of what happens in connection with the honours you grant are brought into comparison by themselves. If, for instance, it is considered an outrage to place any man of the present day beside any of the ancients, how much more of an outrage is it to deprive, as you are doing, an ancient of his honour for the purpose of bestowing it upon another? And if the inscribing of one person’s name over that of another and a much inferior person brings so great condemnation, completely to erase and remove the name of the better man, if it so happens — in what sort of light do you think this act appears?
[31.125] Moreover, if anyone says that you are no better than the Caunians or Myndians, you will be very angry and think that he is slandering your city; how, then, could any man any longer bring forward before you in defence of any practice prevalent among you the argument that that very thing is done by those other peoples also? [125] It is just as if a person thought that you ought to demolish your own walls, or let them lie when they fall, simply because they lie fallen in the other cities, or rather, in practically all the others. Yet with them the walls are neglected because of their condition of peace and servitude, one of which everybody welcomes, to wit, peace, whereas the other is no longer a sign of baseness; but when people treat in this way their benefactors of long ago, the reason is ingratitude. But I for my part venture to assert that even among your neighbours yonder wrong is not done to benefactors! For who among the Caunians has ever proved himself a noble man? Or who has ever conferred any benefaction upon them? Why, they are in a state of abject slavery, not alone to you but also to the Romans, on account of their excessive folly and wickedness having made their slavery a double one. And this one might also say about others who have the same reputation.
[31.126] But, speaking generally, I think that a people who take such pride in themselves as you justly do should not, in shaping their conduct, keep their eyes on these others, especially on those who are so much their inferiors, but rather upon their own reputation and the proud position of their city. It would have been absurd if one of your own citizens, that famous Dorieus, or Leonidas, men who are said to have won so many victories at Olympia, had done his training with his eye on some other athlete, and him a man who had never been crowned. However, if you wish to measure yourselves against the Spartans or the Athenians, I concede the point in regard to the Athenians of the olden days, when any people similar to yourselves might with good reason have tried to be comparable to them. [127] Take, for instance, the athlete: If he is still eager for honours and is not yet declining in bodily vigour, it is not sensible for him to challenge the famous prize-winners of his own time who are sick, nor yet the dead, nay rather, if there are any who are at the top of their strength, he should select these and strive with them for the victory; but if none such are available, he should aim to achieve an exploit of such a kind as will show that he is no whit inferior in strength to any athlete of former times. That is sound reasoning about such matters. But if after all it is necessary to make some concession, do not test the question by making a comparison with the peoples who in former times were the strongest, nor yet with those of the present day who are no better than any people of the most worthless sort, but measure yourselves against those who are in between, or against those who are still lower in the scale than they.
[31.128] Well then, among the Athenians of the time of Philip, and at very near the time when they had given up the primacy among the Greeks and their liberty was the only thing to which they still clung, there was a certain Leptines who proposed a law to the effect that all should be deprived of the privileges of exemption from public duties who had received it from the people, with the exception of the descendants of Harmodius and Aristogeiton, and that for the future it will be no longer permissible to grant to any one this gift. Well, what happened? Did they by any chance accept that law? They did not, but the law’s proposer was convicted on an indictment for introducing an illegal measure. [129] Come then, compare this custom with that law, and if it seems to you in any way better, retain it and make it stronger for the future — which is bound to happen if it is not abolished now — but if after considering it on all sides you find it to be inferior, then imitate the Athenians of that early period and abolish now that practice which is more monstrous than the one abolished formerly by them.
[31.130] However, as to any attempt to show that the city is insincere, is faithless in its gifts, and that it wrongs its benefactors by robbing them of their rewards — such reproaches apply in all respects equally to both Athens and Rhodes. But whereas at Athens those who had formerly received exemption from public burdens could not possibly have received no benefit at all — for whatever they had previously acquired from the immunity remained theirs in every respect for the future as for the past, and they could not fail to be better off on account of it; those, on the other hand, who have had their statues taken away from them have nothing left over from the honour they had formerly enjoyed — except the insult and the dishonour. [131] And, in addition, the Athenian who, on the occasion I have mentioned, proposed the law attacked a considerable number of those who had received exemption from public duties and tried to show that the majority of them were knaves, not merely unworthy of any favour, so that the unfairness of it was that, while not accusing all, he was proposing to deprive all of their gifts. But in Rhodes here it is utterly impossible for those who have deprived men of their statues to say anything against them; for when they do not even know who the original recipients were, as they admit, how is it possible to bring a charge against them? [132] Furthermore, that law proposed to make an exception in favour of those who were regarded as having conferred the greatest benefactions upon the city, to wit, the descendants of Harmodius and Aristogeiton, but here no exception is made. For since the practice is carried on without any record being kept and is not regulated by either law or decree, absolutely no concession is made for anyone, and this indignity may happen to anyone at the pleasure of the chief magistrate at any time. [133] Again, the Athenian law was thought to be committing an outrage in depriving the people of their authority in the matter, so that not even in the future would it be possible for them to vote this gift. Yet how much better to prevent the people from granting any honour or any privilege than, while leaving the right to confer a favour, to place the power of taking it away in the hands of one man! For while it is disgraceful, as no man would deny, to take any gift away from those who have received it, according to that Athenian law this was happening just once, but according to this Rhodian custom it takes place all the time!
[31.134] Besides, if it appears vexatious that your city should be deprived of any power, it is you your own selves who are depriving it of the power to guarantee for the recipients the security of its gifts. For whenever you confer this honour upon a man, it is no longer in your power to allow him to keep it; on the contrary, one official always has this in his control, namely, the chief magistrate. And yet, it is worse for you to lack this power owing to custom than to be estopped by law. For in the one case men in a certain sense have not been deprived of the control of that which they have by law renounced their right willingly because of the advantage thereby gained. [135] But when we have to deal with a custom, one cannot even say that men have deprived themselves — if deprived they have been — of a thing on which they have neither passed judgment nor deliberated.
[31.134b] And although in Athens the people had some consolation — in that the measure was impartial and general, since all alike were being deprived of their exemption from public burdens — here it is only the recipient of the statue who has been deprived of it, and often he is the better man. Moreover, in Athens it was not in order that another person might receive the exemption that the law proposed to take it away from the possessor, but in your city that is precisely why it is done, a thing that is altogether more distressing than merely to be dispossessed. [136] Furthermore, no one, I presume, is unaware how much more grievous it seems to suffer any harsh treatment on account of another than it is to suffer it on your own account. So, whereas it was the intention of the Athenian law to divest all others of their privilege of exemption in order to prevent certain men, whom it designated as undeserving, from retaining theirs, the result of your custom is that the owners of statues are robbed of them in order that others may receive them; [137] and this treatment is altogether more grievous to those affected.
[31.137] If, further, any one wishes, confining his consideration of the matter strictly to those cases in which the loss suffered is most nearly irreparable, to ask who are being wronged by this custom of yours and who were bound to be hurt by that Athenian law, let him disregard, not only those who were enjoying exemption from public burdens there, but also those who have received a statue here, and then let him consider those who are not in either class. Since those who had been honoured at Athens were in a sense not suffering any loss at all, for it was only what they would have received by way of a supplement that they were losing, whereas the greater gift continued to be theirs; but as regards the other gifts, the reckoning would come out the same for both classes. But, I think, the case is quite self-evident: For in proportion as the grant of a statue is a greater honour than the exemption, in just that degree those who receive the former are superior men. The argument can be made still clearer, though, if stated thus: [138] Whereas the exemption from public burdens makes the recipients of it wealthier, and those men are especially eager for it who are interested in money-making, the statue implies only dignity and honour; so just in proportion as those are superior men, as we would all agree, who choose to confer benefits upon others without remuneration and rather for reputation’s sake than those who set a price upon it and are moved by desire for gain, by just so much, as I at least would assert, are not only they better men whom this custom of yours wrongs, but also by just so much are those persons whom you are preventing from conferring benefits upon yourselves superior to those whom the Athenian laws prevented from benefitting the Athenians.
[31.139] But for my part I am at a loss to understand why on earth you do not pass a law on this matter to regulate it for the future, if such is your pleasure.
[31.139b] “Good heavens!” you exclaim, “Why, the existence of a law like that in a city brings no little shame.”
[31.140] And so it is not disgraceful to do what you think it is disgraceful to enact in writing? And yet how much better it is to refrain from following any written laws which are badly conceived than to do bad things! Or what class of men would you call the better, those who are so disposed toward improper things that they refrain from doing them even when they are authorized, or those who do them even though they are not allowed? [140] But as for me, I would say that, while it is agreed that one should by no means do any unjust or unseemly act, yet among peoples where such acts are under the control of law there would be less cause for reproach than among people where they are regulated by custom. For, in the first place, the law is explicit and can never become worse, since it is not possible either to take away from or add to its written terms; whereas the custom, if it is a bad one, must necessarily become steadily worse because it is not clearly apprehended or defined. [141] I mean, for instance, the case we now have before us: they tell us that this practice began with the statues that were broken and not even standing on their pedestals; it was these that the chief magistrates used after repairing them and in a way making them altogether different; then the next step was that those which were well preserved but bore no inscriptions were inscribed; and at last came the taking of some statues which did have inscriptions on them, provided they were very old. Well, let us assume that their statement of the case is true. In the future there will necessarily be no distinction made at all — for this is the way it is with all other evils, such as extravagance, disorderly conduct, luxury — [142] you will never find any really bad custom halting or remaining stationary until it is utterly suppressed. For because it continually receives some accretion and because a gradual process is almost impossible to detect and does not readily become perceptible to anyone, inasmuch as the present state is worse than the former it goes on to extremes as, I believe, is the case with some ulcers and all those diseases whose nature it is inevitably to get worse.
[31.140b] Then there is this further consideration — that those who do anything which the law makes wrong, do it, not as being such, but under a misconception, whereas with those who do things which custom regards as base, would one and all admit that they sin deliberately, those acts being of such a kind that even the perpetrators themselves think they are not fit to be forbidden by an enactment.
[31.143] Moreover, just because the practice began some while ago and considerable time has elapsed, do not for this reason consider that it is any the less your duty to get rid of it; for those people who perpetuate such practices as this incur no less disgrace than those who first allowed them; nay, on the contrary, they are more exposed to the attack of any who wish to censure. When the thing was done first, it may well have even escaped the notice of the people of that time, particularly as those who practised it were still cautious about it; but when a thing has been going on for a long time, nobody can be unaware of it; and, besides, that excuse has been completely taken away from you, because you are sitting here passing judgment on this very matter. Therefore, just as if you felt it to be necessary to initiate some honourable usage, you would not hesitate on that account, so you have every reason now to act with equal readiness if it is desirable to abolish some unworthy practice. [144] Therefore, do not let its antiquity support the custom if it is really a vicious one, as I think I have long since made clear. For I do not think that just because a thing has injured you for a long time it ought never to cease injuring you. For instance, if you take into custody a man who has been wicked for a long time, you will not release him on account of the length of time which he has spent in being a bad man. Nor yet if a person should be able to cure a disease that had long been harassing him, would he count the cost of enjoying good health all over again. [145] And you, in my opinion, if some god should reveal to you a thing that your city was sure to regret some time in the future, would by all means take measures to prevent it, if it lay in your power to do so. Then, while you will of course not neglect guarding against anything that will harm others simply because the injury will be in the future, are you going to give free rein to that which is now doing the greatest injury to yourselves, because it originated in the past? Nay, it is utterly foolish for a man to think that he should never check a practice which, while customary, is nevertheless shocking.
[31.146] I ask you to bear in mind, rather, that, although there are many things about your city on all of which you have a good right to pride yourselves — your laws in the first place, and orderliness of your government (things of which you are wont to boast most), and, in the second place, I imagine, such things also as temples, theatres, shipyards, fortifications, and harbours, some of which give evidence of your wealth and high aspirations and the greatness of your former power, others of your piety toward the gods — you rejoice no less in the multitude of your statues, and rightly; [147] for not only do such things do you credit just as any of your other dedicated monuments do, but they also more than anything reveal the strength of your city and its character. For it is no ordinary people that receives benefactions from many or that wishes or perhaps has the means to honour many. And note this also — that it is not only because the statues you have here are very great in number that the practice in question has arisen, but also, I think, because the Romans, who have often seized from every land the furnishings of sacred places and of palaces, have never disturbed any of those which you possess. [148] Why, even Nero, who had so great a craving and enthusiasm in that business that he did not keep his hands off of even the treasures of Olympia or of Delphi — although he honoured those sanctuaries above all others — but went still farther and removed most of the statues on the Acropolis of Athens and many of those at Pergamum, although that precinct was his very own (for what need is there to speak of those in other places?), left undisturbed only those in your city and showed towards you such signal goodwill and honour that he esteemed your entire city more sacred than the foremost sanctuaries. [149] You remember the notorious Acratus, who visited practically the whole inhabited world in this quest and passed by no village even — you recall how he came here likewise, and when you were, quite naturally, distressed, he said he had come to see the sights, for he had no authority to touch anything here. Therefore, apart from the beautiful sight which all the world may enjoy, the great number of your statues brings you a renown of another sort! For these things are manifestly a proof of your friendship for your rulers and of their respect for you. [150] So then, when the Romans and Nero guarded your possessions so scrupulously and esteemed them inviolate, shall you yourselves fail to protect them? Nero, that most immoderate of emperors, who took the most liberties and considered everything subject to his own unlimited power, took away the statue of no one of those who had received honour from the people of Rhodes, and from them only. And do you, your own selves, rob these men? Yet how much better it would have been, had the same thing happened here also! I mean that whereas elsewhere the names of the men who have been honoured are left and no one would think of erasing the inscriptions, you chisel them out just as if the men had done you some wrong. [151] And yet, one might say even if your statues were being carried off by the emperors, the men were not being so grievously wronged as at present; for the emperors were engaged in removing such things, not with the intention of giving them to others, but because they wanted objects of embellishment, so that none of them would think of removing the name, nor would persons be any the worse off because, instead of being set up as offerings at Megara or Epidaurus or in the market-place of Andros or of Myconos, they were set up in the sacred places of the Romans. But dismissing these considerations, it would have been better, so far as you are concerned, had these men’s tokens of honour been thus obliterated. For then there would have been no fault on your part, nor would you yourselves be wronging your own benefactors and your heroes, but, if there were any wrong at all, you would be suffering it in common with them.
[31.152] And further, if anyone should inquire of you, absurd though it may seem, why on earth do neither you nor anyone else make of clay the statues of those who have been adjudged worthy of this gift, since that, no doubt, is easier to manage and involves very little or no expense, you would reply, I suppose: “Not only to avoid giving insult but also in order that the honours which are given to good men may abide forever if that is possible.” Yes, but as the case stands, I would have you know that all your statues are less permanent than waxen ones. For it is not a question of whether they can endure the sun, since it is the desire to flatter another group of men which ruins them; and if it seems good to this or that magistrate for any reason whatsoever, the honoured men of former times are no more! [153] And this sort of distinction is much worse; for in the old days the fragility of the material would be blamed, but now men think it is the city’s moral weakness that is being brought to light. And so you go on handing out your statues very much as parents do who buy for their children these cheap dolls. For they too are so casual about their gifts that very soon there is sorrow — when the gifts have fallen to pieces!
[31.154] Can it be that you are unaware of the shame which attaches to this practice, and how ridiculous you make yourselves by this deception practised by your state, and that too so openly? [154] For instance, in your decrees you propose ‘to erect a statue of So-and‑so.’ “But just how,” someone might ask you, “do you propose, men of Rhodes, to ‘erect’ the statue that has been erected possibly for the last five hundred years?” After doing that, can you adjudge those women who palm off other women’s children as their own to be wicked and regard their deception as a horrible thing, while you yourselves are not ashamed of doing the same thing with your images by saying that the statues belong to those to whom they do not belong, and that too when you cannot help hearing of the jests with which your city is reviled? [155] For instance, many people assert that the statues of the Rhodians are like actors. For just as every actor makes his entrance as one character at one time and at another as another, so likewise your statues assume different rôles at different times and stand almost as if they were acting a part. For instance, one and the same statue, they say, is at one time a Greek, at another time a Roman, and later on, if it so happens, a Macedonian or a Persian; and what is more, with some statues the deception is so obvious that the beholder at once is aware of the deceit. For in fact, clothing, foot-gear, and everything else of that kind expose the fraud. [156] And I pass over countless instances of what happens, such as that often the name of some young man is inscribed on the statue of a very old man — a most wonderful gift, methinks, you have discovered, if along with the honour you can also make a present of youth; and again, we hear of a statue of a certain athlete which stands here, that it represents an utter weakling of a man, quite ordinary of body. For while we admit that there is perhaps no incongruity in your having before everybody’s eyes in your city the figure of So-and‑so mounted upon a horse in the act either of grappling with a foeman or of marshalling an army, even though he was a fellow who never touched the earth with his own feet or descended from the shoulders of the carriers who bore him; but what can one say of So-and‑so, who stands in your midst in the pose of a boxer!
[31.157] Now I say all this, I assure you, with no desire to incur your hatred or to disparage your city, but in order to prevent its being found doing anything unworthy of itself or alien to the general decorum of its public life. And it seems to me that anyone would have good reason for being moved, by his good will toward all the Hellenes, and not alone toward you, if in fact there should be any practice here in Rhodes that is not as it should be, to mention it and make it known to you. For in the past, indeed, many elements contributed to the high standing in which we all share, and many peoples exalted Hellas — you, the Athenians, the Spartans, the Thebans, the Corinthians for a while, and in ancient times the Argives; [158] but at the present time all the rest count for naught. For while some of them have been utterly destroyed and have perished, others disgrace themselves by doing the sort of things of which you hear and in every way blotting out their ancient glory, thinking that they are having an easy life, fools that they are, and counting it gain that there is no one to keep them from erring. But you are left, for you alone still are believed to have proved yourselves to be in truth a people of consequence and not utterly despised. In fact, because of those who treat as they do their native countries, there was nothing to prevent the Hellenic race from having become long since — as some men are saying with perfect truth — more despised than the Phrygians or Thracians. [159] Therefore, just as, when a prosperous and great family has been left desolate and only one male descendant survives, everything depends upon him, and if he errs in any way and bears a bad name, he destroys all the glory of his family and puts shame upon all who preceded him, so too is your position now in respect to Hellas. For you must not take it for granted, Rhodians, that you hold first place in Hellas, nay you must not. For it is only those Hellenes who still live and are sensible of the difference between honour and dishonour of whom it is possible for any to be first. But all the former are past and gone, have perished in an utterly shameful and pitiable way; and as to the rest, it is no longer possible to form a conception of the pre-eminence and splendour of their deeds and, as well, their sufferings, by looking at the men of the present time. [160] Nay, it is rather the stones which reveal the grandeur and the greatness of Hellas, and the ruins of her buildings; her inhabitants themselves and those who conduct her governments would not be called descendants of even the Mysians. So to me, at least, it seems that the cities which have been utterly destroyed have come off better than those which are inhabited as they are now. For the memory of those men remains unimpaired, and the fame of those noble men of the past suffers insult for naught; just as it is true, methinks, with the bodies of the dead — it is in every way better that they should have been utterly destroyed and that no man should see them any more, than that they should rot in the sight of all!
[31.161] And although these thoughts, which have come to me as I have portrayed the situation as a whole, have perhaps been more numerous than is usual, yet it was my wish to make this point clear to you — that you alone are left of the Hellenic peoples to whom advice could be offered and regarding whom it is still possible to grieve when they seem to err.
[31.162] It would, therefore, be reasonable to expect you to give heed to yourselves and to examine all such matters as these more carefully than did your ancestors. For whereas they had many other ways in which to display their virtues — in assuming the leadership over the others, in lending succour to the victims of injustice, in gaining allies, founding cities, winning wars — for you it is not possible to do any of these things. [162] But there is left for you, I think, the privilege of assuming the leadership over yourselves, of administering your city, of honouring and supporting by your cheers a distinguished man unlike that of the majority, of deliberating in council, of sitting in judgement, of offering sacrifice to the gods, and of holding high festival — in all these matters it is possible for you to show yourselves better than the rest of the world. That indeed is the reason why you are admired for such characteristics as I shall mention — and they are regarded by all the world as no trifling matters — your gait, the way you trim your hair, that no one struts pompously through your city’s streets, but that even foreigners sojourning here are forced by your conventional manners to walk sedately; just as, I fancy, one may see even the country clowns, when they enter a wrestling-school or a gymnasium, move their limbs less clumsily than is their wont. [163] Then again, take the mode you affect in dress — which perhaps toº some appears ridiculous — the width of the purple stripe; we come now to things still more noticeable — your remaining silent as you watch the games, your applauding by making a clucking sound with your lips — all these manners lend your city dignity, they all cause you to be looked upon as superior to the others, for all these customs you are admired, you are loved; more than by your harbours, your fortifications, your shipyards are you honoured by that strain in your customs which is antique and Hellenic, so that when anybody comes among you he recognizes instantly on disembarking, even if he happens to be of barbarian race, that he has not come to some city of Syria or of Cilicia. But in other cities, unless the stranger hears some one mention the name of the place he sees, that it is called, let us say, ‘Lyceum’ or ‘Academy,’ they are all alike to him!
[31.164] What is my object, then, in mentioning these matters when I am about to conclude, and what do I wish to make clear? It is that you ought to be all the more jealous about your city and to be indifferent to nothing that takes place here. And if you have this spirit in everything you do, perhaps men will think that you are no whit worse than your ancestors. For that you do preserve your character in your present situation, and hold fast to your rôle of moral excellence is, in my opinion at least, an admirable thing. [165] An apt illustration is found, I think, in the conduct of men on board a ship at sea: when a storm strikes them or a hurricane, not even the most wanton of them is to be seen doing anything base; but they are all giving undivided attention to the sailing; whereas in fair weather recklessness prevails among both the sailors and the passengers, even if they do not indulge in licentiousness. In the same way I believe that war is wont to arouse and to sway even the meaner souls; but in such peaceful and quiet times as these, it is the part of the best men not to drift into any shameful or disorderly practices.

## THE THIRTY-SECOND DISCOURSE: TO THE PEOPLE OF ALEXANDRIA

THIS DISCOURSE WAS delivered before the people of Alexandria in their great theatre. Public meetings were not infrequently held in Greek theatres. The purpose of this particular meeting is not known, but the great length of Dio’s address and the seeming patience with which his audience listened to him lend colour to the supposition that Dio was known to be the bearer of an important message, and the people had assembled especially to hear it. Arnim, who argues with plausibility that the speech was delivered in the reign of Trajan, regards Dio as being, in fact if not in name, the emissary of that emperor. Several passages recall thoughts and phrases found in the four Discourses on Kingship, which are thought to have been addressed to Trajan, and Dio speaks as one who enjoys the friendship of the emperor.
Our Discourse is notable for the frankness with which the speaker attacks the foibles and vices of the populace for which the Alexandria of that day was so notorious. Not all the allusions can be explained with certainty, for the history of the period is none too well documented. The very scarcity of contemporary documents, however, lends especial value to the testimony of Dio. Modern writers have drawn heavily upon his statements.
The Thirty-second Discourse: To the People of Alexandria
[32.1] My friends, would you kindly be serious for a brief while and give heed to my words? For you are forever being frivolous and heedless, and you are practically never at a loss for fun-making and enjoyment and laughter — indeed you have many who minister to such tendencies — but I find in you a complete lack of seriousness. [2] And yet there are those who praise you for your wisdom and cleverness, asserting that, although you assemble here in thousands, you not only can conceive what is fitting but at the same time are quick to put your conceptions into words. But I for my part should prefer to praise you as being slow to speak, indeed, and self-restrained enough to keep silent, and yet correct of judgement. Pray display these qualities now, in order that you may acquire, in addition to that other praise, new praise of a different nature, both greater and more honourable — for having all become silent in this great throng when useful counsel was being given and, furthermore, for having shown that you can not merely think before you speak but also listen before you formulate your thought. For while it is praising a chorus to say that they all speak the words together in unison — or rather not even a chorus, for what if all in common miss the tune? — the highest praise you can accord a mass-meeting is to say that it listens well.
[32.3] For nowadays, you know, you make the mistake which the Athenians once made. I mean, when Apollo said that, if they wished to have good men as citizens, they should put that which was best into the ears of their boys, they pierced one of the ears of each and inserted a bit of gold, not understanding what the god intended. In fact such an ornament was suitable rather for girls and for sons of Lydians and Phrygians, whereas for sons of Greeks, especially since a god had given the command, nothing else was suitable but education and reason, for it is natural that those who get these blessings should prove to be good men and saviours of the state.
[32.4] The Athenians, as we see, made a bad use of the ears of their sons, but you are making a worse use of your own. For the organ of hearing of a people is the theatre, and into your theatre there enters nothing beautiful or honourable, or very rarely; but it is always full of the strumming of the lyre and of uproar, buffoonery, and scurrility, things that bear no resemblance to gold. For that reason, therefore, I was right in saying that you lack seriousness; for neither are you yourselves serious, nor are they serious with whom you are familiar, and who often come before you in the guise of
[32.4b] Both mimes and dancers plying nimble feet,
And men astride swift steeds, most apt to stir
Dire strife amid spectators crude — the fools! —
And bring a general ruin to multitudes.
[32.5] That indeed is the nature of what you regularly see, and you are devoted to interests from which it is impossible to gain intelligence or prudence or a proper disposition or reverence toward the gods, but only stupid contention, unbridled ambition, vain grief, senseless joy, and raillery and extravagance.
[32.6] In saying these things I am not trying to divert you from such entertainments and pastimes of your people or bidding you put an end to them — I should be mad to attempt that — but I am asking, that just as you devote yourselves readily and constantly to that sort of thing, so you should at length listen to an honest speech and welcome a frankness whose aim is your own welfare. [6] Why even the Athenians, to whom I referred a moment ago, we shall find to have been not always in error. On the contrary, at least this custom of theirs was very much to their credit — that they gave their poets licence to take to task, not merely persons individually, but even the state at large, in case the people were doing something unseemly. Accordingly, among many other illustrations that might be cited, we find in their comedies utterances such as these:
[32.6b] Old Demos of Pnyxtown, testy little old man,
A bit inclined to deafness,
and
What deed is there that Athens would abjure?
[32.6c] And, moreover, they listened to these sayings while holding high festival, even during the democratic regime, at a time when they were not only in complete control of their own citizens, in case they desired in a fit of anger to destroy anyone who used such language, but also when they exercised authority over the other Greeks as well, so that they might have avoided listening to anything disagreeable, had they so desired.
[32.7] But you have no such critic, neither chorus nor poet nor anyone else, to reprove you in all friendliness and to reveal the weaknesses of your city. Therefore, whenever the thing does at last appear, you should receive it gladly and make a festival of the occasion instead of being vexed; and even if vexed, you should be ashamed to call out, “When will the fellow stop?” or “When is a juggler coming on?” or “Rubbish!” or some such thing. For, as I have said, that sort of entertainment you always have in stock and there is no fear that it will ever fail you; but discourses like this of mine, which make men happier and better and more sober and better able to administer effectively the cities in which they dwell, you have not often heard — for I do not care to say that you would not listen to them.
[32.8] And perhaps this situation is not of your making, but you will show whether it is or not if you bear with me today; the fault may lie rather at the door of those who wear the name of philosopher. For some among that company do not appear in public at all and prefer not to make the venture, possibly because they despair of being able to improve the masses; others exercise their voices in what we call lecture-halls, having secured as hearers men who are in league with them and tractable. [9] And as for the Cynics, as they are called, it is true that the city contains no small number of that sect, and that, like any other thing, this too has had its crop — persons whose tenets, to be sure, comprise practically nothing spurious or ignoble, yet who must make a living — still these Cynics, posting themselves at street-corners, in alley-ways, and at temple-gates, pass round the hat and play upon the credulity of lads and sailors and crowds of that sort, stringing together rough jokes and much tittle-tattle and that low badinage that smacks of the market-place. Accordingly they achieve no good at all, but rather the worst possible harm, for they accustom thoughtless people to deride philosophers in general, just as one might accustom lads to scorn their teachers, and, when they ought to knock the insolence out of their hearers, these Cynics merely increase it.
[32.10] Those, however, who do come before you as men of culture either declaim speeches intended for display, and stupid ones to boot, or else chant verses of their own composition, as if they had detected in you a weakness for poetry. To be sure, if they themselves are really poets or orators, perhaps there is nothing so shocking in that, but if in the guise of philosophers they do these things with a view to their own profit and reputation, and not to improve you, that indeed is shocking. For it is as if a physician when visiting patients should disregard their treatment and their restoration to health, and should bring them flowers and courtesans and perfume.
[32.11] But there are only a few who have displayed frankness in your presence, and that but sparingly, not in the same way as to fill your ears therewith nor for any length of time; nay, they merely utter a phrase or two, and then, after berating rather than enlightening you, they make a hurried exit, anxious lest before they have finished you may raise an outcry and send them packing, behaving in very truth quite like men who in winter muster up courage for a brief and hurried voyage out to sea. But to find a man who in plain terms and without guile speaks his mind with frankness, and neither for the sake of reputation nor for gain makes false pretensions, but out of good will and concern for his fellow-men stands ready, if need be, to submit to ridicule and to the disorder and the uproar of the mob — to find such a man as that is not easy, but rather the good fortune of a very lucky city, so great is the dearth of noble, independent souls and such the abundance of toadies, mountebanks, and sophists.
[32.12] In my own case, for instance, I feel that I have chosen that rôle, not of my own volition, but by the will of some deity. For when divine providence is at work for men, the gods provide, not only good counsellors who need no urging, but also words that are appropriate and profitable to the listener. And this statement of mine should be questioned least of all by you, since here in Alexandria the deity is most in honour, and to you especially does he display his power through almost daily oracles and dreams. Think not, therefore, that the god exercises his watchful care only over sleeping men, disclosing to each in private what is for his good, but that he is indifferent toward them when they are awake and would not disclose to them, in public and collectively, anything beneficial; for often in the past he has given aid to men in their waking moments, and also in broad daylight he has clearly foretold the future. [13] You are acquainted no doubt with the prophetic utterances of Apis here, in neighbouring Memphis, and you know that lads at play announce the purpose of the god, and that this form of divination has proved to be free from falsehood. But your deity, methinks, being more potent, wishes to confer his benefits upon you through the agency of men rather than boys, and in serious fashion, not by means of few words, but with strong, full utterance and in clear terms, instructing you regarding most vital matters — if you are patient — with purpose and persuasiveness.
[32.14] And first of all — to begin, as I ought, with matters close at hand — rest assured of this, that all things which happen to men for their good are without exception of divine origin; not only is this true if a voyager has the luck to find a pilot with experience, or a nation or a city to secure good leaders, but also if a physician arrives in time to save his patient, we must believe that he is a helper come from god, and if one hears words of wisdom, we must believe that they too were sent by god. [15] For, in general, there is no good fortune, no benefit, that does not reach us in accordance with the will and the power of the gods; on the contrary the gods themselves control all blessings everywhere and apportion lavishly to all who are ready to receive; but evils come from quite a different source, as it were from some other fount close beside us. Take for example the water of Alexandria — that which keeps us alive and nourishes us and is truly the author of our being: it descends from some region up above, from some divine fount; whereas the filthy, evil-smelling canals are our own creation, and it is our fault that such things exist. For it is through man’s folly and love of luxury and ambition, that life comes to be vexatious and full of deceit, wickedness, pain, and countless other ills.
[32.16] However, for these maladies one remedy and cure has been provided by the gods, to wit, education and reason, and the man who throughout life employs that remedy with consistency comes at last to a healthy, happy end; but those who encounter it rarely and only after long intervals,
[32.16b] Alternate live one day, are dead the next.
[32.16c] But, nevertheless, there have been occasions when even such persons have been turned aside when portentous disasters were impending. But those who are wholly unacquainted with the remedy of which I speak, and never give ear to chastening reason, are utterly wretched, having no refuge or defence against their sufferings,
[32.16d] But storm-tossed on the sea of life they drift,
Devoid of shelter and in misery,
[32.16e] as if embarked upon a rotten and wholly shattered hulk, amidst a sea of senseless opinion and misery.
[32.17] And it so happens that it is the most depraved and unfortunate men who flee the farthest from the voice of reason and will not listen to it, not even if you try to force them — just as, I fancy, those sores which are especially disgusting shrink from the touch, and that in itself is a sign of their extremely bad condition. But such sufferers will have to visit a different kind of physician, however unwillingly, whose treatment will be more drastic. For there are two systems for the treatment of vice and its prevention, just as there are for maladies in general: the one may be likened to dieting and drugs, and the other resembles cautery and the knife, this being more suitable for the use of magistrates and laws and jurymen, that is, for those whose business it is to remove growths that are abnormal and incurable. But much to be preferred are those who do not lightly resort to removal. [18] The other treatment is, I claim, the proper function of men who have the power through persuasion and reason to calm and soften the soul. These indeed are the saviours and guardians of all who can be saved, confining and controlling vice before it reaches its final stage.
[32.19] It is true, no doubt, that both types of practitioners are required by the state, but the type to be found in public office should be much the milder of the two. For in administering punishment one should be sparing, but not so in imparting instruction; and a good prince is marked by compassion, a bad philosopher by lack of severity. For while the harshness of the one in punishing destroys, the other’s severity of speech is by nature salutary. [19] It is likely, however, that you have a great dearth of men who are expert in the latter branch of healing; for its practitioners gain neither wealth nor power thereby, but rather hatred, abuse, and reviling, though perhaps one should pay no more attention to such things. Accordingly, when the philosophers quit the field and are silent, there springs up among you a multitude of quarrels and lawsuits, harsh cries, tongues that are mischievous and unrestrained, accusers, calumnies, writs, a horde of professional pleaders — just as, I suspect, the lack of physicians, or else their incompetence, accounts for the increase in number of the undertakers!
[32.20] In my opening remarks also I laid the blame for this upon the philosophers who will not appear before the people or even deign to converse with you, but, while wishing to maintain their dignity, are seen to be of no utility, and like those degenerate athletes who are a nuisance to wrestling-schools and gymnasia with their make-believe sparring and wrestling, but refuse to enter the stadium, viewing with suspicion the sun’s heat and the blows. However, the trouble becomes truly difficult because of you. For it is not easy to endure the uproar of such a crowd as this, or to face countless thousands of human beings without the support of song and lyre. For music is an antidote in dealing with the populace of your city, just as, we are told, the fat of certain creatures is beneficial in dealing with one of the serious disorders.
[32.21] I, for instance, had I the gift of song, should not have come here before you without some tune or lay. But the truth is, I lack that magic spell; yet a god, as I said, has given me courage, the god
[32.21b] Who routs with ease the hero brave
And robs him of his conquest, then again
Himself doth urge and cheer to victory.
[32.21c] If, then, in addressing you I were to use the words of Hermes as he is portrayed in the Odyssey, excusing himself to Calypso for the unpleasant message that he bore for her, no doubt you would declare that I was talking nonsense, and yet speak them I must:
[32.21d] Zeus bade me hither come, though I was loath;
For who of his own choosing would traverse
The salty sea so vast, unspeakable?
[32.21e] Nor is there near a town of mortal men.
[32.22] If Hermes, a god and a winged god besides, complains of the waves and the sea and the lack of cities and men on the way, was I, a mere mortal, a nobody from nowhere, clad in a mean cloak, with no sweetness of song and a voice no louder than common, not afraid of your noise, your laughter, your anger, your hissing, your rough jokes — the means by which you terrify all men and always dominate men everywhere, both private citizens and princes — and that too, though I hear Homer and the other poets constantly singing of the mob as being cruel and unruly and prone to violence? This is what Homer has to say:
[32.23] Then stirred was the assembly, as the sea
Sends forth long billows on the Icarian deep,
Billows the Southeast wind doth raise, with force
Rushing from out the clouds of Father Zeus;
and here are the words of another:
Unstable and evil is the populace,
And wholly like the sea: beneath the gale
’Tis fanned to fury; should a calm ensue,
A little puff doth ruffle it. So let
Some change be made, the victim is engulfed.
[32.24] So you too might perhaps engulf me with your uproar and your turmoil, in spite of my desire to serve you. But if you wait and hear me through, all men will think you wonderful, and will give you credit for acquaintance, not alone with twanging lyres and dancing feet, but with words of wisdom too, that I also may thus have a just defence to offer those who blame and condemn me for coming here; for they will blame me, you may be sure, and will say that I am a notoriety-hunter and a madman to have thus exposed myself to the mob and its hubbub. Let me, then, be able to assert that not every populace is insolent and unwilling to listen, and that not every gathering of the people must be avoided by men of cultivation.
[32.25] But I will explain to you more clearly, if you wish, the nature of the demos, in other words, the nature of yourselves. In fact such an explanation is a useful thing, and it will do you more good than if I were to speak about heaven and earth. Well then, I claim that the demos most closely resembles a potentate, and a very strong one too, one that has great authority and power, and a more powerful potentate and holding sway over a greater number in proportion as the people itself is more numerous and belongs to a prouder city. [26] Among these over-lords, then, are included kings, who have been deified for the general safety of their realm, real guardians and good and righteous leaders of the people, gladly dispensing the benefits, but dealing out hardship among their subjects rarely and only as necessity demands, rejoicing when their cities observe order and decorum. But others, on the contrary, are harsh and savage tyrants, unpleasant to listen to and unpleasant to meet; their rage is prompt to rise at anything, like the rage of savage beasts, and their ears are stopped, affording no entrance to words of fairness, but with them flattery and deception prevail.
[32.27] In like manner democracy is of two kinds: the one is reasonable and gentle and truly mild, disposed to accept frankness of speech and not to care to be pampered in everything, fair, magnanimous, showing respect for good men and good advice, grateful to those who admonish and instruct; this is the democracy which I regard as partaking of the divine and royal nature, and I deem it fitting that one should approach and address it, just as one directs with gentleness a noble steed by means of simple reins, since it does not need the curb. [28] But the more prevalent kind of democracy is both bold and arrogant, difficult to please in anything, fastidious, resembling tyrants or much worse than they, seeing that its vice is not that of one individual or of one kind but a jumble of the vices of thousands; and so it is a multifarious and dreadful beast, like those which poets and artists invent, Centaurs and Sphinxes and Chimaeras, combining in a single shape of unreal existence attributes borrowed from manifold natures. And to engage at close quarters with that sort of monster is the act of a man who is truly mad or else exceedingly brave and equipped with wings, a Perseus or a Bellerophon.
[32.29] So, applying our analysis to the populace of Alexandria, the ‘unnumbered multitude,’ to use the current phrase, in which class shall we put it? I for my part offered you my services on the assumption that you were of the better sort; and perhaps someone else, one of my superiors, will decide to do likewise. And assuredly you Alexandrians could present no more beautiful and surprising spectacle than by being yourselves sober and attentive. For indeed it is a supernatural and truly solemn and impressive sight when the countenance of the assembly is gentle and composed, and neither convulsed with violent and unrestrained laughter nor distorted by continuous and disorderly clamour, but, on the contrary, listening as with a single pair of ears, though so vast a multitude.
[32.30] But consider yourselves at this moment and then what you are like when you are watching the performances to which you are accustomed. For, to my mind, you now appear to be a sight worth seeing, for kings as well as for plain citizens, and there is nobody who would not admire and honour you as soon as he came into your presence; and so if this address of mine has accomplished nothing else, it has at any rate rendered you this service, and no small one — one hour of sobriety! As, for instance, it is of critical importance toward the recovery of the sick to have had a brief interval of calm. However, amid the varied activities which occupy your attention, whenever there falls upon you the blast of turbulence, as when a harsh gale stirs up a muddy, slimy sea, as Homer says, we see froth and scum and a mass of seaweed being cast up on the beach, so exactly with you, I fancy, we find jibes and fisticuffs and laughter.
[32.32] Who, pray, could praise a people with such a disposition? Is not that the reason why even to your own rulers you seem rather contemptible? Someone already, according to report, has expressed his opinion of you in these words: “But of the people of Alexandria what can one say, a folk to whom you need only throw plenty of bread and a ticket to the hippodrome, since they have no interest in anything else?” Why, inasmuch as, in case a leading citizen misbehaves publicly in the sight of all, you will visit him with your contempt and regard him as a worthless fellow, no matter if he has authority a thousand times as great as yours, you yourselves cannot succeed in maintaining a reputation for dignity and seriousness so long as you are guilty of like misconduct. [32] Do you not know, that just as a prince or king is most conspicuous when he appears in public at such a time, the populace also is in like case when it too appears in public and forms a throng? One ought, of course, in my opinion, to behave with sobriety at other times as well; still whatever a man does privately does not concern the general public or the state, but in the theatre the people’s character is revealed. But with you it is there above all that you are off your guard and will prove traitors to the good name of your city: you act like women of low repute, who, however wanton they may be at home, should behave with decorum when they go abroad, and yet it is especially in the streets that they are most guilty of misconduct.
[32.33] “How now,” perhaps someone will say, “is that our only fault, our bad behaviour at the theatre? Is that all you have to say about us and nothing more?” I dread the thought of attacking all your failings in one indictment. And yet perhaps someone will claim that, despite my long harangue, I have given you no advice and have not made clear what it is I criticize you for most; and that such is the function of anyone who offers instruction. But for my own part I believe that I have already made many valuable observations — at least for those of you who have been listening — regarding the god, the nature of the demos, and your duty to listen to counsel even though you are not convinced by what is said. For the most urgent need of all, I fancy, was that I should first put you into a frame of mind to listen patiently. And so, if my address has accomplished nothing else of much importance to you, I have this at least to my credit, that for this space of time you have kept your seats in self-restraint. For, let me remind you, with the sick it is of critical importance toward recovery to have had a brief interval of calm. [34] And, on my word, to examine into all your failings, and that too in one day’s time, and to force you to condemn utterly all your vice and your shortcomings, is not within my power,
[32.33b] E’en though I had ten tongues, as many mouths,
A voice unyielding, in my breast a heart
Of bronze; unless the heavenly Muses, sprung
From Aegis-bearing Zeus, should call to mind
The varied evils found in all mankind,
and not in you alone.
[32.35] But to take just that topic which I mentioned in the beginning, see how important it is. For how you dine in private, how you sleep, how you manage your household, these are matters in which as individuals you are not at all conspicuous; on the other hand, how you behave as spectators and what you are like in the theatre are matters of common knowledge among Greeks and barbarians alike. For your city is vastly superior in point of size and situation, and it is admittedly ranked second among all cities beneath the sun. [36] For not only does the mighty nation, Egypt, constitute the framework of your city — or more accurately its appendage — but the peculiar nature of the river, when compared with all others, defies description with regard to both its marvellous habits and its usefulness; and furthermore, not only have you a monopoly of the shipping of the entire Mediterranean by reason of the beauty of your harbours, the magnitude of your fleet, and the abundance and the marketing of the products of every land, but also the outer waters that lie beyond are in your grasp, both the Red Sea and the Indian Ocean, whose name was rarely heard in former days. The result is that the trade, not merely of islands, ports, a few straits and isthmuses, but of practically the whole world is yours. For Alexandria is situated, as it were, at the cross-roads of the whole world, of even the most remote nations thereof, as if it were a market serving a single city, a market which brings together into one place all manner of men, displaying them to one another and, as far as possible, making them a kindred people.
[32.37] Perhaps these words of mine are pleasing to your ears and you fancy that you are being praised by me, as you are by all the rest who are always flattering you; but I was praising water and soil and harbours and places and everything except yourselves. For where have I said that you are sensible and temperate and just? Was it not quite the opposite? For when we praise human beings, it should be for their good discipline, gentleness, concord, civic order, for heeding those who give good counsel, and for not being always in search of pleasures. But arrivals and departures of vessels, and superiority in size of population, in merchandise, and in ships, are fit subjects for praise in the case of a fair, a harbour, or a market-place, but not of a city; [38] nay, if a man speaks in praise of water, he is not praising men but wells; if he talks of good climate, he does not mean that the people are good but the land; if he speaks of fish, he is not praising the city — how absurd! — but a sea, a lake, or a stream. Yet if someone eulogizes the Nile, you Alexandrians are as elated as if you yourselves were rivers flowing from Ethiopia. Indeed, it is safe to say that most other people also are delighted by such things and count themselves blessed if they dwell, as Homer puts it, ‘on a tree-clad isle’ or one that is ‘deep-soiled’ or on a mainland ‘of abundant pasture, rich in sheep’ or hard by ‘shadowy mountains’ or ‘fountains of translucent waters,’ none of which is a personal attribute of those men themselves; however, touching human virtue, they care not at all, not even in their dreams!
[32.39] But my purpose in mentioning such matters was neither to elate you nor to range myself beside those who habitually sing such strains, whether orators or poets. For they are clever persons, mighty sophists, wonder-workers; but I am quite ordinary and prosaic in my utterance, though not ordinary in my theme. For though the words that I speak are not great in themselves, they treat of topics of the greatest possible moment. And what I said just now about the city was meant to show you that whatever impropriety you commit is committed, not in secrecy or in the presence of just a few, but in the presence of all mankind. [40] For I behold among you, not merely Greeks and Italians and people from neighbouring Syria, Libya, Cilicia, nor yet Ethiopians and Arabs from more distant regions, but even Bactrians and Scythians and Persians and a few Indians, and all these help to make up the audience in your theatre and sit beside you on each occasion; therefore, while you, perchance, are listening to a single harpist, and that too a man with whom you are well acquainted, you are being listened to by countless peoples who do not know you; and while you are watching three or four charioteers, you yourselves are being watched by countless Greeks and barbarians as well.
[32.41] What, then, do you suppose those people say when they have returned to their homes at the ends of the earth? Do they not say: “We have seen a city that in most respects is admirable and a spectacle that surpasses all human spectacles, with regard both to beauty and sanctuaries and multitude of inhabitants and abundance of all that man requires,” going on to describe to their fellow citizens as accurately as possible all the things that I myself named a short while ago — all about the Nile, the land, and the sea, and in particular the epiphany of the god; “and yet,” they will add, “it is a city that is mad over music and horse-races and in these matters behaves in a manner entirely unworthy of itself. For the Alexandrians are moderate enough when they offer sacrifice or stroll by themselves or engage in their other pursuits; but when they enter the theatre or the stadium, just as if drugs that would madden them lay buried there, they lose all consciousness of their former state and are not ashamed to say or do anything that occurs to them. [42] And what is most distressing of all is that, despite their interest in the show, they do not really see, and, though they wish to hear, they do not hear, being evidently out of their senses and deranged — not only men, but even women and children. And when the dreadful exhibition is over and they are dismissed, although the more violent aspect of their disorder has been extinguished, still at street-corners and in alley-ways the malady continues throughout the entire city for several days; just as when a mighty conflagration has died down, you can see for a long time, not only the smoke, but also some portions of the buildings still aflame.” [43] Moreover, some Persian or Bactrian is likely to say: “We ourselves know how to ride horses and are held to be just about the best in horsemanship” — for they cultivate that art for the defence of their empire and independence— “but for all that we have never behaved that way or anything like it”; whereas you, who have never handled a horse or mounted one yourselves, are unable to restrain yourselves, but are like lame men squabbling over a foot-race. That may explain why, cowards and slackers though you are, you have won so many cavalry battles in the past!
[32.44] And take heed lest these people prove to have spoken more truthfully about you than Anacharsis the Scythian is said to have spoken about the Greeks — for he was held to be one of the sages, and he came to Greece, I suppose, to observe the customs and the people. Anacharsis said that in each city of the Greeks there is a place set apart in which they act insanely day after day — meaning the gymnasium — for when they go there and strip off their clothes, they smear themselves with a drug. “And this,” said he, “arouses the madness in them; for immediately some run, others throw each other down, others put up their hands and fight an imaginary foe, and others submit to blows. And when they have behaved in that fashion,” said he, “they scrape off the drug and straightway are sane again and, now on friendly terms with one another, they walk with downcast glance, being ashamed at what has occurred.”
[32.45] Anacharsis was jesting and making sport about no trifling matter, it seems to me, when he said these things; but what might a visitor say about yourselves? For as soon as you get together, you set to work to box and shout and hurl and dance — smeared with what drug? Evidently with the drug of folly; as if you could not watch the spectacle sensibly! For I would not have you think I mean that even such performances should not take place in cities; for perhaps they should, and it may be necessary, because of the frailty of the masses and their idle habits; and possibly even among better people too there are those who need some diversion and amusement in life, but they should take it with decorum and as befits free men. [46] For it will not cause any of the horses to run more slowly or any of the singers to sing less pleasingly if you preserve a due decorum. But as things are now, if one of the charioteers falls from his chariot, you think it terrible and the greatest of all disasters, whereas when you yourselves fall from the decorum that befits you and from the esteem you should enjoy, you are unconcerned. And if you hear the harpist sing out of tune or off pitch, you are well aware of it, whereas when you yourselves utterly abandon the harmony prescribed by nature and are most discordant, you are quite indifferent.
[32.47] And yet how many here have met destruction because of these allurements? Loss of reputation, at any rate, everyone has suffered. And did the Sirens do anything else according to the story? Did they not regularly destroy those who took extravagant delight in them? Yet the Sirens dwelt in a lonely sea and far away, all by themselves, on a lofty cliff, where no one could easily approach; and even there the man of sense escaped in safety and heard them with composure. These entertainers of Alexandria, however, ply their trade in what is practically the centre of the civilized world and in the most populous city of all, not, by Zeus, because of any charm or power of their own, but rather because of your fatuity. For why is it that outside Alexandria they produce an impression quite like that produced by the usual run of performers, nay, frequently have been thought to be unpleasant? Can it be that the ears of the people in those places have been stopped?
[32.48] What, then, does their success with you signify? Not, by Zeus, musical power or artistic pre-eminence, but rather the shallowness of your listeners and the weakness of your city. It is said, at any rate, that some who have already met their ruin through such a cause, instead of trying by entreaty to escape their death, with youthful bravado have implored the privilege of listening to their destroyers even more. And here is an amazing thing which bring reproach and ridicule upon the city — that whereas elsewhere nobles and tyrannicides are held in memory because they gave their lives for the salvation of the fatherland, with you it is for a bit of catgut that men meet their fate and because of an enjoyment that is fleeting, or, more properly, a fancy that has no substance. [49] For it is not through real enjoyment so much as through wishful thinking that these men sacrifice their lives.
[32.50] And so great is misfortune of the poor wretches, that they regard as manly what is most unmanly of all, and as dignified what is most shameful. Why, I would rather be put to death for robbery than for such a cause. For in the one case it is the death of a bad man but a man, in the other of a slave in hard luck. The one possibly came to such a pass because he had been wronged and was striving to get redress over and above the laws, and it may be that he might have achieved something actually noble, had he not encountered such an evil genius; but the other came to his inglorious end merely through shouting and a frenzy caused by an ill-starred voice and a wicked nod of the head, by dissonant variations and nonsense and a cynical, pestilential behaviour. But such is the death of a fly! For whatever tastes sweet to the fly is the thing at which it meets destruction. [50] What distinction, then, can your conduct bring you, you luckless creatures? For whereas in the cause of justice and virtue and ancestral rights and laws and for a good king, a noble soul, one that does not cling to life, will, if need be, suffer and even die; yet if a man hangs himself for the sake of his chorus-girl, a low-born outcast, not fit to live, what depths of disgrace does that betoken!
[32.51] And now let us say no more about these poor unfortunates; but, directing our attention to the spectacle itself, is the conduct of the spectators not disgraceful and replete with every variety of wantonness? — I mean the intensity of their gaze, their souls all but hanging on their lips — as if, one would think, it were through the ear that men receive felicity — and applying the terms ‘saviour’ and ‘god’ to a pitiful human being! With what boundless laughter, think you, must the gods laugh you to scorn, when next in your worship of them you conduct yourselves in the same fashion and find yourselves compelled to use those same terms in honouring the deity? However, god is indulgent, I suppose, since he is god, and he treats lightly the folly of the masses. [51] Accordingly to you as his children has he given as guardians and guides those who are more prudent than you Alexandrians, and by their companionship, not only at the theatre but elsewhere too, your conduct is improved. For otherwise how could you keep your hands off one another?
[32.51b] And yet what kind of human beings do you think they are for whom freedom is not advantageous? “None, by Zeus,” someone says, “for freedom is by nature advantageous. For do not other cities also have singing, aye, by Zeus, and flute-playing and foot-racing and all those other entertainments that are found, not only here in Alexandria, but among certain other people too?” Aye, but nowhere is there such a passion for that sort of thing, such a mad desire, as with yourselves. [52] For example, you know that the Rhodians, your near neighbours, enjoy freedom and complete independence of action; however, in Rhodes even running within the city limits is held not to be respectable, but, on the contrary, they even reprove strangers for being careless in their walk. So it is with good reason that the Rhodians should enjoy fair renown and universal honour. For since they are the first to show respect to themselves and to refrain from any foolish act, it is with good reason, I believe, that they have the respect of men in general and of their teachers as well.
[32.52] The fact is, we shall find that in most other matters too the wise engage in the same activities as the foolish, such as eating, walking, playing, attending the theatre and the games. [53] For nature compels them to have many needs in common with the foolish; there are, however, differences of behaviour in all these matters. Take feasting as the first instance: whereas the wise behave neither boorishly nor regardless of decorum, but with elegance combined with courtesy, as men beginning a joyous feast and not a drunken debauch, being gracious toward their companions, not subjecting them to effrontery; the foolish, on the other hand, behave disgustingly and without restraint, giving vent to anger or to laughter with shouts and disorder, trying to get more than their companions, not inviting them to partake, and finally, before leaving for home, either they have done some damage to their fellow banqueters or received damage themselves, as we are told was the case at the party once held by the Centaurs.
[32.54] And yet why run through all the other differences one by one? But just take walking, for example, an activity common to all men and surely a simple one. One man’s gait reveals the composure of his nature and the attention he gives to his conduct, while that of another reveals his confusion of mind and his shamelessness: he is hurried as he approaches, talks as he walks, or bursts in and jostles someone, comes to blows with someone else. Similarly also with reference to the theatre: some persons are insatiate and greedy and all aflutter over everything alike, however commonplace, but others participate in the spectacle decorously and in peace. [55] But not so with you; on the contrary, you sit dumbfounded, you leap up more violently than the hired dancers, you are made tense with excitement by the songs: for while other people are moved to song and dance by drink with you the opposite is true — song is the occasion of drunkenness and frenzy. So while wine’s natural effect is as we have seen, producing inability to preserve one’s self-control, but on the contrary forcing those who use it stupidly and in excess to commit many distasteful acts, yet men intoxicated by song and in far worse condition than those who are crazed by wine — and what is more, at the very start and not by easy stages as at a drinking party — such men, I say, are to be found nowhere but in Alexandria. [56] Among certain barbarians, it is true, we are told that a mild kind of intoxication is produced by the fumes of certain incense when burned. After inhaling it they are joyful and get up and laugh, and behave in all respects like men who have been drinking, and yet without doing injury to one another; but of the Greeks you alone reach that state through ears and voice, and you talk more foolishly than do those barbarians, and you stagger worse and are more like men suffering the after-effects of a debauch.
[32.57] And yet the arts of the Muses and Apollo are kindly and pleasing. For Apollo is addressed as Healer and as Averter-of-Evil, in the belief that he turns men aside from misfortune and implants health in soul and body, not sickness or madness; and the Muses are called maidens, implying their modesty and their chastity. [57] Furthermore, music is believed to have been invented by men for the healing of their emotions, and especially for transforming souls which are in a harsh and savage state. That is why even some philosophers attune themselves to the lyre at dawn, thereby striving to quell the confusion caused by their dreams. And it is with song that we sacrifice to the gods, for the purpose of insuring order and stability in ourselves. And there is, moreover, a different type of song, accompanied by the flute, that is employed at time of mourning, as men attempt, no doubt, to heal the harshness and the relentlessness of their grief and to mitigate the pain by means of song, song that operates scarce noticed amid lament, just as physicians, by bathing and softening wounds that are inflamed, remove the pain.
[32.58] And the spell of music has been deemed no less appropriate also in social gatherings, because it brings harmony and order spontaneously into the soul and along with a kindred influence abates the unsteadiness that comes from delight in wine — I mean that very influence blended with which the unsteadiness itself is brought into tune and tempered to moderation. All this, of course, in the present instance has been reversed and changed to its opposite. For it is not by the Muses but by a kind of Corybantes that you are possessed, and you lend credibility to the mythologizings of the poets, since they do indeed bring upon the scene creatures called Bacchants, who have been maddened by song, and Satyrs too. No doubt in your case the fawn-skin and the thyrsus are lacking, nor do you, like the Bacchants, bear lions in your arms; yet in all else you do appear to me to be quite comparable to Nymphs and Satyrs. [59] For you are always in merry mood, fond of laughter, fond of dancing; only in your case when you are thirsty wine does not bubble up of its own accord from some chance rock or glen, nor can you so readily get milk and honey by scratching the ground with the tips of your fingers; on the contrary, not even water comes to you in Alexandria of its own accord, nor is bread yours to command, I fancy, but that too you receive from the hand of those who are above you; and so perhaps it is high time for you to cease your Bacchic revels and instead to turn your attention to yourselves. But at present, if you merely hear the twang of the harp-string, as if you had heard the call of a bugle, you can no longer keep the peace.
[32.60] Surely it is not the Spartans you are imitating, is it? It is said, you know, that in olden days they made war to the accompaniment of the pipe; but your warfare is to the accompaniment of the harp. Or do you desire — for I myself have compared king with commons do you, I ask, desire to be thought afflicted with the same disease as Nero? Why, not even he profited by his intimate acquaintance with music and his devotion to it. And how much better it would be to imitate the present ruler in his devotion to culture and reason! Will you not discard that disgraceful and immoderate craving for notoriety? Will you not be cautious about poking fun at everybody else, and, what is more, before persons who, if I may say so, have nothing great or wonderful to boast of? [61] For if an Ismenias were piping in your presence or à Timotheus of early times were singing or an Arion, at whose song, according to tradition, the dolphins in the deep flocked to his ship and afterwards, when he had plunged overboard, rescued him by lucky chance and brought him safe ashore — if those artists were performing for you, what would be your state of mind? For among these performers here there is no Amphion and no Orpheus either; for Orpheus was the son of a Muse, but these are unmusical offspring of Disharmony herself, having perverted and shattered the majesty of song and in every way outraged the grand old art of the Muses.
[32.62] For who of the lot can produce a finished song or a noble rhythm? Nay, it is a potpourri of effeminate ditties and music-hall strummings of the lyre and the drunken excesses of monsters which, like villainous cooks with an itch for novelty, they mash together to form their arias and thus excite an ignorant and avid audience. Accordingly not from swans or nightingales has their passion got its name with you, but rather, as it seems, you liken it to the whining and howling of dogs; and yet, while I knew that there are philosophers called Cynics, harpists of that canine breed have been produced in Alexandria alone. So while Amphion to the accompaniment of his melody, according to the tale, built the walls and towers of his city, these creatures are engaged in the work of overturning and destroying. And as for Orpheus, by his song he tamed the savage beasts and made them sensitive to harmony; yet these performers here have turned you human beings into savages and made you insensible to culture.
[32.63] And I have, furthermore, a story to tell that I heard from a Phrygian, a kinsman of Aesop’s, who paid a visit here, a story that he told about Orpheus and yourselves. However, that story is more weird and lengthier than your jokes. Consider, therefore, if you wish to hear it, and don’t be vexed if I tell it. Well then, the man from Phrygia said that Orpheus sang his songs throughout Thrace and Macedonia, as we have been told, and that the creatures there came up to him — a great company, I imagine, of all the animals. “And,” he continued, “most numerous among them were the birds and the sheep. [64] For the lions and other animals of that sort were more distrustful because of their strength and savage nature, and so would not even come near him, while others immediately withdrew, not being pleased with the music; but the feathered creatures and the sheep not only came to him more readily but also did not leave him afterwards — the sheep, no doubt, because of their guilelessness and fondness for human society, while the birds, of course, are a musical tribe themselves and fond of song. So then, as long as Orpheus was alive they followed him from every quarter, listening as they fed — for indeed he spent his time for the most part on the mountains and about the glens; but when he died, in their desolation they wailed and were distressed; and so it came about that the mother of Orpheus, Calliopê, because of her goodwill and affection toward her son, begged Zeus to change their bodies into human form; yet their souls remained as they had been before.”
[32.65] Well, the remainder of the tale from this point on is painful and I am reluctant to tell it to you in plain language. For the Phrygian went on to say that from those wild creatures whom Zeus transformed a tribe of Macedonians was born, and that it was this tribe which at a later time crossed over with Alexander and settled here. He added that this is the reason why the people of Alexandria are carried away by song as no other people are, and that if they hear music of the lyre, however bad, they lose their senses and are all aquiver in memory of Orpheus. And he said that they are giddy and foolish in behaviour, coming as they do from such a stock, since the other Macedonians certainly have shown themselves to be manly and martial and steadfast of character.
[32.66] The Phrygian also spoke regarding the harpists of your city about as follows: He said that in their association with Orpheus the other animals merely experienced pleasure and wonder but made no attempt at imitation; but that some of the dogs, being of course a shameless and inquisitive bred, applied themselves to music and then and there began to practice it, going off by themselves, and that after they had been changed to human form they maintained their addiction to the art. And he declared that this very breed is the stock from which the harpists sprang; therefore they have been unable wholly to slough off their own nature, but, while retaining some small part of the instruction derived from Orpheus, for the most part their music has remained canine in character.
[32.67] All this the Phrygian spoke in jest. But I want to tell you something that happened at Sparta, how the people of that land behaved toward a harpist who was much in vogue among the Greeks in those days. Just because this harpist had the reputation of being very charming and unusual, they did not, by Zeus, honour him, but instead they took his harp from him, cut away the strings, and ordered him to leave their city. Such, you see, were the misgivings the Spartans entertained regarding his calling and such the care they took of their ears, lest their hearing be corrupted or become more fastidious than was fitting; but you have been thus ignominiously enslaved by that kind of pleasure.
[32.68] And through your influence, it would seem, the disease is already affecting, not only public speakers, but some philosophers as well — though it would be more correct to say that public speakers are no longer easy to recognize. For since they observe your interest in singing and your passion for it, they all sing now, public speakers as well as sophists, and everything is done to music; if you were to pass a courtroom, you could not easily decide whether a drinking-party was in progress or a trial; and if there is in your neighbourhood a sophist’s lecture-room, you will be unable to distinguish the lecture. And in my opinion people will presently go so far as to use song to accompany their exercise in the gymnasium, yes, even to heal the sick. For even now, when physicians discourse to you on their art, they chant.
[32.69] But in all likelihood life with you has become, one may almost say, just one continuous revel, not a sweet or gentle revel either, but savage and harsh, a revel of dancers, whistlers, and murderers all combined. But the Spartans were vastly different from you Alexandrians, for they were cautious in these matters, as I have said. For while they showed capacity to rule, having held the leadership in Greece for many years and being always victorious over the barbarians without exception, you do not understand even how to be good subjects. Therefore, if you had not been fortunate in your present leaders, hardly, I fancy, would your existence be secure. [70] As evidence I cite the most recent chapters in your history. For instance, when you were still independent, did not your king busy himself with piping and concentrate on that alone; and were you not on hostile terms with him and torn with faction among yourselves, each faction separately and independently working the ruin of the state — Simaristoi and other parties of like names — in consequence of which you forced your king to flee, and later on to obtain his return by means of war, and with the aid of Romans, too? And finally he with his piping and you with your dancing destroyed the state. [71] And though you now have such reasonable men as governors, you have brought them to a feeling of suspicion toward themselves, and so they have come to believe that there is need of more careful watchfulness than formerly; and this you have brought about through arrogance and not through plotting. For would you revolt from anybody? Would you wage war a single day? Is it not true that in the disturbance which took place the majority went only as far as jeering in their show of courage, while only a few, after one or two shots with anything at hand, like people drenching passers-by with slops, quickly lay down and began to sing, and some went to fetch garlands, as if on their way to a drinking party at some festival?
[32.72] And surely you recall that comical incident — how the excellent Conon treated you when, advancing to the place where your forces were most concentrated and pointing out a little stretch of ground, he declared: “If I can get there myself, I am the victor, and you must depart by yourselves and leave the field; but if you,” said he, “can win your way as much as four or five steps, I will take a walk myself.” This he said out of a desire to spare you, laughing at you and playing with you as if you were children; since the army had halted and he would not permit a single soldier to lay hands on you, seeing, as he did, that you all were unarmed and faced with destruction. What then? Force was next employed by the headstrong and unruly spirits, who purposely aimed at a complete overthrow and utter chaos, and they did not let you go until you had had a taste of warfare, and what you formerly had dreaded had become a matter of bitter experience.
[32.73] Why, then, have I mentioned these events also? Because I wanted you to understand the natural outcome of this disorderliness that rules your lives. For it is not possible that those who get so excited over trifles and things of no importance, those who behave so thoughtlessly and with such lack of self-control in these matters of daily life, should be temperate in other matters and competent to plan wisely regarding things of greater moment. For the frivolity of your conduct and your lack of reason do not permit you to call a halt at things of minor importance, and the folly of your misconduct knows no bounds, but instead goes right on to any length without discrimination, and touches everything with equal recklessness. [74] So do not think that a man is dealing with trifles when he speaks to your about your disorders in the theatre. For poverty follows quickly enough from gradual losses, but not as quickly as wickedness progresses from these successive errors, until finally, having attained its growth, it brings men to the very end — destruction.
[32.75] So much, then, on the subject of the theatre. However, when you enter the stadium, who could describe the shouts you utter there, and your hubbub and anguish and bodily contortions and change of colour, and the many awful curses that you emit? For if you were not merely watching the horses race — and horses, too, that are used to racing — but were yourselves being driven by the whips of tragedy, you would not exhibit the agony you do. [75] Why even Ixion himself, methinks, you show to have been a second-rater, the Ixion who is represented by the poets as bound on the wheel and punished for some such impiety as yours. Well then, if in the midst of it all some god should take his stand beside you and in a loud voice should say:
[32.75b] “Fools, you are mad; no more your spirit hides
Your food and drink.
[32.76] Why are you so violently disturbed? What is the excitement? What the contest? For it is not Pelops who is driving, or Oenomaüs, or Myrtilus, nor is it a question of a kingship or a wife or a death that hangs in the balance, nay, it is only a contest of slaves for a paltry bit of silver, slaves who sometimes are defeated and sometimes victorious, but slaves in any case.” [76] If the god should speak thus, what would your reply be? Or is it clear that you would not even listen at such a moment as that, not even if the grandsire of Pelops were himself the speaker?
[32.77] What succour, then, can one find, or what divine power must one propitiate? There is at Olympia, at the centre of the race-course, an altar to Poseidon Taraxippos, or Terror of Horses, on the spot where it happened that the horses most frequently became frightened and where many chariots were smashed. So the Eleans decided to erect an altar on the spot, believing that some deity was there. And from that time forward, they say, the place has been safe. [77] Well then, much more earnestly do I advise you to propitiate this god and raise an altar of the same kind, not, by Zeus, for the sake of the horses, but rather for the sake of yourselves, so that you may not be terrorized yourselves or be pitched headlong from your proper station. For perhaps all such disasters are the work of a deity, requiring unusual efforts to avert. It is said that an ancient Cretan queen, one of the daughters of Helius, became enamoured of a bull, and that after union with him she brought forth a savage, mighty monster. So I myself am apprehensive lest this passion for horses that infects the city may in time bring forth some strange and distressing offspring for you. [78] They say also that at Athens this very species that you so much admire became the object of infatuation, and today there is in that city a site that bears the name, Sanctuary of Horse and Maiden. For the maiden’s father confined his daughter along with the horse, and thus, they say, she was ruined. [79] And do you beware lest you also through a passion like that be destroyed.
[32.79] For what Homer or what mortal man at all can describe the things that happen here? For example, in Homer’s narrative the chariots do not sink so low at times and then rise so high on the course as your spirits may be seen to rise and fall. And this is the way he puts it, if I may favour you with a short passage:
[32.79b] At times the cars clung close to bounteous earth,
At times they bounded high; the drivers still
Stood firm, though hearts did pound as each man strove
To win the goal, and each called to his team.
[32.80] In this passage it is the charioteers who are represented as contestants and rivals, while the spectators look on in silence, as indeed was fitting. And only at the end does the poet say that Ajax the Locrian behaved in rather unseemly fashion as a spectator by abusing Idomeneus with reference to the horses of Eumelus. It was Ajax, moreover, who also was guilty of impiety toward Athena at the capture of Troy and on that account was himself smitten with a thunderbolt and thereby caused the storm and shipwreck that befell them all. For the man who in such matters as those is brazen and forward cannot act sanely in other matters, as I have said before.
[32.81] Here, then, you have an instance of wickedness and folly alike, and from men also such as are at Alexandria, except that in fighting, in deeds of valour, and in capturing cities no man here is the equal of Ajax. But among you not a man keeps his seat at the games; on the contrary you fly faster than the horses and their drivers, and it is comical to see the way you drive and play the charioteer, urging the horses on and taking the lead and — getting spilled. And so it is no bad parody that has been composed by one of your feeble versifiers:
[32.82] At times the cars clung close to bounteous earth,
At times they bounded high; but in their seats
The gaping crowd did neither stand nor sit,
Pallid with fear and fright, and in their zeal
To win they shouted each to each, and, hands
Upraised, they vowed great offerings to all the gods.
[32.83] Just as the scream of cranes or cry of daws
Doth rise, when they have drunk of beer and wine
O’ermuch, and clamourous they fly to reach
The course; as daws or starlings in a cloud
With baleful screaming swoop, when they behold
A horse onrushing, bearing death to fools;
So these with yells upon each other fell.
[32.83b] Just as the wind o’er sacred floor doth bear
The chaff, as flaming fire doth sweep deep glens,
Whirled by the wind now here now there, and ‘neath
Its onslaught thickets shrivel, root and branch;
So these did strive like fire; nor couldst thou say
That either sun or moon was safe from them.
[32.84] Just like the growth of leaves, so that of men,
Shallow of mind, devoted to song, and proud,
And from both sides the noise pierced heaven’s vault,
The courts of Zeus. And thus one turned and spake
Unto his neighbour: “Heavy with wine art thou;
Thou hast the eyes of a dog, the heart of a hind.
[32.84b] Why dost thou quake and stare at a car in the race?
[32.84c] Just try me, then, if thou wouldst mangled lie.”
[32.85] Hippocoön to him made this reply:
“Kind sir, in silence sit and heed my word:
A weak thing is thy driver, slow thy team.”
[32.85b] To him then spake the charger fleet from ‘neath
The yoke: “See’st not how fine a steed am I,
How handsome and stalwart? Still for even me
Doth wait grim death and stubborn-hearted fate.
[32.85c] I would that you yourselves had all received
From white-armed Hera just such hooves as mine;
No more would you sit and murmur each to each.”
[32.85d] He spake. But they made vows to Zeus the King.
[32.86] There you have just a few out of many sorry verses, to prove that you are not the only ones to seem ridiculous. And certainly it is disgraceful, men of Alexandria, that those who inquire about your city are told how wonderful everything else is here, but that with respect to yourselves nothing is mentioned of which to be proud or fit to emulate, but that, on the contrary, you are given a bad name as being worthless fellows, mere mimes and buffoons instead of men of real valour, as one of the comic poets said of people like yourselves,
[32.86b] An unbridled mob, a disorderly gang of tars.
[32.87] In fact it is just as if you should see a house that is very beautiful, but should discover that the master himself is a slave and not fit to be even the porter. On the whole it is better to face empty benches than to behold no more than fifteen substantial citizens in the midst of an innumerable horde of wretched, raving creatures, a sort of concentrated dunghill piled high with the sweepings of every kind. Why, the word ‘city’ could not justly be applied to a community composed of men like that, any more than ‘chorus’ befits a chance company of nondescripts or ‘army’ just any mob!
[32.88] For example, even the host of Xerxes was not brilliant, except at breaching a wall or digging a canal or some other manual labour; nor was the city of the Trojans fortunate, since it consisted of depraved, licentious citizens. And yet it was both large and famous; but still the man from Ithaca sacked it, yes, the man from that tiny, inglorious island sacked a city of exceedingly wide domain. Therefore I fear that you also may perish like those Trojans — if I may be permitted the trite observation that Troy also is said to have been destroyed by a certain horse; however, while the Trojans perhaps were taken captive by a single horse, your capture is the work of many horses. [89] For you must not think that the taking of a city consists alone in levelling its ramparts, slaughtering its men, leading its women into captivity, and burning its dwellings; nay, those happenings may mark the final stage, a stage of short duration and one that makes the victims more deserving of pity than of ridicule; but in the case of people who disregard all that is noble and are passionately enamoured of one thing that is ignoble, who centre their attention upon that alone and spend their time on that, constantly leaping and raving and beating one another and using abominable language and often reviling even the gods themselves and flinging away their own belongings and sometimes departing naked from the show — that is a disgraceful, an ignominious capture for a city.
[32.90] For I assert that men have been taken captive, not by pirates only or other persons, but also by a courtesan or gluttony or by any other low desire. The term ‘captive,’ then, may well be used, not only of a person, but of a city too, provided that city, abandoning the nobler pursuits and having neither eyes nor ears for anything conducive to salvation, but yielding instead to the clutches of drink or singing girls or racing chariots, is made the prize of conquest and thrown into utter confusion thereby and bereft of its senses. Yes, by Zeus, the man who experienced such a capture might well be said to have been taken by storm and manacled to boot. For if when a man’s body has been overpowered and confined by chains or guards, we consider that these disagreeable happenings constitute captivity and slavery and violent seizure, when the soul has been taken captive and ruined, we should not dissimulate or underrate it.
[32.91] And yet, while such experiences are doubtless terrible even in the case of individuals, they are altogether more disgraceful when they happen to a people. For indeed all other afflictions, as long as they affect a single person, receive no great or awful label; but when the visitation becomes general, it is called a plague. For, on the whole, all varieties of human weakness might be discovered anywhere at all, and drunkards, perverts, and woman-crazed wretches are present in every city; and yet not even that condition is disturbing or beyond endurance; but when malady becomes prevalent and a common spectacle, then it becomes noteworthy and serious and a civic issue.
[32.92] For example, what city is there, unless it be one very sparsely populated and small, in which day by day there is not at least one person ill with fever? However, fever has all but taken possession of the Caunians, and in their case it is a reproach to the community, because they all suffer from it; just as also certain peoples have won admiration and esteem for traits that are better. For instance, how many Athenians or Megarians or Corinthians, do you suppose, used to cultivate their bodies and live laborious lives? Many, obviously, and especially in the days when they had to be valiant in defence of their countries. [93] Why is it, then, that the Spartans alone among them got a name for that and have enjoyed the reputation ever since? It is because as a people they acquired the love of honour. And as to the Athenians, because they were more devoted to the cultivation of the arts of speech and poetry and choral song and dance, that devotion, for the same reason, caused them in their turn to be admired in these fields. But take care lest the reputation that you gain resemble, not that of the Athenians and the Spartans, but rather that of certain others — for I do not care to name them. For, as I have often said, shameful conduct is more shameful and ridiculous when it involves whole cities. [94] Just as in the case of comedies and revues when the poets bring upon the scene a drunken Carion or a Davus, they do not arouse much laughter, yet the sight of a Heracles in that condition does seem comical, a Heracles who staggers and, as usually portrayed, is clad in womanish saffron; in much the same way also, if a populace of such size as yours warbles all through life or, it may be, plays charioteer without the horses, it becomes a disgrace and a laughing stock. Indeed this is precisely what Euripides says befell Heracles in his madness:
[32.92b] Then striding to a car he thought was there,
He stepped within its rails and dealt a blow,
As if he held the goad within his hand.
[32.95] Maybe, then, like so many others, you are only following the example set by Alexander, for he, like Heracles, claimed to be a son of Zeus. Nay rather, it may be that it is not Heracles whom your populace resembles, but some Centaur or Cyclops in his cups and amorous, in body strong and huge but mentally a fool.
[32.96] In heaven’s name, do you not see how great is the consideration that your emperor has displayed toward your city? Well then, you also must match the zeal he shows and make your country better, not, by Zeus, through constructing fountains or stately portals — for you have not the wealth to squander on things like that, nor could you ever, methinks, surpass the emperor’s magnificence — but rather by means of good behaviour, by decorum, by showing yourselves to be sane and steady. For in that case not only would he not regret his generosity because of what has happened, but he might even confer on you still further benefactions. And perhaps you might even make him long to visit you. [96] For it is not so much the beauty of your buildings that might attract him, for he has buildings of every kind finer and more costly than anywhere; but he may be attracted when he hears that the people to receive him are worthy of his favour and his trust, and when each of his emissaries and ministers speaks highly of you. For you must not imagine, that, although you yourselves inquire about those who enter your harbour, what kind of people they chance to be, and your judgement concerning them at once corresponds to their reputation, yet the emperor’s agents are not curious to learn what kind of people the Alexandrians are. Therefore, if they hear that you are sensible, and not, as is now the common report, flighty, easy-going, inclined to admire petty things, with a weakness for trivialities, passionately devoted to jockeys and harpists, there is no doubt how they will feel.
[32.97] Theophilus, they say, who proved himself a man of wisdom here in Alexandria, preserved silence toward you and would hold no converse with you. And yet what do you think was his purpose? Was it because he thought you to be wise yourselves and in need of treatment: or rather had he despaired of you as being incurable? For it is very much as if a trader with many precious wares should land at a city, and then, constrained by certain winds or by some mischance, should spend a long time there without either setting out any of his wares or displaying them at all; for evidently it would be because he was convinced either that the inhabitants were in extreme poverty, or else that they were ignorant, and so he would be unwilling to go to useless trouble, feeling certain that no one of the inhabitants would either make a purchase or, perhaps, come to see him. [98] Theophilus too, we conclude, though he had many notable wares inside of him, kept them to himself, being aware that you were extremely poor, not in money, but in judgement and understanding. Well, then, he is dead, having by his silence passed adverse judgement on your city, and, though you have often heard so-and-so speak and can well recall his jokes, and also the songs of what’s-his-name, I am not sure that you have ever heard Theophilus; just as someone has said of the beetles in Attica, that, though Attica has the purest honey, the beetles never taste of it, not even if it is poured out for them, but only of the other kind of food.
[32.99] But, someone will say, you are a jolly folk and the best jesters in the world. That is no calling for a people — how could it be? — nor for a city, but rather for a Thersites. At least Homer says that Thersites himself came among all the Greeks as a jester, not speaking with decorum,
[32.99b] But what he thought would make the Argives laugh.
[32.100] Yet not what makes men laugh is good or honourable, but rather what makes them joyful; and for lack of joy and for ignorance thereof men seek laughter. You must have heard of the plant called Sardonian, which produces laughter, but sure, but a laughter which is distressing and disastrous. [100] Therefore be not so devoted to that laughter, nor cause the Graces to be unmusical and vulgar and boorish, but rather imitate Euripides in these lines of his:
[32.100b] May I ne’er cease to join in one
The Muses and the Graces;
Such union is surpassing sweet,
[32.100c] and thus will your Mouseion be regarded, not just as a place in the city, as indeed, I fancy, there are other places with labels devoid of meaning, not possessing a character to match the name.
[32.101] But enough of this, for I fear that I too have had the experience that they say befell a certain Egyptian, a musician of the very early school. For the story goes that the deity once told that musician in a dream that he was destined to sing into an ass’s ears. And for a while he paid no heed and gave no thought to the dream, as being a matter of no consequence. But when the tyrant of Syria came to Memphis, since the Egyptians admired the artist, he summoned him. So the musician gave a performance with all zest and displayed the more intricate phases of his art; but the tyrant — for he had no appreciation of music — bade his cease and treated him with disdain. And the musician, recalling that forgotten dream, exclaimed, “So that was the meaning of the saying, ‘to sing into an ass’s ears’ “. And the tyrant, having heard from his interpreters what the musician had said, bound and flogged the man, and this incident, they say, was the occasion of a war.

## THE THIRTY-THIRD, OR FIRST TARSIC, DISCOURSE

IN THIS DISCOURSE Dio appears to be addressing a public gathering of the people of Tarsus upon invitation. Like the comic poets to whom he refers, he treats his audience to λοιδορία, inveighing against their wantonness and moral decay. Fully half of what he has to say is concerned with what he calls ῥέγκειν. Though his treatment of that topic is manifestly humorous, it is designed to make palatable the serious charges that he desires to make.
The word ῥέγκειν is said to mean now ‘snort,’ now ‘snore.’ For lack of an English word of like flexibility, the translator has elected to use consistently that one of the two conventional meanings that seemed the better adapted to the majority of occurrences. ‘Snort,’ however, is doubtless inadequate as an interpretation of Dio’s meaning. He himself appears to be perplexed as to the proper label for the sound to which he has applied the term (55). He does give some clues. It is a sound made by some persons when asleep (34), by small boys, and by some mature men of good standing (33‑34). It might be taken to denote the presence of a brothel (36). It is made by persons of uncertain sex (36). It is more suitable for the elderly (45). It is produced by the nose (50). It is a symptom of bad morals (50‑51). It is not clucking or smacking of the lips or whistling, nor is it employed by shepherds, plowmen, huntsmen, or sailors (55). It is a sound peculiar to neither man nor woman, not even to a harlot, but rather to a male of the most debased sort (60). If, then, Dio himself, in spite of elaborate efforts to define the sound, has found no better term to symbolize his meaning, perhaps indulgence may be shown the translator.
To the modern reader Tarsus inevitably suggests the name of Paul. The picture of that ancient city, half Greek and half oriental, to be found in this Discourse and in the one to follow, awakens the keener interest for that reason. Sir William Ramsay holds that the Athenodorus of whom we hear exerted an influence upon the thought of Paul. Arnim assigns the present Discourse to Dio’s latest period.
The Thirty-third, or First Tarsic, Discourse
[33.1] I wonder what on earth is your purpose, and what your expectation or desire, in seeking to have such persons as myself discourse for you. Do you think us to be sweet-voiced and more pleasant of utterance than the rest, so that, as if we were song-birds, you long to hear us make melody for you; or do you believe that we possess a different power in word and thought alike, a power of persuasion that is keener and truly formidable, which you call rhetoric, a power that holds sway both in the forum and on the rostrum; or is it because you expect to hear some laudation directed at yourselves, some patriotic hymn in praise of your city, all about Perseus and Heracles and the Lord of the Trident and the oracles that you have received, and how you are Hellenes, yes, Argives or even better, and how you have as founders heroes and demigods — or, I should say, Titans? [2] You may even, methinks, expect to hear a eulogy of your land and of the mountains it contains and of yonder Cydnus, how the most kindly of all rivers and the most beautiful and how those who drink its waters are ‘affluent and blessed,’ to use the words of Homer. For such praise is true indeed and you are constantly hearing it both from the poets in their verse and from other men also who have made it their business to pronounce encomia; but that sort of performance requires ample preparation and the gift of eloquence. [3] What, then, do you expect us to say? Or what above all are you eager to hear from men who are not of nimble wit and know not how to make gratification the aim of their discourse, who are not flatterers nor moved by insolence to mount the platform? For that you are not expecting money from us nor any other contribution, I am well aware.
[33.4] Well then, let me state my own suspicions. [4] You seem to me to have listened frequently to marvellous men, who claim to know all things, and regarding all things to be able to tell how they have been appointed and what their nature is, their repertoire including, not only human beings and demigods, but gods, yes, and even the earth, the sky, the sea, the sun and moon and other stars — in fact the entire universe — and also the processes of corruption and generation and ten thousand other things. And then, methinks, they come to you and ask you what you want them to say and upon what topic — as Pindar put it,
[33.4b] Ismenus or Melia of the golden distaff or noble Cadmus;
[33.5] and whatsoever you may deem suitable, the speaker starts from there and pours forth a steady and copious flood of speech, like some abundant river that has been dammed upon within him. [5] Then, as you listen, the thought of testing his several statements or of distrusting such a learned man seems to you to be shabby treatment and inopportune, nay, you are heedlessly elated by the power and the speed of his delivery and are very happy, as, without a pause for breath, he strings together such a multitude of phrases, and you are affected very much as are those who gaze at horses running at a gallop — though not at all benefited by the experience, still you are full of admiration and exclaim, “What a marvellous thing to own!” And yet in the case of the horses it is frequently not the owners who may be seen handling the reins, but rather some worthless slave.
[33.6] Well then, the sort of recitation of which I speak, being a kind of spectacle or parade, has some resemblance to the exhibitions of the so‑called physicians, who seat themselves conspicuously before us and give a detailed account of the union of joints, the combination and juxtaposition of bones, and other topics of that sort, such as pores and respirations and excretions. And the character is all agape with admiration and more enchanted than a swarm of children. But the genuine physician is not like that, nor does he discourse in that fashion for the benefit of those who actually need medical attention — of course not — but instead he prescribes what should be done, and if a man wants to eat or drink, he stops him, or he takes his scalpel and lances some abscess of the body. [7] Just as, therefore, in case the sick were to assemble and then proceed to serenade the physician and call for a drinking-bout, the outcome would not meet their expectation, nay, they might well be annoyed at their reception, such it seems to me, is the situation of the masses when they gather before a man like me and bid him make a speech, obviously never having sampled the words of truth and consequently expecting to hear something sweet and pleasant.
Come then, tell me, in heaven’s name, will you be indulgent toward a speaker, provided he is not wholly outspoken and does not touch upon all the ailments that afflict you, but rather confines himself to just one item or maybe two? [8] Take care, I warn you, lest you meet with the same experience as those people of Ilium, who, when a certain tragic actor paid them a visit, annoyed him by demanding an exhibition of his skill, until he finally bade them to let him alone and keep quiet. “For,” said he, “the better my performance, so much the more hapless will you appear.” So then, with the philosopher, it is better for the masses to let him hold his tongue.
[33.9] But consider what the situation is. The Athenians, for example, being accustomed to hearing themselves abused, and, on my word, frequenting the theatre for the express purpose of hearing themselves abused, and, having established a contest with a prize for the most proficient in that sort of thing — not having hit upon the idea by themselves but acting upon the advice of the god — used to listen to Aristophanes and Cratinus and Plato and inflicted no punishment on them. But when Socrates without the protection of stage and benches undertook to carry out the instructions of his god, indulging in no vulgar dances or idiotic piping, they would not endure it. [10] Those comic poets, you see, being distrustful and timid, flattered the assembled multitude as one flatters a master, tempering their mild snapping with a laugh, just as nurses, whenever it is necessary for their charges to drink something rather unpleasant, themselves smear the cup with honey before they hold it out to the children. So it happens that the comic poets did no less harm than good, by infecting the city with effrontery and gibes and ribald jests. On the other hand, the philosopher censured and rebuked his auditors.
[33.11] And, indeed, how much better it is to abuse the people and to hold up to the light each man’s stupidity and wickedness than to court favour by what is said and by compliments debauch one’s auditors, you will discover best from what I am about to tell you. For while there have been since the world began two poets with whom no other poet deserves to be compared, namely, Homer and Archilochus, one of them, Homer, praised practically everything — animals, plants, water, earth, armour, and horses; in fact it may be said that there is nothing which he failed to mention with praise and honour. At any rate, there is only one out of all the characters in his poems about whom he said harsh things, namely, Thersites, and even Thersites is called a ‘clear-voiced speaker.’ [12] But Archilochus went to the other extreme, toward censure — seeing, I imagine, that men have greater need of that — and first of all he censures himself. That is why he alone, not only after his death, but before his birth, obtained the highest tribute from the deity. Certainly Apollo drove his slayer from the temple, declaring that he had slain a servant of the Muses. And again, when the man stated in self-defence that he had slain him in war, once more Apollo called Archilochus a servant of the Muses. And when the father of Archilochus was consulting the oracle prior to the birth of his son, Apollo prophesied that he was destined to have a son who would be immortal.
[33.13] So, you see, he who is good at rebuking and upbraiding, and at revealing by his words the sins of men, is evidently superior and preferred above those who praise. If, then, it is praise that gives you more delight, you must betake yourselves to other men than me. Therefore, whenever you see someone flattering himself first and foremost and in everything he does, and courting favour by his table and his dress, and moving about in licentious fashion, you may be sure that man will flatter you as well, and you may expect from him sweet words, which you call praise — dainty language from a dainty man. [14] But whenever you see someone who is unkempt and wears his garments closely wrapped about him and has no companions on his walks, a man who makes himself the first target for examination and reproof, do not expect from such a man any flattery or deception, or that clever and seductive language which is most in use in dealing with democracies and satraps and dictators.
[33.13b] Not so are they who wait upon such men,
But rather youths with handsome cloaks and frocks,
Whose locks are ever sleek, whose faces fair.
[33.13c] Aye, for these men enter upon life as if they were going to some revel, piping and singing and drinking on the supposition that it is a kind of festival or conclave of wastrels into which they have burst.
[33.15] But if a man, having seen how much there is that is dreadful and hateful in the world, and that everywhere are countless enemies, both public and private, with whom wantonness and deceit hold sway,
[33.15b] Subdues his body with injurious blows,
Casts round his shoulders sorry rags, in guise
A slave, steals into the wide-wayed town of those
Who hold debauch,
[33.15c] meaning no harm to his neighbours — such as Odysseus meant to the suitors when he came in that guise — but on the contrary seeking if perchance he may unobtrusively do them some good — if, I say, such a man comes among you, why do you stir him up, or why do you call upon one who will appear to you to be a churlish and savage person as a speaker? For your ears have not been prepared for the reception of harsh and stubborn words; nay, as the hooves of cattle are tender when they are reared in soft, smooth country, so men’s ears are dainty when reared in the midst of flattery and lying speech.
[33.16] Why, then, are you eager to hear what you will not endure? Something must have happened to you like what Aesop says happened to the eyes. They believed themselves to be the most important organs of the body, and yet they observed that it was the mouth that got the benefit of most things and in particular of honey, the sweetest thing of all. So they were angry and even found fault with their owner. But when he placed in them some of the honey, they smarted and wept and thought it a stinging, unpleasant substance. Therefore, do not you yourselves seek to taste the words that philosophy has to offer, as the eyes tasted honey; if you do, methinks, not only will you be vexed when they cause a smart, but perhaps you will even say that such a thing cannot possibly be philosophy, but rather abuse and mischief.
[33.17] The fact is, my friends, that you consider yourselves fortunate and blessed because your home is in a great city and you occupy a fertile land, because you find the needs of life supplied for you in greatest abundance and profusion, because you have this river flowing through the heart of your city, and because, moreover, Tarsus is the capital of all the people of Cilicia. But Archilochus, who, as I have said, found favour in the eyes of Apollo, in speaking of a general thus expresses his opinion:
[33.17b] A general who is tall doth please me not,
Who walks with legs apart, delights in curls,
And shaves the hair that grows upon his calves.
[33.18] ‘Nay,’ says he, ‘let me rather have one who is bandy-legged, stands firmly, and has hairy shins.’ [18] Therefore you must not think that if Archilochus had no love for the sort of general he has described and did not gauge the value of a general by his height or hair, he would ever have praised a city because he found in it such things as rivers and baths and fountains and porticoes and a multitude of houses and a wide extent of space, for such things are simply like hair and ringlets on a man; to me at least it appears that in place of these things he would have preferred a city that is both small and weak, even if perched upon a rock, provided it is wisely managed.
[33.19] Well, there you have what Archilochus has to say, but how about Homer? Did not Odysseus come from an island, and not even from one of medium size — of course not — nor yet from a fertile one, but rather from one of which the poet could only say by way of praise that it ‘pastured goats’? But still Homer says that it was by that man’s counsel and judgement that even Troy was taken, a city that was so great, and held sway over so many peoples,
[33.19b] Seaward as far as Lesbos, the abode
Of gods, and, landward, Phrygia and the stream
Of boundless Hellespont;
[33.20] a city which he declares all men call ‘rich-in‑gold, rich-in‑copper’. [20] Did Troy receive any benefit from either the magnitude of its wealth, or the number of its subjects or allies, or the beauty of its fields, or of Mt. Ida or Simoïs or ‘eddying Xanthus’,
[33.21] whom Zeus the immortal created?
And yet the poet says that there were also certain springs of rare beauty in the suburbs, one that was warm and whose waters were most pleasant, such that steam actually rose from it, and the other as cold as ice, even in summer, so that both in summer and in winter the lovely daughters of the Trojans could do their washing without discomfort. [21] And not only were the Trojans distinguished for wealth and richness of soil and number of inhabitants, but also human beings born at Troy were very beautiful, both men and women, horses were very fleet, the people were held to be dear to the gods, and they were fenced about with a circuit-wall most strong — in fact that wall of theirs was the work of Poseidon and Apollo. Moreover, Zeus declared that of all the cities beneath the sun he loved that city most. Such was the fleetness of their steeds that they could run upon the tips of the heads of grain, such the beauty of Ganymede that he was made the cupbearer of Zeus; and Alexander lured away from Greece the noblest woman of that land; as for Cassandra, Homer declares that she was not inferior to Aphroditê in beauty.
[33.22] But despite all that, because luxury and insolence came upon them and they thought they had no need of culture and sobriety, they have become by far the most unfortunate of all men. Has not the whole earth been filled with the tale of their disasters? Yea, neither the speed of their horses nor Zeus nor Ganymede availed them aught, but a man from a city so wretched and obscure destroyed them, and that citizen of Ithaca was able to overcome the men of Ilium one and all and to pillage utterly and destroy the ‘wide-wayed land.’
[33.23] Aye, the gods no longer love men who are wanton and senseless and unrestrained and inclined toward insolence and laziness and luxury. Therefore, rely not on these speakers of yours and do not accept their words of congratulation and admiration or the men themselves who are so clever at singing praises; for they only deceive and vainly excite you like foolish children; but rather welcome the man who will point out to you some of your faults, and will first of all, if he can, enable you to think, because such things as I have name do not make you blessed, not even if the mighty Nile itself should flow through your city with waters clearer than Castalia; not even if Pactolus, appearing here, should bear to you its gold, not grain by grain, as they say it used to do for the Lydians in days gone by, but in a mass like mud; not even if you should surpass Egypt and Babylon in the costliness of your buildings. [24] For if these are the things which can make men blessed — rivers or climate or situation or even harbours opening on the sea or temples or fortifications — it is impossible to list the cities that surpass you.
[33.25] You are told that the people of Byzantium yonder, who dwell close beside the Pontus itself but a short distance outside its entrance [reap much profit from their situation], since from time to time fish are thrown out upon their shores without man’s intervention; but still no one would call Byzantines blessed because of their fish — unless he would say the same of cormorants — nor would he call Egyptians blessed because of the Nile, or Babylonians because of their wall. [25] Does not the Peneus flow through a Thessaly that is desolate? Does not the Ladon flow through an Arcadia whose people have been driven from their homes? Is not the Cydnus itself purer higher up? What then? Will you say that on that account the people in that region are superior to yourselves? You might be speaking the truth if you said they were — though you will not say it — for those who are unacquainted with luxury and rascality are in my opinion better off. What of Italy itself? Take Sybaris, for example; is it not true that the more luxurious it became the more speedily it perished? And as for Croton, Thurii, Metapontum, and Tarentum, in spite of the high level of prosperity to which they each attained and the great power that once was theirs, what city is there that they do not now surpass in desolation?
[33.26] But it would be a vast undertaking to attempt to catalogue all who through luxury have suffered ruin: the Lydians long ago, the Medes, the Assyrians who preceded them, and lastly the Macedonians. For the Macedonians, although they had but lately shed their rags and were known as shepherds, men who used to fight the Thracians for possession of the millet-fields, vanquished the Greeks, crossed over into Asia and gained an empire reaching to the Indians; yet when the good things of the Persians came into their possession, the bad things also followed in their train. [27] Accordingly both sceptre and royal purple and Median cookery and the very race itself came to an end, so that to‑day, if you should pass through Pella, you would see no sign of a city at all, apart from the presence of a mass of shattered pottery on the site. And yet the districts belonging to the cities and peoples I have named still remain just as they used to be, and no one has diverted the rivers into other channels, nor was anything else of that sort different once from what it is today; but in spite of that, whatever is touched by extravagance and luxury cannot long endure.
[33.28] For think not that rams and siege-towers and the other engines of war are as ruinous as luxury, whether it is a man whom one wishes to see prostrate or a city. No, it is not river or plain or harbour that makes a city prosperous, nor quantity of riches or multitude of houses or treasuries of the gods — objects to which deity pays no heed — nay, not even if some people do transport to their cities the mountains and rocks at the cost of great physical pain and labour and untold expense, does that bring happiness; instead it is sobriety and common sense that save. These make blessed those who employ them; these make men dear to the gods, not frankincense or myrrh, God knows, nor roots and gum of trees or the fragrant herbs of India and Arabia. [29] But as for you, if by chance the river shifts its course and flows with more turbid stream than usual, you are annoyed and feel that you must offer an explanation to people who have come to Tarsus for the first time; on the other hand, though you see the manners of the city shifting and growing worse and ever more and more disordered, you pay no heed. [30] Yet, though you want water to be pure, not only for drinking but also for sightliness, you fail to seek a character that is pure and free from excess. Indeed one may often hear men say: “Yet perhaps it is not we alone who have changed, but practically everybody.” But that is just as if in time of epidemic someone, because all, or nearly all, were ill, should not care to take any precautions for his own health, or, by Zeus, as if a man storm-tossed at sea, perceiving that all on board were in peril, should therefore neglect his own safety. What! If an entire fleet goes down, does that make the disaster any the less portentous!
[33.31] “Well, what is the fault we are guilty of?” Your other faults I shall refrain from mentioning. For it would be ludicrous if one should try to tell a man who had absolutely no knowledge of the harp, and yet goes on to strike its strings at random, what particular mistake he has made or what note he has misplayed. But so much at least is worth mentioning, and nobody could deny it: I assert that an amazing thing has happened in this city to many people, something that I used to hear occurred formerly in other cities rather than at Tarsus. [32] However, if I prove unable to explain clearly what that thing is, at least you may try to guess my meaning; and, furthermore, do not think that I am telling any secret or something that the guilty ones attempt to disguise, no matter if their conduct does appear most amazing. At any rate, however amazing it may be, while on your feet, walking or talking, most of you all the while are fast asleep; and even if you seem to most men to be awake, that would mean nothing at all. For instance, anyone unacquainted with rabbits will say they are awake, even if he sees them sleeping. How, then, has this state been recognized? From certain other signs which indicate their sleeping, since their eyes at least are wide open.
[33.33] What, then, do these people do that marks persons who are asleep? Many indeed are the other symptoms; for practically all their actions bear a resemblance to the dream state. For example, they experience joy and sorrow, and courage and timidity, for no reason at all, they are enthusiastic, they desire the impossible, and what is unreal they regard as real, while what is real they fail to perceive. However, these traits, perhaps, they share in common with ourselves. But this, in my opinion, is the clearest mark of slumber — they snort. For, by heaven, I have no more becoming name to give it. And yet even among sleepers few suffer from that affliction, while with everybody else it occurs only when men are drunk, or have gorged themselves with food, or are reclining in an uncomfortable position.
[33.34] But I claim that such conduct shames the city and disgraces it as a state, and that the greatest outrage is dealt to their country by these daytime slumberers, and that they would deservedly be banished, not only by you, but by all men everywhere. For indeed this habit is no trifling matter nor of rare occurrence either; nay, it occurs all the time and everywhere in the city, despite all threats and jests and ridicule. And what is more, the sound is by now habitual even with the very small boys, and such adults as have a reputation for good form are often led to indulge in it as a kind of local usage, and even though they may check it in embarrassment, at any rate they have given vent to a sound quite similar.
[33.35] Now, it there existed any city in which you were continually hearing persons making lament, and in which no one would walk even a short distance without encountering that ill-omened sound, is there anyone, by Zeus, who would like to visit such a place? And yet lamentation, one might say, is a sign of misfortune, whereas sound of which I am speaking is a sign of shamelessness and of extreme licentiousness. Surely it is reasonable that men should prefer to spend their time among those who are unfortunate rather than among those who are licentious. I for my part would not choose to hear even the pipes constantly; nay, if there exists a place in which there is a constant sound of pipes or song or lyres, as indeed they say is the case with the Sirens’ crag, which ever resounds with melody, I could not bring myself to go and live there. [36] But as for that boorish and distressing sound you make, what ordinary mortal could endure it? Why, if a man in passing by a house hears a sound like that, of course he will say it’s a brothel. But what will men say of the city in which almost everywhere just one note prevails, and whose inhabitants make no exception of season or day or place, but, on the contrary, in alley-ways, in private houses, at market, at the theatre, in the gymnasium this snorting is dominant? Besides, while I have never up to the present moment heard anybody play the pipes at sunrise in the city, this amazing tune of yours starts going at break of day.
[33.37] However, I am not unaware that some may believe that I am talking nonsense when I inquire into matters such as this, provided only that you continue to bring in your vegetables by the wagon-load and to find bread in abundance for all to buy, and your salt fish and meats as well. But still let them consider the matter for themselves in this way: Supposing one of them came to a city in which everybody always uses his middle finger in pointing to anything, and, if he offers his right hand, offers it in that fashion, and, if he extends his hand for any purpose, either for voting in assembly or in the casting of his ballot as a juryman, extends it so, what sort of place would the newcomer think that city to be? And suppose everybody walked with his clothes pulled up, as if wading in a pool? [38] Are you not aware that such conduct has provided occasion for slander against you, with the result that those who are ill-disposed toward you are supplied with material wherewith to defame you as a people? Well, how comes it that people shout at you the name Cercopes? And yet men say that it should make no difference either to you or to anybody else what others say, but only what you yourselves do. Well then, supposing certain people should as a community be so afflicted that all the males got female voices and that no male, whether young or old, could say anything man-fashion, would that not seem a grievous experience and harder to bear, I’ll warrant, than any pestilence, and as a result would they not send to the sanctuary of the god and try by many gifts to propitiate the divine power? And yet to speak with female voice is to speak with human voice, and nobody would be vexed at hearing a woman speak. [39] But who are they who make that sort of sound? Are they not the creatures of mixed sex? Are they not men who have had their testicles lopped off? Nay, even they do not always make that sound, nor to all persons, but it is reserved for themselves, a sort of password of their own.
[33.40] Come, suppose you all were accustomed to walk with clothes girt tight, or playing the tambourine, and that this practice did not seem to you at all vexatious. Suppose you happened to possess a lofty rock, or, by Zeus, an overhanging mountain such as other cities have, and that a man who made the ascent could not hear distinctly individual voices but only the general murmur, what kind of sound do you think would have been borne aloft to him? Would it not, evidently, be the sound made by the majority, prevailing as if by harmony of tone? [40] And suppose one had to guess from what was heard who made the sound, as Homer says about Odysseus when he approached his own home, that he did not have to wait to see the suitors at their feast but straightway said to Eumaeus, as the note of the harp smote his ear, that he
[33.40b] Knew well that many were feasting in his hall;
[33.41] and again, when from the island of the Cyclopes he heard both the bleating of sheep and the voices of men (as he would, methinks, if they were pasturing their sheep), that he perceived that it was the country of shepherds — [41] well then, suppose that a man were to judge you too by the sound that came to him from a distance, what kind of men would he guess you were and what your occupation? For you haven’t the capacity for tending either cattle or sheep! And would any one call you colonists from Argos, as you claim to be, or more likely colonists of those abominable Aradians? Would he call you Greeks, or the most licentious of Phoenicians?
[33.42] I believe it is more appropriate for a man of sense to plug his ears with wax in a city like yours than if he chanced to be sailing past the Sirens. For there one faced the risk of death, but here it is licentiousness, insolence, the most extreme corruption that threatens. [42] And here we find no real enjoyment and no love of learning either, I imagine. At any rate in days gone by it was the counsel of the better citizens that had its way, whereas now, it seems, it is the counsel of the worse. And one might wonder why the majority here in Tarsus follow that baser counsel so eagerly, and why that tendency is constantly growing more general as time goes on. Just as formerly an Ionian mode became dominant in music, and a Dorian, and then a Phrygian also, and a Lydian, so now the Aradian mode is dominant and now it is Phoenician airs that suit your fancy and the Phoenician rhythm that you admire most, just as some others do the spondiac. [43] Or can it be that a race of men has been created with the gift of music in their noses (as swans are said to have the gift of music in their wings), so that like shrill-voiced birds these men delight one another in the streets and at symposia without any need of lyre and pipes? No doubt the lyre and pipes are antiquated and, furthermore, instruments that produce a harsh and rustic kind of music. Ah well, another style now is flourishing, superior to lyres and more agreeable. Therefore, in course of time, we shall even institute choruses to accompany that variety of tune, choruses of boys and girls, most carefully instructed.
[33.44] Well, I understand perfectly that you are vexed with me for what I have been saying, and indeed I told you beforehand that you would not receive my words with any pleasure. However, you may have supposed that I was going to discourse on astronomy and geology. And though some of you are angry and claim that I am insulting your city, still they do not blame those who guilty of the things I mention; on the other hand, others may be laughing at me because I could find nothing better to talk about. However, I find that physicians too sometimes handle things they would rather not, parts of the body that are not the most beautiful, and many of their patients, I know, are irritated when the physician touches the sore spot. But he often scarifies and lances it despite the outcry. I, therefore, shall not cease to talk upon this theme until I make you smart indeed. And yet, after all, it is a very mild medicine you are getting in this speech of mine, much less severe than your case calls for.
[33.45] Come now, in the name of Heracles and Perseus and Apollo and Athenê and the other deities whom you honour, tell me freely whether any one of you would want to have a wife like that — I mean a wife whom men would habitually call by a name derived from the practice of which I speak, just as a woman receives the name of harpist or flautist or poetess, and so forth, each in keeping with its own activity. And pray do not be displeased or vexed; for these words of mine are words that the situation itself supplies to any man who chooses to deal with the subject, rather than some invention of my own. Well then, no one among you would be willing to live with a wife like that, not even, methinks, for five hundred talents; then would he choose a daughter of her kind? I grant you that perhaps, by Zeus, it may not be so distressing to have a mother of that sort and to support her in old age; for evidently snorting is a solemn performance and rather suited to the elderly! [46] Very well, then if, when it is a question of wife or daughter, you cannot endure even to hear of such a thing, does it not seem to you an awful calamity to reside in a city or a country of that kind? And furthermore — a thought which makes it altogether more distressing — a city or a country which was not like that to begin with, but which you yourselves are making so? And yet the city in question is your mother-city, and so it has the dignity and the esteem belonging to a mother-city; but still neither its name nor its antiquity nor its renown are spared by you. [47] What would you think, if, just as you might reasonably expect (and as men report) that founding heroes or deities would often visit the cities they have founded, invisible to everybody else (both at sacrificial rites and at certain other public festivals) — if, I ask you, your own founder, Heracles, should visit you (attracted, let us say, by a funeral pyre such as you construct with special magnificence in his honour), do you think he would be extremely pleased to hear such a sound? Would he not depart for Thrace instead, or for Libya, and honour with his presence the descendants of Busiris or of Diomedes when they sacrifice? What! Do you not think that Perseus himself would really pass over your city in his flight?
[33.48] And yet what need have we to mention deities? Take Athenodorus, who became governor of Tarsus, whom Augustus held in honour — had he known your city to be what it is to‑day, would he, do you suppose, have preferred being here to living with the emperor? In days gone by, therefore, your city was renowned for orderliness and sobriety, and the men it produced were of like character; but now I fear that it may be rated just the opposite and so be classed with this or that other city I might name. And yet many of the customs still in force reveal in one way or another the sobriety and severity of deportment of those earlier days. Among these is the convention regarding feminine attire, a convention which prescribes that women should be so arrayed and should so deport themselves when in the street that nobody could see any part of them, neither of the face nor of the rest of the body, and that they themselves might not see anything off the road. [49] And yet what could they see as shocking as what they hear? Consequently, beginning the process of corruption with the ears, most of them have come to utter ruin. For wantonness slips in from every quarter, through ears and eyes alike. Therefore, while they have their faces covered as they walk, they have their soul uncovered and its doors thrown wide open. For that reason they, like surveyors, can see more keenly with but one of their eyes.
[33.50] And while this nasal affliction is wholly manifest, it is inevitable that everything else also must be a fit accompaniment for a condition such as that. For you must not suppose that, just as other disorders often attack certain particular parts of other people, such as hands or feet or face, so also here among you a local disorder has assailed your noses; nor that, just as Aphroditê, angered at the women of Lemnos, is said to have polluted their armpits, to also here in Tarsus the noses of the majority have been polluted because of divine anger, in consequence of which they emit that dreadful noise. Rubbish! No, that noise is a symptom of their utter wantonness and madness, and their belief that nothing is dishonourable. [51] So I assert that the talk of these women is quite in keeping with their gait and the glance of their eye. And if they cannot make anything so manifest by means of their eyes as to cause everyone to turn and gaze at them, or if they have not yet carried their art so far, still they are by no means the more respectable in other ways.
[33.52] In view of that are you irritated at the people of Aegae and of Adana when they revile you, while on the other hand you fail to banish from Tarsus those of your own people who testify to the truth of what your neighbours declare? [52] Do you not know that, while the charge of doing some forbidden thing, something in violation of Nature’s laws, in most cases rests only on suspicion, and no one of the masses has really seen anything at all, but, on the contrary, it is in some dark and secret retreat that the wretched culprits commit their heinous deeds all unobserved; yet such symptoms of their incontinence as the following reveal their true character and disposition: voice, glance, posture; yes, and the following also, which are thought to be petty and insignificant details: style of haircut, mode of walking, elevation of the eye, inclination of the neck, the trick of conversing with upturned palms. For you must not think that the notes of pipes and lyre or songs reveal sometimes manliness and sometimes femininity, but that movements and actions do not vary according to sex and afford no clue to it.
[33.53] But I should like to tell you a story, one that you may possibly have heard before. It seems that one of the clever people of Tarsus — so the story runs — once went to a certain city. He was a man who had made it his special business to recognize instantly the character of each individual and to be able to describe his qualities, and he had never failed with any person; but just as we recognize animals when we see them and know that this, for instance, is a sheep, if such is the case, and this a dog and this a horse or ox, so that man understood human beings when he saw them and could say that this one was brave and this one a coward and this one an impostor and this man wanton or a catamite or an adulterer. [54] Because, therefore, he was noted for his display of power and never made a mistake, the people brought before him a person of rugged frame and knitted brows, squalid and in sorry state and with callouses on his hands, wrapped in a sort of coarse, gray mantle, his body shaggy as far as the ankles and his locks wretchedly shingled; and our friend was asked to tell what this man was. But after he had observed the man for a long while, the expert finally, with seeming reluctance to say what was in his mind, professed that he did not understand the case and bade the man move along. But just as the fellow was leaving, he sneezed, whereupon our friend immediately cried out that the man was a catamite.
[33.55] You see, then, that the sneeze revealed the character of a man, and in the face of all his other traits was sufficient to prevent his eluding detection; and might not some such thing subject a city to false accusations and infect it with an evil reputation, and too in a matter requiring no expert to determine what disorder the trait betokens? However, I for my part should like to ask the experts what this snorting resembles or what it means — for it is neither a clucking sound nor a smacking of the lips nor yet an explosive whistling — or to what line of work it is related and when it is most likely to be made; for neither shepherds nor plowmen nor huntsmen employ that sound, nor does it belong to sailors. [56] Is it, then, a sound made by men when they greet one another or call to one another or display affection? On the contrary, just as the hymeneal is a special song of early origin and used at weddings, so this must be a rhythm of recent origin, no doubt, and used at a different kind of festival.
[33.57] However, you will depart in high dudgeon, declaring that I have talked nonsense, if I have uttered so many words in vain and to no useful purpose. For you will assert that no harm is encountered in consequence of this snorting and that the city is none the worse in its administration because of it. [57] But among the Greeks in times gone by it used to be regarded as an awful thing to tamper with the art of music, and they all cried out against those who tried to introduce a different rhythm or to complicate the melody, holding that Greece was being corrupted in the theatre. So carefully did they safeguard their ears; and they attributed to what was heard such power as to effeminate the mind and violate the virtue of self-control if the principles of harmony should give way ever so little. For instance, they say that the Spartans, on an occasion when Timotheus was visiting their city, he being already an artist of distinction and an authority in music, not only took away from him his lyre but even cut out the superfluous strings. Do you likewise, men of Tarsus, in imitation of the Spartans, cut out the superfluous sound.
[33.58] The ancient story relates that Circê worked transformations by means of her drugs, so that swine and wolves were produced from men; and we are incredulous when Homer says:
[33.58b] Both heads and voice and hair of swine had they,
And e’en the shape.
[33.59] Their minds, however, remained steadfast, he says, whereas the mind of the men of Tarsus has been the very first thing to be ruined and utterly corrupted. And really it is not so terrible that human beings should for a time take on the voice of sheep or kine or that they should neigh or howl — as indeed the poets say of Hecuba, that, as a climax to all her terrible misfortunes, the Furies made her
[33.59b] Like to a hound with flashing eyes; and when
She poured her brazen cry from hoary jaws,
Ida gave ear and sea-girt Tenedos
And all the wind-swept crags of Thrace.
[33.60] Not so terrible, in my opinion, nor so abominable was that portent as when someone who is a male and retains a male’s distinctive marks and his proper speech — being incapable of erasing also the marks of Nature, even though he makes every effort to hide them from the world, just as the thief hides stolen goods — being smitten by Furies and perverted and in every way made effeminate, is ready to do anything at all, but nothing in accord with his own nature. And then, ‘some Proteus like,’ in the course of his changes and bodily transformations he discovers how to emit a sound belonging to neither man nor woman nor to any other creature, not even patterning after a harlot in the practice of her calling but rather, it would seem, producing such a sound as he would make if engaged in the most shameful action, the most licentious conduct, and, what is more, in the light of day, under the rays of the sun, and in the presence of many. [61] Not so terrible a portent was it when the hides of cattle crawled and their flesh bellowed.
[33.61] What Homer, then, or what Archilochus has the power to exorcize these evil doings? For it seems to me, by Heracles, that a noble and tragic kind of poet is needed by the conduct of these men, one who will be able to check and repel so mighty a surge of evil; since what is taking place already is like a madness that is disgraceful and unseemly. [62] And this plague of impropriety and shamelessness, as it goes on its rounds among you, is already leading to every sort of deed and cry and posture, and attacking and invading every portion of your bodies — feet, hands, eyes, and tongue. Therefore, I can do no good at all, nor can this easy-going, feeble exhortation to which you have listened; no, a Stentor is required with throat of bronze or iron, who will be able to shout more loudly and more clearly than I can. For consider the progress of the malady. [63] The first innovation consisted in trimming the beard; and this was looked upon as moderate enough, merely not to let it grow too long, and nothing more, but just to make a slight improvement upon Nature. Well then, the man so trimmed was thought by many to look smart. The next step was to shave as far as the cheeks; and even that was nothing terrible; and yet the comic poet did bid that even such a man be burned
[33.61b] Upon a heap of sixteen fig-wood phalluses.
[33.64] However, they did have faces that were comely and boyish beyond their years when rid of that down. Next — since this was still to try — they shaved the legs and chest, to insure that in all other respects as well they might resemble boys. Then they progressed as far as the arms; then shifted to the genitals, where evidence of youthful vigour is indeed superfluous. Thus ridicule and scorn are being showered by the clever younger set upon the artistry of Nature as being something out of date and extremely foolish, seeing that she has attached to the body things that are useless and superfluous. [64] For instance, what need had you of nails and hair? No, not even of hands, perhaps, or feet. All that Nature had to do for you was to create genitals and bellies and to supply food and the other things from which one may derive enjoyment. That is why we trim ourselves and remove from our chins and private parts the hair which is distinctive of the full-grown male. And, if it were possible to borrow from the female certain other attributes, clearly then we should be supremely happy, not defective as at present, but whole beings and natural — epicenes!

## THE THIRTY-FOURTH, OR SECOND TARSIC, DISCOURSE

THIS DISCOURSE, LIKE the one preceding, was evidently delivered before a public gathering of the citizens of Tarsus. Which of the two was the earlier we have no means of knowing. Both seem to belong to Dio’s later years. Yet the tone of each is so distinct as to proclaim two separate visits. In the one the speaker has much to say regarding the decadence of the times, but he still feels at liberty to treat that theme in lighter vein, laughing both at and with his audience and interlarding his remarks with quotations from the ancient poets and with literary criticism, and in general showing himself quite at ease, as indeed would befit one who spoke on invitation. In the other there seems to be no question of an invitation: Dio comes as a messenger from God in time of need. He gives not a single line of verse, and his only reference to classic times consists in the citation of Sparta and Athens as horrible examples of the fate reserved for arrogance and selfishness. The few touches of humour only serve to emphasize the speaker’s earnestness.
Thus the two speeches serve to complement each other and to reveal a proud city of ancient origin, thoroughly alive, though suffering from the natural results of too great prosperity. Despite the oriental element in the population, Tarsus could be relied upon to understand allusions to Greek poetry and myth and history, and the gymnasium and the sports connected with it might well explain Paul’s fondness for athletic phrase and imagery.
The Thirty-fourth, or Second Tarsic, Discourse
[34.1] I am well aware, men of Tarsus, that it is customary both here and elsewhere for citizen to mount the platform and give advice; not just any citizens, but those who are prominent and men of wealth, and particularly those who have honourably performed their special services toward the state. For it is not reasonable, if I may say so, that you should have your share in the possessions of the wealthy but fail to profit by their intelligence, whatever that may be. And yet, whenever you wish to listen to harpists or pipes or to enjoy the sight of athletes, you do not call upon only men of wealth or your fellow citizens, but rather upon those who have expert knowledge and capacity, and this is true not only of you but of everybody like you.
[34.2] However, I am well aware also that it is customary for most people to give the name of Cynic to men who dress as I do; not only do they think Cynics to be no better than themselves and incompetent in practical affairs, but they consider them to be not even of sound mind to begin with, but a crazy, wretched lot. And some are prone to mock and ridicule such people, and all too often not even to endure their silence, much less listen patiently when they speak.
[34.3] And furthermore, I hear that at the present moment you have a personal grievance against philosophers, and indeed that you uttered curses against them — not as a class, to be sure, but in a few instances, displaying great reserve and moderation in so doing, inasmuch as you refrained from cursing philosophers in general if merely the philosophers in Tarsus were guilty of some blunder, but possibly failing to note that, though you cursed indeed, it was not really at philosophers. For no one is a philosopher who belongs among the unjust and wicked, not even if he goes about more naked than the statues are. But those, in truth, who seek to harm their fellow-citizens seem to me somewhat far removed from that classification.
[34.4] Then in what expectation and with what purpose has a man of my stamp come before you at such a crisis? For such a step savours of real madness. I am here because there is nothing which I myself require of you, while on the contrary I have been much concerned to be of service to you. If, then, you refuse to bear with me, clearly it will be your loss and not my own. Yet is it not fitting, if you believe that I am really mad, that you should for that very reason listen to me? For you must not think that eagles and falcons foretell to mankind what is required of them and that the counsel derived from such creatures is trustworthy because of its spontaneity and its divine inspiration, while refusing to believe that a man who has come, as I have come, having no connection with you from any point of view, has come by divine guidance to address and counsel you. [5] Moreover, the messages of birds of omen require conjecture for their interpretation, whereas, as soon as one has heard my message one can understand its meaning and can take it under consideration, if in fact it clearly is something useful.
[34.6] But now that I am on the subject, I want to tell you something that happened in Phrygia, in order that at the very outset you may have an opportunity to laugh at my expense. A man of Phrygia was riding on an ox. And when he spied a crow, having made the proper observation of the omen (for Phrygians are clever at that sort of thing), he hurled a stone at it and, by good luck, struck the bird. Accordingly he was much pleased, and, thinking that his own ill-fortune had thus been diverted to the crow, he picked up the bird, remounted the ox, and rode along. But the crow after a brief interval recovered; and the ox, taking fright, threw the man, and he broke his leg in the fall. So that is the way he fared for having shown ingratitude for the sign. [6] But I, methinks, have planned much more safely than the crow, and have come to men who are more considerate than the Phrygian. For if I seem to you to be talking rubbish, you will surely not pelt me with stones but will merely raise a hubbub.
[34.7] Well then, since you are silent and indulgent toward me, first of all I wish to point out to you one thing, in case you are not fully aware of it — that you need good judgement in the present emergency, and that your problems are such as to merit counsel and much foresight; secondly, that no man in this company can readily advise you as to the proper course of action, some being really ignorant of your true advantage and some being swayed by fear of you or of others, and in certain instances, I dare say, looking rather to their own interests. [7] Next I shall indicate my own opinion with reference to these affairs and suggest by what course of action on your part at the moment and by what general policy in your leadership of the city, things will, as I believe, work out in all respects to your advantage for the future also.
[34.8] For, men of Tarsus, it has come to pass that you are foremost among your people, not merely because your city is the greatest of all the cities of Cilicia and a metropolis from the start, but also because you beyond all others gained the friendly support of the second Caesar. For the misfortune that befell the city on his account naturally made him well disposed toward you, and eager that the favours received at his hands should appear in your eyes of greater importance than the misfortunes he had occasioned. [8] Accordingly everything a man might bestow upon those who were truly friends and allies and had displayed such eagerness in his behalf he has bestowed upon you: land, laws, honour, control of the river and of the sea in your quarter of the world. And this is why your city grew rapidly, and also because not much time had elapsed since its capture; just as with men who have experienced serious illness but have speedily recovered: when they receive adequate care thereafter, they are frequently in better health than before.
[34.9] Furthermore, as to subsequent events at least, contrary to popular belief it benefited your city when some of your superior officers proved to be men of violence and you proceeded to prosecute them. Certainly in order to show that you amounted to something, and could aid yourselves and others too — and also, by Zeus, to make their successors not quite so ready to do wrong — it was really beneficial for those men of violence to pay the penalty for their misdeeds; and yet, in another way, it made the city an object of hatred, and gave you the reputation of being naturally captious and prone to bring accusations rashly. For to make many accusations has ere this been held to be a sign of malicious prosecution, especially when the accusation involves men in authority, and is brought before men in authority. For people suspect that the hostility arose, not because you were treated too severely, but because you were unwilling to submit to authority.
[34.10] To continue then, another happening in which you were concerned has, in a measure, turned out like that just mentioned. For the people of Aegae, having resumed a foolish quarrel with you, being at fault in the matter of the registers, did indeed fail in that enterprise, but they made the dislike against you still greater, and they stealthily developed a prejudice against your city as being obnoxious and oppressive toward the other cities. [11] And these instances, it is true, are drawn from times gone by; but at this present moment the people of Mallus certainly are at odds with you and, although wholly in the wrong themselves and guilty of insolence, yet because of their weakness and their inferiority as compared with you, they always assume the air of being the injured party. For it is not what men do that some persons consider but who they are; nor is it the wrong-doers or those who actually resort to force whom they often wish to criticize, but rather those who may be expected to resort to force because they have the greater power. At any rate, if anything had been done by you such as has been done by Mallus in the present instance, people would think that you were sacking their cities and starting a revolution and war, and that an army must take the field against you.
[34.12] Well, it is a shame, then,” someone will say, “if they are to be at liberty to do whatever they please and to derive that advantage from their very helplessness, while we are to be in danger if we make a single move.” Granted that it is a shame and unfair, still, if some unfairness is the natural consequence, you should not through obstinacy on that point cause yourselves to be involved in an absurd situation, but should rather look to the future and be on your guard. For what is happening to you resembles what happens in the case of athletes when a smaller man contends against one much larger. [13] For the larger man is not allowed to do anything against the rules, but even if unwittingly he is guilty of a foul, he gets the lash; whereas nobody observes the smaller, though he does anything within his power. Accordingly not only in athletics is it the part of a man of discretion and one who is really the better man to win by his strength and overlook these unfair advantages, but also in your case, if you are sensible, you will by justice and by the greatness of your city overcome those who bear you malice, and you will do nothing in anger or vexation. And on that subject more later, as indeed, methinks, I promised in the beginning.
[34.14] But at the moment I shall treat the other items that still remain, giving to them that fuller consideration which I claim is required by the present crisis. At any rate the hatred and rebellion of Mallus ought to disturb you less than it does. But the fact that your neighbours in Soli and in Adana, and possibly some others, are in a similar frame of mind and are not a whit more reasonable, but chafe under your domination and speak ill of you and prefer to be subject to others than yourselves — all this creates the suspicion that possibly the people of Aegae and of Mallus also are not wholly unwarranted in their vexation, and that their estrangement has not been due in the one instance to envy and in the other to a determination to get unfair advantage, but that possibly there is an element of truth in what they say about your city, namely, that it does somehow bully and annoy peoples who are weaker. [15] For although these charges are not actually true, still they might do you the same harm as if they were.
[34.14b] Well then, consider also the nature of your relations with the general. At first there was merely distrust, on the assumption that you were not agreeably disposed toward him; but still he performed his civic duties toward you and you toward him, and there was nothing visible on the surface; but recently you, irritated by the thought that you were getting the worst of it, made a statement, and he on his part was moved to write angrily and to put that anger into operation, a thing he had never done before.
[34.16] ‘Yes, by Zeus,’ some one may retort, ‘but at least the business of the city itself and our dealings with one another are proceeding as they should.’ Is it not true that but a day or two ago the Assembly took one course and the Council another and that the Elders still maintain a position of independence, each body clearly consulting its own self-interest? It was just as if, when a ship is putting in for shore, the sailors should seek their own advantage, the pilot his, and the owner his. For even if this comparison is made repeatedly, still it is your duty not on that account to disregard it. For it is not that which is told for the first time nor that which one has never heard before which one should eagerly accept as true, but rather that which is germane to the situation and may be put to some practical use.
[34.17] “Oh yes,” you may reply, “but now we have reached an agreement and are united in our counsel.” Nay, who could regard as safe and sure that sort of concord, a concord achieved in anger and of no more than three or four days’ standing? Why, you would not say a man was in assured good health who a short time back was burning with fever. Well then, neither must you say you are in concord until, if possible, you have enjoyed a period of concord many times as long as that — at any rate as long as your discord — and just because perhaps on some occasion you all have voiced the same sentiment and experienced the same impulse, you must not for that reason assume that now at last the disease has been eradicated from the city. [18] For the fact is that with discordant instruments of music sometimes the notes do sound in unison for a brief moment, only straightway to clash again. Or again, just as the act of wounding and dismembering takes place quickly and quite easily, but the process of healing and knitting together requires time and serious attention, so it is also in the case of cities: quarrelling and party strife within easy reach and frequently occur for paltry reasons, whereas men may not, by Zeus, immediately arrive at a real settlement of their difficulties and acquire the mental state and the confidence of their neighbours befitting such a settlement merely by claiming to be repentant, nor yet by being thought to be repentant.
[34.19] For not among you alone, I dare say, but also among all other peoples, such a consummation requires a great deal of attentive care — or, shall I say, prayer? For only by getting rid of the vices that excite and disturb men, the vices of envy, greed, contentiousness, the striving in each case to promote one’s own welfare at the expense of both one’s native land and the common weal — only so, I repeat, is it possible ever to breathe the breath of harmony in full strength and vigour and to unite upon a common policy. Since those in whom these and similar vices are prevalent must necessarily be in a constant state of instability, and liable for paltry reasons to clash and be thrown into confusion, just as happens at sea when contrary winds prevail. [20] For, let me tell you, you must not think that there is harmony in the Council itself, nor yet among yourselves, the Assembly. At any rate, if one were to run through the entire list of citizens, I believe he would not discover even two men in Tarsus who think alike, but on the contrary, just as with certain incurable and distressing diseases which are accustomed to pervade the whole body, exempting no member of it from their inroads, so this state of discord, this almost complete estrangement of one from another, has invaded your entire body politic.
[34.21] For instance, to leave now the discord of Council and Assembly, of the Youth and the Elders, there is a group of no small size which is, as it were, outside the constitution. And some are accustomed to call them ‘linen-workers,’ and at times the citizens are irritated by them and assert that they are a useless rabble and responsible for the tumult and disorder in Tarsus, while at other times they regard them as a part of the city and hold the opposite opinion of them. Well, if you believe them to be detrimental to you and instigators of insurrection and confusion, you should expel them altogether and not admit them to your popular assemblies; but if on the other hand you regard them as being in some measure citizens, not only because they are resident in Tarsus, but also because in most instances they were born here and know no other city, then surely it is not fitting to disfranchise them or to cut them off from association with you. [22] But as it is, they necessarily stand aloof in sentiment from the common interest, reviled as they are and viewed as outsiders. But there is nothing more harmful to a city than such conditions, nothing more conducive to strife and disagreement. Take for example the human body: the bulk that comes with the passing years, if it is in keeping with the rest of the person and natural to it, produces well-being and a desirable stature, but otherwise it is a cause stature, but otherwise it is a cause of disease and death.
[34.23] “Well then, what do you bid us do?” I bid you enroll them all as citizens — yes, I do — and just as deserving as yourselves, and not to reproach them or cast them off, but rather to regard them as members of your body politic, as in fact they are. For it cannot be that by the mere payment of five hundred drachmas a man can come to love you and immediately be found worthy of citizenship; and, at the same time, that a man who through poverty or through the decision of some keeper-of‑the‑rolls has failed to get the rating of a citizen — although not only he himself had been born in Tarsus, but also his father and his forefathers as well — is therefore incapable of affection for the city or of considering it to be his fatherland; it cannot be that, if a man is a linen-worker, he is inferior to his neighbour and deserves to have his occupation cast in his teeth and to be reviled for it, whereas, if he is a dyer or a cobbler or a carpenter, it is unbecoming to make those occupations a reproach.
[34.24] But, speaking generally, it was not, perhaps, with the purpose of treating this special one among the problems of your city nor of pointing out its seriousness that I came before you, but rather that I might make plain to you how you stand with regard to one another, and, by Zeus, to make plain also whether it is expedient that you should rely upon the present system and believe that now you are really united. Take, for example, a house or a ship or other things like that; this is the way in which I expect men to make appraisal. They should not consider merely present conditions, to see if the structure affords shelter now or does not let in the sea, but they should consider how as a whole it has been constructed and put together, to see that there are no open seams or rotten planks. [25] And I must add that I do not find existing in your favour now that asset which I said had in the past increased the prestige of Tarsus — your having placed to your credit with the Emperor exceptional service and kindness — evidently because he has no further need of such assistance. However, the fact remains that you have no advantage with him over the other dominions; consequently what you obtained from Caesar on that former occasion through your loyalty and friendship you should safeguard for the future through good behaviour and through giving no occasion for criticism.
[34.26] And let no one suppose that in saying this I am advising you to put up with absolutely anybody and to endure any and every thing; nay, my purpose is rather that you, being acquainted with your own situation, may not only take better counsel in the present instance, but may also in the future demand that the man who comes forward to speak shall make his proposals to you, not in an off-hand manner nor on the inspiration of the moment, but with full knowledge and after careful examination of every detail. For the physician who has investigated minutely the symptoms of his patient, so that nothing can escape him, is the one who is likely to administer the best treatment.
[34.27] That your present situation, then, demands careful attention, and a better adviser than those who ascend the rostrum by chance or for mercenary reasons or because of family position, you can perceive in some measure from what follows. For at a time when your own harmony is not assured, and when most of the cities that surround you are not on friendly terms with you, but some are envious through long rivalry with you, while others are actively hostile because of disputes over territory, and still others claim to be subject to annoyance in one form or another, and when the general supposes, to be sure, that your feeling toward him is improving, although you and he have been compelled to clash with one another even previously, and when, furthermore, you are viewed with jealousy because of the very magnitude of your city and the ability you will have to rob your neighbours of many of their possessions — at a time like this, how can you for these reasons fail to require careful and well-considered judgement?
[34.28] “Well then,” you interject, “are not the citizens competent to appraise this situation and to give advice regarding it?” Absurd! For if the leaders and statesmen in the cities were competent to hit upon the proper course, all men would always fare handsomely and be free from harm — unless of course some chance misfortune should perversely befall one city or another. But on the contrary, in my opinion, both in former days and at the present time you would find that more dreadful things have happened to cities through ignorance of what is to their interest and through the mistakes of their leaders than the disasters that happen by divine will or through mere chance.
[34.29] For sometimes men without any ability to perceive what is needful, men who have never given heed to their own welfare in the past, incompetent to manage even a village as it should be managed, but recommended only by wealth or family, undertake the task of government; still others undertake that task in the belief that they are displaying diligence if they merely heap up phrases and string them together in any way at all with greater speed than most men can, although in all else they are in no way superior to anybody else. And what is most serious is that these men, not for the sake of what is truly best and in the interest of their country itself, but for the sake of reputation and honours and the possession of greater power than their neighbours, in the pursuit of crowns and precedence and purple robes, fixing their gaze upon these things and staking all upon their attainment, do and say such things as will enhance their own reputations. [30] Consequently one may see in every city many who have been awarded crowns, who sacrifice in public, who come forth arrayed in purple; but a man of probity and wisdom, who is really devoted to his own country, and thinks and speaks the truth, whose influence with the city that follows his advice insures better management and the attainment of some blessing — such a man is hard to find.
[34.31] Yes, this is bound to happen, one might say. For when men think it is those who have performed liturgies or will some day do so who should counsel them, and when, provided a man is gymnasiarch or demiourgos, he is the only one whom they allow to make a speech — or, by Zeus, the so‑called orators — it is very much as if they were to call upon only the heralds or the harpists or the bankers. Accordingly men come forward to address you who are both empty-headed and notoriety-hunters to boot, and it is with mouth agape for the clamour of the crowd, and not at all from sound judgement or understanding, that they speak, but just as if walking in the dark they are always swept along according to the clapping and the shouting.
[34.32] And yet if someone should tell pilots that they should seek in every way to please their passengers, and that when applauded by them they should steer the ship in whatever way those passengers desired, it would take no great storm to overturn their ship. Frequently, you know, a seasick land-lubber or some nervous female at the sight of rocks fancies that land and harbour are in view and implores the skipper to steer for shore. [33] But I say that the counsellor who is a good counsellor and fit to be leader of a city should be prepared to withstand absolutely all those things which are considered difficult or vexatious, and especially the vilifications and the anger of the mob. Like the promontories that form our harbours, which receive the full violence of the sea but keep the inner waters calm and peaceful, so he too should stand out against the violence of the people, whether they are inclined to burst into a rage or abuse him or take any measures whatever, and he should be wholly unaffected by such outbursts, and neither if they applaud him, should he on that account be elated, nor, if he feels he is being insulted, should he be depressed.
[34.34] However, what happens at Tarsus is not like that. No one of your statesmen, as I am told, holds that to be his function, nor is it so any longer with the commons; but, on the contrary, some persons stand absolutely aloof, and some come forward to speak quite casually, barely touching on the issue — as people touch the libation with their lips — claiming that it is not safe for them to dedicate their lives of that government. And yet, though no one could be successful as a ship-owner or money-lender or farmer if he made those occupations a side-issue, still men try to run the government out of their spare time and put everything else ahead of statecraft. [35] And some, in case they do accept office, seek therein only to engage in some enterprise out of which they may emerge with added glory for themselves, making that their sole aim. Accordingly for six months they are your ‘men of valour,’ frequently not to the advantage of the city either. And so at one moment it is So-and‑so who makes the motions, and hard upon his heels comes someone else in quick succession, and then a third; and he who but one brief month ago was resplendent and claimed to be the only one who cared for the city cannot be seen even coming to the assembly. [36] It reminds me of a parade, in which each participant, eager to catch the public eye, exerts himself to that end until he has passed beyond the spectators, but when he gets a short distance away, he relaxes his pose and is just one of the many and goes home in happy-go‑lucky style. However, while your president should regard his six months as the limit to his term of office — for so the law prescribes — still the statesman should not, by heaven, observe any set term for the exercise of benevolence toward you and of care and concern for the commonwealth — and that too a term so brief — nay, he should strip for action for that very purpose and hold himself in readiness for service constantly. [37] But at present, just like men who sail with offshore breezes — or rather with gusts from the storm-clouds — so are you swept along, men of Tarsus, though neither such statecraft nor such voyaging has aught of certainty or of safety in it. For such blasts are not the kind to last for ever or to blow devoid of interruption, but they often sink a ship by falling upon it with undiminished violence. And a city of such size and splendour as your own should have men who truly take thought on its behalf. But as things go now, I dare say, under these transitory, short-lived demagogues no good can come to you.
[34.38] Well then, on these topics, as well as on countless others too, there is a great deal one might say. But since I myself also from the very day of my arrival here have played the demagogue for you, and that though I find fault with men of that sort, I must notwithstanding express my opinion regarding your present situation, as indeed I promised to do. And first of all, your dealings with the general — but what I have to say will cover everything. Very well then, I say that men who find themselves in such a situation as yours, which of course is the common situation everywhere today, should be so minded as not, on the one hand, to submit to any and every thing and allow those in authority to treat them simply as they please, no matter to what lengths of insolence and greed they may proceed; nor, on the other hand, to be disposed to put up with nothing disagreeable whatever, or to expect, as you might, that some Minos or Perseus will arrive in these days to take care of them. [39] For to refrain entirely from coming to one’s own assistance is the conduct of slaves, and it is a serious matter if no remnant of hesitancy or distrust is to be left in the minds of those who deal unfairly. And yet for the populace to incur hatred and be constantly prying into everything is not to your advantage either. For if you get the reputation of making complaints now and then without good reason, and someone gets the better of you — and there are many reasons why this might happen — I fear that you may lose the right of free speech altogether. Pray consider what the people of Ionia have done. They have passed a decree prohibiting accusations against anyone at all. So men of sense should foresee all these contingencies and not, like men inexperienced in fighting, rashly abandoning the equipment they have, be defenceless from then on and unable to act at all, not even if an enemy threatens them with slaughter.
[34.40] This, however, I declare as a general principle: that so uncompromising a policy which, although you have no intention to proceed to active measures, nevertheless makes you incur the distrust of your superior officers; but on the contrary, when you decide that you are going to remove some one, and it is thought that he is guilty of such misdeeds that it is not expedient to ignore them, make yourselves ready to convict him and immediately behave toward him as toward a personal enemy, and one who is plotting against you. But regarding a man concerning whom you foresee a different outcome, if you believe him to be guilty of no misdeeds — or none of any importance — or if for whatever reason you do not believe him to deserve such treatment, do not irritate him or move him to anger against the city. [41] In very much the same way, I fancy, if those burdens that we bear are very oppressive and we cannot endure them, we seek to cast them off as speedily as possible, whereas if we are only moderately inconvenienced by them and see that we must carry either the load we have or another that is greater, we consider how they may rest upon our shoulders as lightly as possible.
[34.42] That is the policy of a prudent state. Under such a policy not only will most people be fond of you, but a man will fear to do you wrong, and men in general will not think you to be a wicked populace or an unreasoning mob, a mob that acts on a kind of impulse and in headlong fashion. [42] For this thing that your president is now doing would truly be altogether foolish, even if you were of a mind to bring accusations — though perhaps it may not yet be the proper moment to quarrel so openly and to make pronouncements; but remember that as soon as one of your fellow-citizens has in a moment of urgent need placed himself at the disposal of the state and gained a brilliant reputation by accusing two officials in quick succession, the masses think that they too must try some such exploit. But that is very much as if a man, on seeing a physician mix with some beneficent drug a small portion also of one that is deadly, and without any further knowledge as to how the medicine was compounded or how much to take, should wish to follow his example. Yet surely the belief that impromptu action in matters of highest moment and political leadership are within the competence of any one who has aspired to undertake it is not far removed from such behaviour.
[34.43] However, when I have made a few more remarks regarding your dealing with the people of Mallus and with the other cities, I shall cease; for you seem to me to have displayed sufficient patience. Well then, with reference to the first — I mean the people of Mallus — if they have behaved at all senselessly, as indeed they have, lay aside your anger, graciously forgive them the revenge that you thought to be your due, and come to terms regarding your boundary dispute, believing that to endure such treatment and not to court a quarrel is, as in fact it is, a great achievement and one befitting men who are altogether superior, especially in relation to men so vastly inferior. [44] For there is no danger that you will be thought weaker than any men of Mallus that the future may produce. And do not listen to those who try to stir you up, but, if at all possible, act as your own judges, and, examining the matter with care apart from all malice or partiality for your own interests, make a settlement of the trouble; do not merely refrain from strife and from seeking to gain the advantage by any and all means, but concede and yield to them anything within reason. For just as you have words of praise for those in private life who are reasonable and prefer occasionally to submit to wrong rather than to quarrel with people, so also in public relations we find that cities of that sort are in good repute.
[34.45] No, sand-dunes and swamp-land are of no value — for what revenue is derived from them or what advantage? — yet to show one’s self to be honourable and magnanimous is rightly regarded as inexpressibly valuable. For to vie with the whole world in behalf of justice and virtue, and to take the initiative in friendship and harmony, and in these respects to surpass and prevail over all others, is the noblest of all victories and the safest too. But to seek by any and every means to maintain ascendancy in a conflict befits blooded game-cocks rather than men. [46] It may be true that, if Mallus because of the dunes and the pasturage on the sand were likely to become greater than Tarsus, you ought possibly to show so much concern; but as it is, disgrace and mockery are all you stand to gain from the objects of your quarrel. “Why, then,” you may ask, “did not the people of Mallus scorn those things?” Because they are no better than you are. But, by heaven, it is you who want them to be so. However, what I thought fitting was that you should send them messengers and file an oral protest — for that would have been the procedure of superior and sensible men — but to be unduly excited and to have recourse immediately to the assertion of your authority and to feel insulted is rather to be expected of small-town folk.
[34.47] So also with reference to the other cities, I ask that you behave mildly, considerately, with regard to your honour, and not in a spirit of hostility and hatred. For if you do, all men will follow your leadership willingly, with admiration and affection; and that is of more importance than to have Mallus sacrifice in Tarsus and there conduct its litigation. For it is of no advantage to you at all to have the people of either Adana or Aegae come to Tarsus to offer sacrifice; it is merely vanity and self-deception and empty, foolish pride. [48] On the other hand, goodwill and a reputation for superiority in virtue and kindliness — those are your true blessings, those are the objects worthy of emulation and serious regard. And you would pay heed to them, since your present behaviour is ridiculous. And whether it is a question of Aegaeans quarrelling with you, or Apameans with men of Antioch, or, to go farther afield, Smyrnaeans with Ephesians, it is an ass’s shadow, as the saying goes, over which they squabble; for the right to lead and to wield authority belongs to others.
[34.49] Yes, there was a time in days gone by when jealous rivalry existed also between Athens and Sparta; and, at first, Sparta held the ascendancy, and then it came to pass that the Greeks inclined rather toward Athens, after the Persian wars. What, then, did the Spartan do? Abandoning his claims upon the islander, the Ionian, and the Greek of Hellespont, he proceeded to teach himself self-control and confined his attention to the affairs of Sparta, understanding clearly that nothing should be held more dear than law and order. Accordingly Sparta achieved its greatest prosperity during that period. [50] And as for the Athenians, it so happened that, as long as the cities were on friendly terms with them, and the Athenians behaved kindly as their leaders, they too prospered; but afterwards, when accusations and ill-will toward them accumulated and they saw fit to rule unwilling subjects, they suffered many disagreeable things. And the first thing of all to happen was to lose their commendation and good repute, and next to lose their power and wealth, and finally to become subject to their foes. And the Spartans had a similar experience: when they too once more held the reins of empire, departing from their own former principle, they found themselves in the same position as the Athenians. [51] And yet those states of old possessed real power and great utility, if it be correct to call self-seeking by that name; whereas anyone seeing the disputes and occasions for hostility of the present time would, methinks, blush for shame, for in reality they make one think of fellow-slaves quarrelling with one another over glory and pre-eminence.
[34.52] What then? Is there nothing noble in this our day to merit one’s serious pursuit? The greatest things, yes the only things worthy of serious pursuit, were present then, are present now, and always will be; and over these no man, surely, has control, whether to confer them on another or to take them away from him who has them, but, on the contrary, they are always at one’s disposal, whether it be a private citizen or the body politic. But the discussion of these matters perhaps would take too long. [52] And yet I am not unaware that the philosophers are believed by many to be engaged in relaxing everything and in slackening the serious pursuit of practical affairs and on that account in working more harm than good. It is just as if one should wish to watch a musician tuning his instrument, and then, seeing the same man slacken some strings and tighten others again, should scoff at him. [53] That in fact is precisely the situation in civic matters. For the base and unprofitable pursuits and ambitions have become more tense than is fitting, and all who are swayed by them, through no one’s fault but their own, become broken men, as one may say; but those pursuits and ambitions which aim at what is noblest are wholly relaxed. And consider, for example, if you will, the tension that marks covetousness, that marks incontinence!
[34.52b] But I seem to be going too far afield, and, like those who in calm weather swim too far, I seem not to foresee what lies ahead.

## THE THIRTY-FIFTH DISCOURSE, DELIVERED IN CELAENAE IN PHRYGIA

CELAENAE, AS DIO himself tells us, was situated at the headwaters of the Maeander in the heart of Phrygia, on the main highway between East and West and was the focus of five other well-marked natural routes (Ramsay, Cities and Bishoprics of Phrygia). From Herodotus (7.26) we learn that Xerxes paused there on his way to Greece; and there too the younger Cyrus tarried thirty days in 401 B.C. while assembling forces (Xenophon, Anabasis 1.2.5‑8). Despite its manifest importance, Celaenae does not appear again in literature until Roman times. In fact Strabo, who devotes considerable space to the site (12.8.15‑18), uses the name Apamea rather than Celaenae. He explains that Antiochus Soter (280‑261 B.C.), on moving inhabitants a short distance away, renamed the settlement in honour of his mother. According to Ramsay, the old name was revived in the second century of our era, presumably in consequence of a ‘reinvigorated national sentiment.’
Arnim locates this Discourse in the same general period of Dio’s career as the three that precede it. We are in the dark regarding the occasion of its delivery. Dio seems to be quite at his ease and enjoys the opportunity to introduce himself and to flatter and amuse his audience. Much of what he says was doubtless uttered with a twinkle of the eye.
The Thirty-fifth Discourse delivered in Celaenae in Phrygia
[35.1] Gentlemen, I have come before you not to display my talents as a speaker nor because I want money from you, or expect your praise. For I know not only that I myself am not sufficiently well equipped to satisfy you by my eloquence, but also that your circumstances are not such as to need my message. Furthermore, the disparity between what you demand of a speaker and my own powers is very great. For it is my nature to talk quite simply and unaffectedly and in a manner in no wise better than that of any ordinary person; whereas you are devoted to oratory to a degree that is remarkable, I may even say excessive, and you tolerate as speakers only those who are very clever.
[35.2] Nay, my purpose in coming forward is not to gain your admiration — for I could not gain that from you even were I to utter words more truthful than those of the Sibyl or of Bacis — but rather that no one may look askance at me or ask others who I am and whence I came. For at present quite possibly people suspect that I am one of your wiseacres, one of your know-it‑alls, basing their suspicion upon a ludicrous and absurd bit of evidence, namely, that I wear my hair long. For if long hair were accountable for virtue and sobriety, mankind would need no great power nor one difficult of attainment.
[35.3] However, I fear that fools get no good from their long hair, not even if they get shaggy to the very heart — as in the case of Aristomenes, the Messenian, who caused a deal of trouble for the Spartans, and who, though taken captive many times, always managed to escape from them — he, we are told, when at last he met his death, was found to be in that condition. I claim, therefore, that these nude philosophers get no good from their shagginess — not even if they should join the light infantry — at least with regard to justice and true sobriety and wisdom, nay, not even if they should strip off still more clothing and run about stark naked in winter time, or else adopt the garb of Medes and Arabs; just as they will not acquire proficiency with the flute by merely donning the costume of flautists. Neither can asses become horses even if they have their nostrils slit still more, or even if they have their jaws bored and a curb-chain placed between their teeth, or even if their pack-saddles are taken from them; nay, they will still bray before the walls right lustily and perform the other acts that befit their nature.
[35.4] Therefore, let no one suppose that my guise makes me different from any other man, or that it is this that gives me confidence to speak. On the contrary, let it be understood by all that I can see that, if I keep absolutely silent and do not talk with anyone at all, people are much more likely to distrust me, I fancy, as giving myself airs, as concealing something of importance — for, in fact, in many instances men have won admiration merely by reason of their silence; whereas, if I take my stand in your midst and show myself to be no better as a speaker than any huckster or muleteer, I see that none will be vexed with me, once they have seen for themselves what sort of man I am.
[35.5] This is virtually what you may see occurring with other men also. For example, when certain people suspect a man of having the very thing for which they happen to be searching, they go up to him and put him through a close questioning. If, then, he draws his cloak about him and declines to answer, they are all the more suspicious, but if he immediately unwraps and it becomes evident that he is concealing nothing, they go away convinced that they have been in error. You see, it is far better for those who are not seeking notoriety to disclose themselves to the people, and for a person by speaking to reveal himself for the benefit of those who can understand what sort of man he is. For I fancy that they will clearly show contempt for me, to judge by the treatment I have been receiving, and that we shall not understand one another, neither I my audience nor they their speaker. And the blame for this misunderstanding I would set down to my account rather than to yours.
[35.6] This, then, is one reason for my coming forward. But there is another reason — my fear that I myself may become spoiled through your suspicions of me and come to believe that there is actually something of importance in my make-up. For when many people display admiration for one man and consider him superior to the rest, great wisdom and strength of character are seemingly needed if he is to preserve his common sense and not be made a fool or be uplifted, as by wings, by the words of the crowd — as Homer has portrayed Achilles, through vainglory because of his new armour, being uplifted and in full career:
[35.7] To him they were as wings and raised aloft
The shepherd of the host.
[35.7b] And how great the power of the populace is to make men believe anything they please may perhaps best be learned from children: when a sane man is followed by urchins who keep calling him crazy. For at first the man goes away inwardly annoyed, and then, from constantly falling foul of them and reviling and chasing them one by one, he gets into that very state and ends by going mad, and the spoken word he took to be a manifestation of deity, not merely the utterance of men, but even that of boys.
[35.8] And, methinks, the tribe of sophists also owes its development to some such cause as this. When a lot of young men with nothing to do go leaping about a man with cries of admiration, as the Bacchants leap about Dionysus, inevitably that man after no great lapse of time will gain a reputation with many others for talking sensibly. Why, that is very much the way in which parents teach their children how to talk, expressing keen delight over anything the children may utter. Accordingly, in consequence of that applause, the children take courage and make further progress and keep speaking more and more distinctly, until finally they have mastered the language of their associates, be they Greeks or barbarians. The sophists also can’t help adopting the thought of their listeners, saying and thinking such things as fit the nature of those listeners, whatever it happens to be; but the majority of these are pretty much simpletons, victims of an unkind fate.
[35.10] Well then, conceivably there is no great risk involved if a man appears to himself and others to be clever, and draws in his train a crowd of fools — just as it is said of Orpheus, that he drew to himself trees and rocks and stones — but that, while himself a fool, a coward, intemperate, in no wise superior to dumb cattle, a man should believe that he has any claim to virtue and gentility — that indeed is utterly preposterous and a mark of the most grievous folly and madness. Nay, whenever fame lays hold upon a man and that sort of talk starts to smoulder, he should tear off his garments and leap forth naked upon the public highways, proving to all the world that he is no better than any other man. [10] And if someone follows at his heels claiming to be his pupil, he must try to drive him away, striking him with his fists and pelting him with clods of earth and stones, knowing that the fellow is either fool or knave.
[35.10b] However, my remarks are not levelled at all sophists, for there are some who follow that calling honourably and for the good of others, men to whom we should pour libation and offer incense; nay, I mean rather those whom they appoint to serve you as experts in wisdom, three or four long-haired persons like the high-priests of your local rites. I refer to the ‘blessed ones,’ who exercise authority over all your priests, whose title represents one of the two continents in its entirety. For these men too owe their ‘blessedness’ to crowns and purple and a throng of long-haired lads bearing frankincense.
[35.10c] Well then, whatever be the truth in these matters, let this suffice. However, I still maintain that long hair must not by any means be taken as a mark of virtue. For many human beings wear it long because of some deity; and farmers wear long hair, without ever having even heard the word philosophy; and, by Zeus, most barbarians also wear long hair, some for a covering and some because they believe it to be becoming. In none of these cases is a man subjected to odium or ridicule. [12] The reason may well be because their practice is correct. For instance, you observe that rabbits, weak creatures that they are, are protected by their shaggy coats, and that among the birds even the weakest find their feathers a sufficient protection against wind and rain. But as for us human beings, while we shear off our locks (just as horse-breeders shear the manes of mares that they plan to mate with asses) and also shave our beards, we make coverings for our heads. Yet we observes that cocks require nothing extra as human beings do, goat-skin coats and caps of felt and other similar coverings which we stitch together. And yet what cap of Arcadian or Laconian make could be more suitable than a man’s own hair? “Besides,” someone will ask, “what need is there for so many coverings for the body?” No need, at least for men of wealth; indeed they do not need hands or feet either.
[35.13] But [speaking of protection], I perceive that this city of yours is inferior to none of the first rank, and I rejoice with you and am content that it is so. For example, you occupy the strongest site and the richest on the continent; you are settled in the midst of plains and mountains of rare beauty; you have most abundant springs and a soil of greatest fertility, bearing, all told, unnumbered products,
[35.13b] Both wheat and spelt and broad-eared barley white;
[35.14] and many are the droves of cattle and many the flocks of sheep you tend and pasture. And as for rivers, the largest and most serviceable have their source here — the Marsyas yonder, bearing its waters through the midst of your city, and the Orgas, and the Maeander, by far the most godlike and the wisest of all rivers, a river which with its countless windings visits, one may almost say, all that is best in Asia. [14] Furthermore, you stand as a bulwark in front of Phrygia and Lydia and Caria besides; and there are other tribes around you whose members are most numerous, Cappadocians and Pamphylians and Pisidians, and for them all your city constitutes a market and a place of meeting. And also many cities unknown to fame and many prosperous villages are subject to your sway. And a very great index of your power is found in the magnitude of the contributions with which you are assessed. For, in my opinion, just as those beasts of burden are judged to be most powerful which carry the greatest loads, so also it is reasonable to suppose that those cities are the most considerable which pay the largest assessments.
[35.15] And what is more, the courts are in session every other year in Celaenae, and they bring together an unnumbered throng of people — litigants, jurymen, orators, princes, attendants, slaves, pimps, muleteers, hucksters, harlots, and artisans. Consequently not only can those who have goods to sell obtain the highest prices, but also nothing in the city is out of work, neither the teams nor the houses nor the women. [16] And this contributes not a little to prosperity; for wherever the greatest throng of people comes together, there necessarily we find money in greatest abundance, and it stands to reason that the place should thrive. For example, it is said, I believe, that the district in which the most flocks are quartered proves to be the best for the farmer because of the dung, and indeed many farmers entreat the shepherds to quarter their sheep on their land. [17] So it is, you see, that the business of the courts is deemed of highest importance toward a city’s strength and all men are interested in that as in nothing else. And the foremost cities share this business each in its turn in alternate years. However, it is said that now the interval is going to be longer, for they claim that the people resent being constantly driven here and there. Yes, you share also in the sanctuaries of Asia and in the expenditures they entail, quite as much as do these cities in which with the sanctuaries are.
[35.18] Accordingly I know of no city that is more favoured by fortune than Celaenae and no people that leads a better existence — save only the people of India. [18] For in India, according to the report, there are rivers, not of water as in your land, but one of milk, one of translucent wine, another of honey, and another of olive oil. And these streams spring from hills near by, as if from the breasts of Mother Earth. And also these products are immeasurably superior to those we have both in flavour and in potency. For what we have in our country we gather in scanty measure and with difficulty from certain animals and plants, crushing the fruits of trees and plants and extracting the food of living creatures by milking and by robbing the hive; while the products of India are altogether purer, untainted, methinks, by violence and ruthlessness. Moreover, the rivers flow during one month for the king, and that constitutes his tribute, while for the rest of the year they flow for the people.
[35.19] So every day the Indians assemble with their children and their wives at the springs and river-banks, sporting and laughing as if in expectation of a feast. And by the banks there grows the lotus — a sturdy plant and, one might say, the sweetest of all foods, not, as the lotus in our land, mere fodder for quadrupeds — and also much sesame and parsley, at least as one might judge from the outward similarity of those plants, although for quality they are not to be compared. And that country produces also another seed, a better food than wheat and barley and more wholesome. And it grows in huge calyxes, like those of roses but more fragrant and larger. This plant they eat, both root and fruit, at no expense of labour.
[35.20] And there are many canals which issue from the rivers, some large and some small, mingling with one another and made by man to suit his fancy. And by their aid the Indians convey with ease the fluids I have named, just as we convey the water of our gardens. And there are baths also close by at their disposal, the water of which in the one case is warm and whiter than silver and in the other it is blue from its depth and coldness. In these they swim, women and children together, all of them beautiful. And after the bath, I dare say, reclining in the meadows they sing and hum.
[35.21] And there are in that land meadows of utter beauty and a variety of flowering trees that provide shade from high above, though they bring their fruit within reach of all who wish to pluck it as the branches nod. And the birds charm them by their song, some seated in the meadows, a great flock of them, and some high up among the topmost branches, their notes more tuneful than those of our musical instruments. And a gentle breeze is ever blowing, and the climate is nearly constant throughout the year, and it resembles most closely that of early summer. And what is more, not only is their sky clearer, but also the stars are more numerous and more brilliant. And these people live more than four hundred years, and during all that time they are beautiful and youthful and neither old age nor disease nor poverty is found among them.
[35.22] So wonderful and so numerous are these blessings, and yet there are people called Brachmanes who, abandoning those rivers and the people scattered along their banks, turn aside and devote themselves to private speculation and meditation, undertaking amazing physical labours without compulsion and enduring fearful tests of endurance. And it is said that they have one special fountain, the Fountain of Truth, by far the best and most godlike of all, and that those who drink their fill thereof have never been known to lie. Regarding conditions in that land, then, it is a true story that you have heard. For some of those who have been there have vouched for it; though only a few do go there, in pursuit of trade, and they mingle only with the people of the coast. [23] And that branch of the Indian race is in low repute, and all the others say harsh things of them.
[35.23] It must be admitted that the people of India are more fortunate than you are, but that you are more fortunate than all the others — with the exception of just one more race of mortals, namely, those most rich in gold. And their gold is obtained from ants. These ants are larger than foxes, though in other respects similar to the ants we have. And they burrow in the earth, just as do all other ants. And that which is thrown out by their burrowing is gold, the purest of all gold and the most resplendent. Now there are close to one another a series of what might be called hills of gold dust, and the whole plain is agleam. Therefore it is difficult to look thereon in the sunlight, and many of those who have made the attempt have lost their sight. [24] But the people who live near that land, having traversed the intervening territory (desert land of no great extent) in chariots drawn by horses of greatest speed, arrive at midday, at which time the ants have gone underground; and then these men seize the gold that has been cast forth and flee. And the ants, becoming aware of what has happened, give chase, and, having overtaken their quarry, fight until they either meet their death or kill the foe — for they are the most valiant of all creatures. And so these at any rate know what their gold is worth, and they even die sooner than give it up.
[35.25] Well then, what other people among the nations of our time are said to be fortunate? The people of Byzantium, who enjoy a most fertile land and a sea abounding in fruits. But they have neglected the land because of the excellence of the sea. For whereas the land produces its fruits for them only after a long interval of time and toil is required to secure them, the sea yields up its treasures at once without any labour on their part.

## THE THIRTY-SIXTH, OR BORYSTHENITIC, DISCOURSE WHICH DIO DELIVERED IN HIS NATIVE LAND

IN THIS DISCOURSE Dio recounts for the benefit of his fellow-townsmen a conversation which took place between himself and certain citizens of Borysthenes in Pontus. Borysthenes was an ancient Greek trading-centre near the mouth of the Hypanis (Bug), and Dio states that he had gone there in the hope of pushing into the interior for the purpose of visiting the Getae, whose culture he was to describe in Τὰ Γετικά, a work no longer extant.
Arnim holds that Dio was in Borysthenes in A.D. 95 and suggests that his failure to reach the land of the Getae at that time may have been due to trouble between Rome and Dacia. It is plain that he had met with disappointment and that people knew of his purpose to leave Borysthenes by ship. If Arnim’s date is correct, his destination could hardly have Prusa — despite the word οἴκαδε used by Hieroson in section 25 — for in A.D. 95 he was still an exile. However, he seems to have been at home as early as A.D. 97, and Arnim supplies arguments in favour of A.D. 101 as the year in which he made this report to the people of Prusa.
The narrative opens in leisurely manner and with a natural charm somewhat reminiscent of the opening of Plato’s Phaedrus, to which, indeed, Dio may have owed also some of the ideas to which he gives expression, although for the most part he seems to be employing Stoic doctrine. In the course of his account he introduces a myth which he ascribes to the Zoroastrian lore of the Magi. That myth is responsible for not a little of the fame enjoyed by this Discourse. Dio, like Plato, was fond of myths and used them to good advantage. Some of them at least are believed to have been his own invention; what shall we say of this one?
It would not be surprising if the Greek world of that day had some acquaintance with Zoroastrianism. The name Zoroaster occurs in Greek as early as the pseudo-Platonic Alcibiades, and Herodotus, Xenophon, Strabo, and other Greeks who antedate Dio have not a little to tell of the Magi, some of the information being demonstrably authentic. Hirzel (Der Dialog) is of the opinion that, whatever may be true of other myths in Dio, this one at least emanates from Zoroastrian sources, and Jackson (Zoroastrian Studies) shares that belief, though admitting that ‘the conception may have received some Greek colouring in its transmission.’ Whatever Dio’s indebtedness to the Magi, resemblances between their extant records and this myth are so slight as to warrant the belief that in its present form it is Dio’s own creation, in the formation of which he may have drawn upon more than one source of inspiration, among which it seems safe to suggest the Phaedrus and the Timaeus of Plato, as well as familiar Stoic concepts on related subjects.
The Thirty-sixth, or Borysthenitic, Discourse which Dio delivered in his Native Land
[36.1] I happened to be visiting in Borysthenes during the summer, for I had sailed there then, after my exile, with the purpose of making my way, if possible, through Scythia to the Getan country, in order to observe conditions there. Well, one day toward noon I was strolling along the Hypanis. I should explain that, although the city has taken its name from the Borysthenes because of the beauty and the size of that river, the actual position, not only of the present city, but also of its predecessor, is on the bank of the Hypanis, not far above what is called Cape Hippolaüs, on the opposite shore. [2] This part of the land, near where the two rivers meet, is as sharp and firm as the beak of a ship. But from there on these rivers form a marshy lake down to the sea for a distance of approximately two hundred stades; and the breadth of the two rivers in that district is not less than that. The fact is that most of that stretch consists of shoals, and in fair weather unruffled calm prevails as in a swamp. But on the right there are signs of a river, and sailors inward bound judge its depth by the current. And this explains why the water does make its way out to sea, because of the strength of the current; but for that it would easily be held in check when the south wind blows strongly dead against it. [3] As for the rest, we have only muddy shore overgrown with reeds and trees. And many of the trees are to be seen even in the midst of the marsh, so as to resemble masts of ships; and at times some who were less familiar with those waters have lost their way, supposing that they were approaching ships. And it is here also that we find the vast number of salt-works from which most of the barbarians buy their salt, as do also those Greeks and Scythians who occupy the Tauric Chersonese. The rivers empty into the sea near the Castle of Alector, which is said to belong to the wife of the Sauromatian king.
[36.4] The city of Borysthenes, as to its size, does not correspond to its ancient fame, because of its ever-repeated seizure and its wars. For since the city has lain in the midst of barbarians now for so long a time — barbarians, too, who are virtually the most warlike of all — it is always in a state of war and has often been captured, the last and most disastrous capture occurring not more than one hundred and fifty years ago. And the Getae on that occasion seized not only Borysthenes but also the other cities along the left shore of Pontus as far as Apollonia. [5] For that reason the fortunes of the Greeks in that region reached a very low ebb indeed, some of them being no longer united to form cities, while others enjoyed but a wretched existence as communities, and it was mostly barbarians who flocked to them. Indeed many cities have been captured in many parts of Greece, inasmuch as Greece lies scattered in many regions. But after Borysthenes had been taken on the occasion mentioned, its people once more formed a community, with the consent of the Scythians, I imagine, because of their need for traffic with the Greeks who might use that port. For the Greeks had stopped sailing to Borysthenes when the city was laid waste, inasmuch as they had no people of common speech to receive them, and the Scythians themselves had neither the ambition nor the knowledge to equip a trading-centre of their own after the Greek manner.
[36.6] Evidence of the destruction of Borysthenes is visible both in the sorry nature of its buildings and in the contraction of the city within narrow bounds. For it has been built adjacent to one section of the ancient circuit-wall where a few towers, but only a few, yet remain, not at all in keeping with the original size or power of the city. The intervening space in that quarter has been blocked off by means of the houses, built so as to form a continuous whole. However, a bit of wall has been constructed parallel to this line of houses, quite low and weak. As for the towers, there are some which stand quite apart from the portion of the city that is now inhabited, so that you would not surmise that they once belonged to a single city. These, then, are clear tokens of the city’s capture, as well as the fact that not a single statue remains undamaged among those that are in the sanctuaries, one and all having suffered mutilation, as is true also of the funeral monuments.
[36.7] Well, as I was saying, I chanced to be strolling outside the city, and there came to meet me from within the walls some of the people of Borysthenes, as was their custom. Thereupon Callistratus at first came riding by us on horseback on his way from somewhere outside of town, but when he had gone a short distance beyond us, he dismounted, and, entrusting his horse to his attendant, he himself drew near in very proper fashion, having drawn his arm beneath his mantle. Suspended from his girdle he had a great cavalry sabre, and he was wearing trousers and all the rest of the Scythian costume, and from his shoulders there hung a small black cape of thin material, as is usual with the people of Borysthenes. In fact the rest of their apparel in general is regularly black, through the influence of a certain tribe of Scythians, the Blackcloaks, so named by the Greeks doubtless for that very reason.
[36.8] Callistratus was about eighteen years of age, very tall and handsome, having much of the Ionian in his appearance. And it was said also that in matters pertaining to warfare he was a man of courage, and that many of the Sauromatians he had either slain or taken captive. He had become interested also in oratory and philosophy, so that he had his heart set on sailing away in my company. For all these reasons, then, he was in high repute with his fellow-townsmen, and not least of all because of his beauty, and he had many lovers. For this practice has continued among them as a heritage from the city of their origin — I refer to the love of man for man — so much so that they are likely to make converts of some of the barbarians, for no good end, I dare say, but rather as those people would adopt such a practice, that is to say, like barbarians and not without licentiousness.
[36.9] Knowing, then, that Callistratus was fond of Homer, I immediately began to question him about the poet. And practically all the people of Borysthenes also have cultivated an interest in Homer, possibly because of their still being a warlike people, although it may also be due to their regard for Achilles, for they honour him exceedingly, and they have actually established two temples for his worship, one on the island that bears his name and one in their city; and so they do not wish even to hear about any other poet than Homer. And although in general they no longer speak Greek distinctly, because they live in the midst of barbarians, still almost all at least know the Iliad by heart.
[36.10] Accordingly I said to him by way of jest, “Callistratus, which do you think is the better poet, Homer or Phocylides?” And he laughed and said, “Why, as for myself, I do not even know the other poet’s name, and I suppose that none of these men does, either. For we do not believe in any other poet than Homer. But as for Homer, you might say that no man alive is ignorant of him. For Homer is the only one whom their poets recall in their compositions, and it is their habit to recite his verses on many an occasion, but invariably they employ his poetry to inspire their troops when about to enter battle, just as the songs of Tyrtaeus used to be employed in Lacedaemon. Moreover, all these poets are blind, and they do not believe it possible for any one to become a poet otherwise.”
[36.11] “That at any rate,” said I, “their poets caught from Homer, as it were from a case of sore eyes. But as for Phocylides, while you people do not know him, as you state, for all that he is certainly rated among the famous poets. Therefore, just as, when a merchant sails into your port who has never been there before, you do not immediately scorn him but, on the contrary, having first tasted his wine and sampled any other merchandise in his cargo, you buy it if it suits your taste, otherwise you pass it by; just so,” said I, “with the poetry of Phocylides you may take a sample of small compass. [12] For he is not one of those who string together a long and continuous poem as your Homer does, who uses more than five thousand verses of continuous narration in describing a single battle; on the contrary, the poems of Phocylides have both beginning and end in two or three verses. And so he adds his name to each sentiment, in the belief that it is a matter of interest and great importance, in so doing behaving quite differently from Homer, who nowhere in his poetry names himself. [13] Or don’t you think Phocylides had good reason for attaching his name to a maxim and declaration such as this?
[36.11b] This too the saying of Phocylides:
The law-abiding town, though small and set
On a lofty rock, outranks mad Nineveh.
[36.11c] Why, in comparison with the entire Iliad and Odyssey are not these verses noble to those who pay heed as they listen? Or was it more to your advantage to hear of the impetuous leaping and charging of Achilles, and about his voice, how by his shouts alone he routed the Trojans? Are those things more useful for you to learn by heart than what you just have heard, that a small city on a rugged headland is better and more fortunate, if orderly, than a great city in a smooth and level plain, that is to say, if that city is conducted in disorderly and lawless fashion by men of folly?’
[36.14] And Callistratus, receiving my remarks with no great pleasure, replied, “My friend, we admire and respect you greatly; for otherwise no man in Borysthenes would have tolerated your saying such things of Homer and Achilles. For Achilles is our god, as you observe, and Homer ranks almost next to the gods in honour.” And I in turn, wishing to appease him and at the same time to guide him in the direction of his own advantage, said, “I beg you to forgive me, to use the Homeric phrase,
[36.14b] ‘if aught of harm hath now been spoken.’
[36.15] For some other time we shall praise both Achilles and Homer in so far as the poet seems to us to speak correctly. [15] But now we might well consider the case of Phocylides, since in my opinion he speaks very nobly regarding the city.” “Pray do so,” said he, “since you can see that all these men now present are just as eager as I am to listen to you, and that for that very reason they have streamed together here beside the river, although in no very tranquil state of mind. For of course you know that yesterday the Scythians made a raid at noon and put to death some of the outposts who were not on their guard, and in all likelihood took others captive; for we do not yet know definitely about that, because their rout took them some distance away; for their flight was not toward the city.”
[36.16] And in truth it was precisely as he had said, and not only were the city gates fast shut but also there had been hoisted on the ramparts the standard that betokens war. Yet they were such ardent listeners, so truly Greek in character, that almost all the inhabitants were present, under arms, eager to hear me. And I, admiring their earnestness, said, “If it please you, shall we go and sit down somewhere in the city? For perchance at present not all can hear equally well what is said as we stroll; on the contrary, those in the rear find it difficult themselves and also make it difficult for those ahead through their eagerness to get closer.” [17] And no sooner had I made this suggestion than they all set out together for the temple of Zeus, where they are wont to meet in council. And while the eldest and the most distinguished and the officials sat on benches in a circle, the rest of the company stood close by, for there was a large open space before the temple. A philosopher would have been vastly pleased at the sight, because all were like the ancient Greeks described by Homer, long-haired and with flowing beards, and only one among them was shaven, and he was subjected to the ridicule and resentment of them all. And it was said that he practised shaving, not as an idle fancy, but out of flattery of the Romans and to show his friendship toward them. And so one could have seen illustrated in his case how disgraceful the practice is and how unseemly for real men.
[36.18] But when quiet had been secured, I said that in my opinion they did well, seeing that they dwelt in a city that was ancient and Greek, in wishing to hear about a city. “And,” said I, “surely the first essential is that we should know precisely the true nature of the thing about which we are to speak; for in that way you would at the same time have perceived what its attributes are. For most men,” said I, “know and employ merely the names of things, but are ignorant of the things themselves. [19] On the other hand, men who are educated make it their business to know also the meaning of everything of which they speak. For example, anthropos is a term used by all who speak Greek, but if you should ask any one of them what anthropos really is — I mean what its attributes are and wherein it differs from any other thing — he could not say, but could only point to himself or to some else in true barbarian fashion. But man who has expert knowledge, when asked what anthropos is, replies that it is a mortal animal endowed with reason. For that happens to be true of anthropos alone and of nothing else. [20] Well, in that way also the term ‘city’ is said to mean a group of anthropoi dwelling in the same place and governed by law. It is immediately evident, therefore, that that term belongs to none of those communities which are called cities but are without wisdom and without law. Consequently not even in referring to Nineveh could the poet use the term ‘city,’ since Nineveh is given over to folly. For just as that person is not even an anthropos who does not also possess the attribute of reason, so that community is not even a city which lacks obedience to law. And it could never be obedient to law if it is foolish and disorderly.
[36.21] Perhaps, then, someone might inquire whether, when the rulers and leaders of a community are men of prudence and wisdom, and it is in accordance with their judgement that the rest are governed, lawfully and sanely, such a community may be called sane and law-abiding and really a city because of those who govern it; just as a chorus might possibly be termed musical provided its leader were musical and provided further that the other members followed this lead and uttered no sound contrary to the melody that he set — or only slight sounds and indistinctly uttered. [22] For no one knows of a good city made wholly of good elements as having existed in the past, that is, a city of mortal men, nor is it worth while to conceive of such a city as possibly arising in the future, unless it be a city of the blessed gods in heaven, by no means motionless or inactive, but vigorous and progressive, its guides and leaders being gods, exempt from strife and defeat. For it is impious to suppose that gods indulge in strife or are subject to defeat, either by one another, friends as they are, or by more powerful beings; on the contrary, we must think of them as performing their several functions without let or hindrance and with unvarying friendship of all toward all in common, the most conspicuous among them each pursuing an independent course — I don’t mean wandering aimlessly and senselessly, but rather dancing a dance of happiness coupled with wisdom and supreme intelligence — while the rest of the celestial host are swept along by the general movement, the entire heaven having one single purpose and impulse.
[36.23] For that, indeed, is the only constitution or city that may be called genuinely happy — the partnership of god with god; even if you include with the gods also everything that has the faculty of reason, mankind being thus included as boys are said to share in citizenship with men, being citizens by birth though not by reason of conceiving and performing the tasks of citizens or sharing in the law, of which they have no comprehension. However, if we take communities of a different kind, though everywhere and in every instance, we may almost say, they are absolutely faulty and worthless as compared with the supreme righteousness of the divine and blessed law and its proper administration, still for our present purpose we shall be supplied with examples of the type that is fairly equitable when compared with that which is utterly corrupt, just as among persons who are all ill we compare the man who had the lightest case with the one who is in worst condition.”
[36.24] Well then, I was launching forth upon that general line in my discussion, when one of those who were present, the eldest in the company and held in high esteem, spoke up, interrupting me, and in a very guarded manner said, “Stranger, pray do not think it boorish or barbarous of me to intervene in the midst of your discourse. For while in your country such conduct is not good manners, because of the great abundance of philosophical discussions and because one may listen to many men upon any topic he may desire, in ours this visit of yours to our city seems almost a miraculous event. [25] As a usual thing those who come here are nominally Greeks but actually more barbarous than ourselves, traders and market-men, fellows who import cheap rags and vile wine and export in exchange products of no better quality. But you would appear to have been sent to us by Achilles himself from his holy isle, and we are very glad to see you and very glad also to listen to whatever you have to say. However, we do not believe that this visit of yours is to be of very long duration, nor do we desire it to be, but rather that you may have a prosperous voyage home as speedily as possible. [26] Now therefore, since in your remarks you have touched upon the divine form of government, I myself am tremendously excited, and I see that my friends here also are all worked up in anticipation of that theme. The fact is that in our opinion everything you have said has been magnificently expressed, in a manner not unworthy of your theme, and precisely as we should most desire to hear. For although we are unacquainted with this more refined form of philosophy, yet we are, as you know, lovers of Homer, and some, not many, lovers of Plato too. To this latter group I myself belong, for I always read his writings as best I can; and yet it may perhaps seem odd that one who speaks the poorest Greek of all the people of Borysthenes should delight in the man who is most Greek and most wise and should cultivate that man’s society, quite as if a person almost wholly blind were to shun every other light but turn his gaze upward to the sun itself.
[36.27] “This, then, is our situation; and if you wish to do us all a favour, postpone your discussion of the mortal city — possibly our neighbours may after all grant us leisure tomorrow, and not compel us to exert ourselves against them as is generally our wont — and tell us instead about that divine city or government, whichever you prefer to call it, stating where it is and what it is like, aiming as closely as possible at Plato’s nobility of expression, just as but now you seemed to us to do. For if we understand nothing else, we do at least understand his language because of our long familiarity with it, for it has a lofty sound, not far removed from the voice of Homer.”
[36.28] I in turn was exceedingly pleased with the simple frankness of the old gentleman, and with a laugh I said, “My dear Hieroson, if yesterday when the enemy made their attack you had bidden me to take up arms and give battle like Achilles, I should have obeyed one part of your injunction, endeavouring to come to the aid of men who are my friends; but the other part, I fancy, I could not have managed, however much I should have wished to do so, to fight as your Achilles did. Similarly in the present instance also I will do part of what you bid — I will strive to tell my story as best I can in my own way;
[36.28b] Though ancient heroes I’ll not try to match,
[36.29] whether it be Plato or Homer. For, you remember, the poet says that in the case of Eurytus himself such rivalry worked not to his advantage, since it was aimed at his superiors. However, I shall not lack for devotion,” I added. [29] Yet, despite my brave words to Hieroson, I was moved and heaved a sigh, as it were, when I bethought me of Homer and Plato.
[36.30] “Well then,” said I, “the term ‘city’ must be taken on the understanding that our sect is not literally defining the universe as a city; for that would be in direct conflict with our doctrine of the city, which, as I have said, the Stoics define as an organization of human beings; and at the same time it would possibly not be suitable or convincing, if, after stating in the strict sense of the term that the universe is a living creature, they should then call it a city, [30] for that the same thing is both a city and a living being is a proposition that, I imagine, no one would readily consent to entertain. Yet the present orderly constitution of the universe ever since the whole has been separated and divided into a considerable number of forms of plants and animals, mortal and immortal, yes, and into air and earth and water and fire, being nevertheless by nature in all these forms one thing and governed by one spirit and force — this orderly constitution, I say, the Stoics do in one way or another liken to a city because of the multitude of the creatures that are constantly either being born or else ending their existence in it, and, furthermore, because of the arrangement and orderliness of its administration.
[36.31] “This doctrine, in brief, aims to harmonize the human race with the divine, and to embrace in a single term everything endowed with reason, finding in reason the only sure and indissoluble foundation for fellowship and justice. For in keeping with that concept the term ‘city’ would be applied, not, of course, to an organization that has chanced to get mean or petty leaders nor to one which through tyranny or democracy or, in fact, through decarchy or oligarchy or any other similar product of imperfection, is being torn to pieces and made the victim of constant party faction. Nay, term would be applied rather to an organization that is governed by the sanest and noblest form of kingship, to one that is actually under royal governance in accordance with law, in complete friendship and concord. [32] And this, indeed, is precisely what the wisest and eldest ruler and law-giver ordains for all, both mortals and immortals, he who is the leader of all the heaven and lord of all being, himself thus expounding the term and offering his own administration as a pattern of the happy and blessed condition, he whom the divine bards, instructed by the Muses, praise in song and call the ‘father of gods and men.’
[36.33] “For the chances are, indeed, that poets as a class are not utterly bad marksmen when they speak of sacred things and that they are not missing the mark when they use such expressions as that repeatedly; on the other hand, it is not likely that they have received a real initiation according to the rites and regulations of true initiates, or that with reference to the universe they know anything, if I may say so, which is true and clear. But we may think of them as merely like the attendants at the rites, who stand outside at the doors, decking portals and the altars which are in full view and attending to the other preparations of that kind but never passing within. Indeed that is the very reason why the poets call themselves ‘attendants of the Muses,’ not initiates or any other august name. [34] So, as I was saying, it is reasonable to suppose that not only do those who busy themselves near some ritual, hard by the entrance to the sanctuary, gain some inkling of what is going on within, when either a lone mystic phrase rings out loudly, or fire appears above the enclosure, but also that there comes sometimes to the poets — I mean the very ancient poets — some utterance from the Muses, however brief, some inspiration of divine nature and of divine truth, like a flash of fire from the invisible. This is what happened to Homer and Hesiod when they were possessed by the Muses. [35] But the poets who came after them in later days, bringing to stage and theatre naught but their own wisdom, uninitiate addressing initiate, have ofttimes disclosed imperfect patterns of holy rites; but, being applauded by the multitude, they tried in their own right to initiate the mob, actually, as we might say, building open booths for Bacchic rites at tragic crossroads.
[36.36] “Yet all these poets in precisely the same fashion call the first and greatest god Father of the whole rational family collectively, yes, and King besides. [36] And trusting to these poets men erect altars to Zeus the King and, what is more, some do not hesitate even to call him Father in their prayers, believing that there exists some such government and organization of the universe as that. Therefore, from that standpoint at least, it seems to me, they would not hesitate to apply the term ‘home of Zeus’ to the entire universe — if indeed he is father of all who live in it — yes, by Zeus, and his ‘city’ too, our Stoic similitude, to suggest the greater office of the god. [37] For kingship is a word more appropriate to a city than to a home. For surely men would not apply the term King to him who is over all and then refuse to admit that the whole is governed by a king, nor would they admit that they are governed by a king and then deny that they are members of a state or that there is a kingly administration of the universe. And again, conceding ‘administration,’ they would not balk at accepting ‘city,’ or something very like it, as descriptive of that which is administered.
[36.38] “This, then, is the theory of the philosophers, a theory which sets up a noble and benevolent fellowship of gods and men which gives a share in law and citizenship, not to all living beings whatsoever, but only to such as have a share in reason and intellect, introducing a far better and more righteous code than that of Sparta, in accordance with which the Helots have no prospect of ever becoming Spartans, and consequently are constantly plotting against Sparta.
[36.39] “Moreover, there is besides a myth which arouses admiration as sung in secret rites by the Magi, who extol this god of ours as being the perfect and original driver of the most perfect chariot. For the chariot of Helius, they claim, is relatively recent when compared with that of Zeus, though visible to the many because its course is run in full view. Therefore, they say, the chariot of Helius has enjoyed a reputation with all mankind, since the poets, beginning practically with the earliest times, so it would seem, are always telling of its rising and its setting, all in the same manner describing the yoking of the horses and Helius himself mounting his car.
[36.40] “But the mighty, perfect chariot of Zeus has never been praised as it deserves by any of the poets of our land, either by Homer or by Hesiod; and yet Zoroaster sings of it, as do the children of the Magi, who learned the song from him. For the Persians say that Zoroaster, because of a passion for wisdom and justice, deserted his fellows and dwelt by himself on a certain mountain; and they say that thereupon the mountain caught fire, a mighty flame descending from the sky above, and that it burned unceasingly. So then the king and the most distinguished of his Persians drew near for the purpose of praying to the god; and Zoroaster came forth from the fire unscathed, and, showing himself gracious toward them, bade them to be of good cheer and to offer certain sacrifices in recognition of the god’s having come to that place. [41] And thereafter, so they say, Zoroaster has associated, not with them all, but only with such as are best endowed with regard to the truth, and are best able to understand the god, men whom the Persians have named Magi, that is to say, people who know how to cultivate the divine power, not like the Greeks, who in their ignorance use the term to denote wizards. And all else that those Magi do is in accordance with sacred sayings, and in particular they maintain for Zeus a team of Nisaean horses — and these horses are the finest and largest to be found in Asia — but for Helius they maintain only a single horse.
[36.42] “These Magi narrate their myth, not in the manner of our prophets of the Muses, who merely present each detail with much plausibility, but rather with stubborn insistence upon its truthfulness. For they assert that the universe is constantly being propelled and driven along a single path, as by a charioteer endowed with highest skill and power, and that this movement goes on unceasingly in unceasing cycles of time. And the coursing of Helius and Selenê, according to their account, is the movement of portions of the whole, and for that reason it is more clearly perceived by mankind. And they add that the movement and revolution of the universe as a whole is not perceptible to the majority of mankind, but that, on the contrary, they are ignorant of the magnitude of this contest.
[36.43] “What follows regarding the horses and their driving I really am ashamed to tell in the manner in which the Magi set it forth in their narrative, since they are not very much concerned to secure consistency at all points in their presentation of the picture. In fact, quite possibly I may appear absurd when, in contrast with Greek lays of grace and charm, I chant one that is barbarian; but still I must make the venture.
[36.44] “According to the Magi, that one of the horses which is the highest in the heavens is immeasurably superior in beauty, size, and speed, since it has the outside track and runs the longest course, a horse sacred to Zeus himself. Furthermore, it is a winged creature, brilliant in colour with the brilliance of the purest flame; and in it Helius and Selenê are to be seen as conspicuous signs or marks — like, I fancy, the marks which horses bear here on earth, some crescent-shaped and some of other patterns. [44] And they say that these ‘marks’ appear to us to be in close array, as it were great sparks of fire darting about in the midst of brilliant light, and yet that each has its own independent motion. Furthermore, the other stars also which are visible through that Horse of Zeus, one and all being natural parts of it, in some instances revolve along with it and have the same motion, and in others follow different tracks. And they add that among men these stars which are associated with the Horse of Zeus have each its own particular name; whereas the rest are treated collectively in groups, distributed so as to form certain figures or patterns.
[36.45] “Well then, the horse that is most brilliant and most spangled with stars and dearest to Zeus himself, being praised by the Magi in their hymns for some such attributes as these, quite properly stands first in sacrifice and worship as being truly first. Next in order after that, in closest contact with the Horse of Zeus, comes one that bears the name of Hera, a horse obedient to the rein and gentle, but far inferior in strength and speed. In colour this horse is of its own nature black, but that portion which receives the light of Helius is regularly bright, whereas where it is in shadow in its revolution it has its own proper colour. [46] Third comes a horse that is sacred to Poseidon, still slower than the second. Regarding this steed the poets have a myth to the effect that its counterpart appeared among men — he whom they call Pegasus, methinks — and they claim that he caused a fountain to burst forth at Corinth by pawing with his hoof. But the fourth is the strangest conception of them all, a horse both firm and immovable, to say nothing of its having no wings, and it is named after Hestia. However, the Magi do not shrink from its portrayal; on the contrary, they state that this steed also is harnessed to the chariot, and yet it remains immovable, champing its adamantine curb. [47] And from all sides the other horses press close to him with their bodies and the pair that are his neighbours swerve toward him abreast, falling upon him, as it were, and crowding him, yet the horse that is farthest off is ever first to round that stationary steed as horses round the turn in the hippodrome.
[36.48] “Now for the most part the horses continue in peace and friendship, unharmed by one another. But on one occasion in the past, in the course of a long space of time and many revolutions of the universe, a mighty blast from the first horse fell from on high, and, as might have been expected from such a fiery-tempered steed, inflamed the others, and more especially the last in order; and the fire encompassed not alone its mane, which formed its personal pride, but the whole universe as well. [48] And the Magi say that the Greeks, recording this experience as an isolated occurrence, connect it with the name of Phaethon, since they are unable to criticize the driving of Zeus and are loath to find fault with the coursings of Helius. And so they relate that a younger driver, a mortal son of Helius, desiring a sport that was to prove grievous and disastrous for all mankind, besought his father to let him mount his car and, plunging along in disorderly fashion, consumed with fire everything, both animals and plants, and finally was himself destroyed, being smitten by too powerful a flame.
[36.49] “Again, when at intervals of several years the horse that is sacred to Poseidon and the Nymphs rebels, having become panic-stricken and agitated beyond his wont, he overwhelms with copious sweat that same steed, since they two are yoke-mates. Accordingly it meets with fate which is the opposite of the disaster previously mentioned, this time being deluged with a mighty flood. And the Magi state that here again the Greeks, through youthful ignorance and faulty memory, record this flood as a single occurrence and claim that Deucalion, who was then king, saved them from complete destruction.
[36.50] “According to the Magi, these rare occurrences are viewed by mankind as taking place for their destruction, and not in accord with reason or as a part of the order of the universe, being unaware that they occur quite properly and in keeping with the plan of the preserver and governor of the world. For in reality it is comparable with what happens when a charioteer punishes one of his horses, pulling hard upon the rein or pricking with the goad; and then the horse prances and is thrown into a panic but straightway settles down to its proper gait.
[36.51] “Well then, this is one kind of driving of which they tell, attended by violence but not involving the complete destruction of the universe. [51] On the other hand, they tell also of a different kind that involves the movement and change of all four horses, one in which they shift among themselves and interchange their forms until all come together into one being, having been overcome by that one which is superior in power. And yet this movement also the Magi dare to liken to the guidance and driving of a chariot, though to do so they need even stranger imagery. For instance, it is as if some magician were to mould horses out of wax, and then, subtracting and scraping off the wax from each, should add a little now to this one and now to that, until finally, having used up all the horses in constructing one from the four, he should fashion a single horse out of all his material. [52] They state, however, that in reality the process to which they refer is not like that of such inanimate images, in which the craftsman operates and shifts the material from without, but that instead the transformation is the work of these creatures themselves, just as if they were striving for victory in a contest that is great and real. And they add that the victory and its crown belong of necessity to that horse which is first and best in speed and prowess and general excellence, I mean to that one which we named in the beginning of our account as the special steed of Zeus. [53] For that one, being most valiant of all and fiery by nature, having speedily used up the others — as if, methinks, they were truly made of wax — in no great span of time (though to us it seems endless according to our reckoning) and having appropriated to itself all the substance of them all, appeared much greater and more brilliant than formerly; not through the aid of any other creature, either mortal or immortal, but by itself and its own efforts proving victor in the greatest contest. And, standing tall and proud, rejoicing in its victory, it not only seized the largest possible region but also needed larger space at that time, so great was its strength and its spirit.
[36.54] “Having arrived at that stage in their myth, the Magi are embarrassed in search of a name to describe the nature of the creature of their own invention. For they say that now by this time it is simply the soul of the charioteer and master; or, let us say, merely the intellect and leadership of that soul. (Those, in fact, are the terms we ourselves employ when we honour and reverence the greatest god by noble deeds and pious words). [55] For indeed, when the mind alone had been left and had filled with itself immeasurable space, since it had poured itself evenly in all directions and nothing in it remained dense but complete porosity prevailed — at which time it becomes most beautiful — having obtained the purest nature of unadulterated light, it immediately longed for the existence that it had at first. Accordingly, becoming enamoured of that control and governance and concord which it once maintained not only over the three natures of sun and moon and the other stars, but also over absolutely all animals and plants, it became eager to generate and distribute everything and to make the orderly universe then existent once more far better and more resplendent because newer. [56] And emitting a full flash of lightning, not a disorderly or foul one such as in stormy weather often darts forth, when the clouds drive more violently than usual, but rather pure and unmixed with any murk, it worked a transformation easily, with the speed of thought. But recalling Aphroditê and the process of generation, it tamed and relaxed itself and, quenching much of its light, it turned into fiery air of gentle warmth, and uniting with Hera and enjoying the most perfect wedlock, in sweet repose it emitted anew the full supply of seed for the universe. Such is the blessed marriage of Zeus and Hera of which the sons of sages sing in secret rites. [57] And having made fluid all his essence, one seed for the entire world, he himself moving about in it like a spirit that moulds and fashions in generation, then indeed most closely resembling the composition of the other creatures, inasmuch as he might with reason be said to consist of soul and body, he now with ease moulds and fashions all the rest, pouring about him his essence smooth and soft and easily yielding in every part.
[36.58] “And having performed his task and brought it to completion, he revealed the existent universe as once more a thing of beauty and inconceivable loveliness, much more resplendent, indeed, than it appears to‑day. For not only, I ween, are all other works of craftsmen better and brighter when fresh from the artistic hand of their maker, but also the younger specimens of plants are more vigorous than the old and altogether like young shoots. And indeed animals, too, are charming attractive to behold right after their birth, not merely the most beautiful among them — colts and calves and puppies — but even the whelps of wild animals of the most savage kind. [59] For, on the one hand, the nature of man is helpless and feeble like Demeter’s tender grain, but when it has progressed to the full measure of its prime, it is a stronger and more conspicuous creation than any plant at all. However, the entire heaven and universe when first it was completed, having been put in order by the wisest and noblest craft, just released from the hand of the creator, brilliant and translucent and brightly beaming in all its parts, remained helpless for no time at all, nor weak with the weakness that nature ordains for man and other mortal beings, but, on the contrary, was fresh and vigorous from the very beginning. [60] At that time, therefore, the Creator and Father of the World, beholding the work of his hands, was not by any means merely pleased, for that is a lowly experience of lowly beings; nay, he rejoiced and was delighted exceedingly,
[36.58b] As on Olympus he sat, and his heart did laugh
For joy, beholding the gods
who were now all created and present before him.”
[36.61] But the form of the universe at that moment — I mean both the bloom and the beauty of that which is for ever ineffably beauteous — no man could conceive and fitly express, neither among men of our time nor among those of former days, but only the Muses and Apollo with the divine rhythm of their pure and consummate harmony. [61] For that reason let us also refrain for the present, now that we have not shirked exalting the myth to the best of our power. And if the form of that myth has turned out to be utterly lofty and indistinct, just as those who are expert in augury declare that the bird which ascends too high into the heavens hides itself in the clouds makes divination incomplete, still it is not I whom you should blame, but rather the insistence of those men of Borysthenes, because it was they who bade me speak that day.

## THE THIRTY-SEVENTH DISCOURSE: THE CORINTHIAN ORATION

THIS DISCOURSE IS plainly not the work of Dio. It is inferior in style, replete with allusions, and often out of harmony with accepted tradition as to matters of history. Moreover, the speaker calls himself a Roman (§§ 25 and 26). Emperius long ago named Favorinus as the author, and that identification has met with general approval.
The most detailed information regarding Favorinus is provided by Philostratus, Vitae Sophistarum 1.8, though Aulus Gellius, who had studied under Favorinus, often praises his learning. Favorinus was a native of Arelatêº (Arles). He may have obtained his early education at Marseilles, where he could have acquired that facility with the Greek language of which he was so proud (§§ , , ). According to Philostratus, he was said to have listened to Dio, but to have been “as far removed from him as those who hadn’t.” He created a great stir in Rome, even among those who knew no Greek but were “charmed by the sound of his voice, the significance of his glance, and the rhythm of his tongue.”
Favorinus at first enjoyed the favour of Hadrian, but he lost it, at least for a time, when accused of adultery with the wife of a consul. In consequence, the Athenians threw down the bronze statue with which they had honoured him. It is perhaps that incident to which he makes veiled allusion in § 35. One infers from §§ 32‑ that Corinth had taken similar action for the same reason, but the peroration, in which the speaker seems to be apostrophizing the missing statue, is very mystifying. A literal reading of the passage would lead to the supposition that there is some hocus pocus by means of which the statue is suddenly placed on view, a prearranged unveiling, as it were. However, Edmonds may be right (Lyra Graeca, I, L. C. L.) in identifying the σιγηλὸν εἴδωλον of § 46 with the oration then being delivered rather than with any statue, real or imaginary. In that case Favorinus might be regarded as dedicating his address to posterity. That he had escaped punishment at the hands of Hadrian might be inferred from the confident tone of §§ 34 and, even if we lacked the express testimony of Philostratus. That he should have travelled widely was to be expected in the case of a man of his calling and reputation, and he refers to his travels with much pride in §§ 26 and. His most famous pupil was doubtless Herodes Atticus, whom he made his heir.
This Discourse may have been included among the works of Dio because of its superficial likeness to Or. in subject matter, since both dealt with the popular custom of erecting statues and with the strange fate that sometimes overtook such marks of esteem.
The Thirty-seventh Discourse: The Corinthian Oration
[37.1] When I visited your city the first time, nearly ten years ago, and gave your people and magistrates a sample of my eloquence, I seemed to be on friendly, yes intimate, terms with you to a degree not equalled even by Arion of Methymnê. At any rate you did not have a statue made of Arion. Of course when I say you, I am speaking of your forebears and of Periander the sage, son of Cypselus, in whose day Arion flourished, being the first not only to compose a dithyramb but also to call it by that name and to present a dithyrambic chorus in Corinth.
[37.2] Now Arion was so dear to the gods that, when on his voyage back to Corinth, bringing great riches which he had had the good fortune to win by his labours in the neighbourhood of Tarentum and among the Greeks of that region, as he was about to be cast into the sea by the sailors — no doubt because of that very wealth of his — he besought them ere they threw him overboard to let him sing, just as men say that swans about to die and foreseeing their death are wont, as it were, to put their soul on board “the bark of song.” [3] So then he sang — calm and silence brooded on the deep — and dolphins heard his song, and as they heard it they rushed about the ship. And when Arion ceased and the sailors showed no relenting, he leaped into the sea; but a dolphin rose beneath him and carried the singer in safety to Taenarum just as he was, gear and all. So then Arion, saved in this manner and having outstripped the sailors, was in Corinth narrating these very happenings to Periander. [4] And when the sailors later entered port and the matter was brought to trial, the sailors were put to death, but Arion — not Periander, mark you, but Arion — ordering a bronze likeness of no great size, set it up at Taenarum, a likeness of himself astride the back of his benefactor.
[37.5] And about this same time Solon too came to Corinth, fleeing from the tyranny of Peisistratus, but not from that of Periander. [5] No, for that was a different matter — while Peisistratus was tyrant of Athens through having destroyed the democracy, Periander was tyrant through having received the royal power by inheritance from his father, whom the Greeks were wont to call tyrant, though the gods called him king. For is not this the way the oracle has it?
[37.5b] A happy man is he who to my fane
Doth come, Eëtion’s Cypselus, the king
Of famous Corinth, he and his children too.
[37.6] One of these children was Periander himself, who succeeded his father. So then Periander, called king by the god, was proclaimed a sage by the Greeks. No better title did any king or tyrant ever gain, no, not even Antiochus, surnamed Divine, nor Mithridates, surnamed Dionysus. And even Pittacus of Mitylenê might have been proud to be called at one and the same time both tyrant and sage; but, as a matter of fact, in clinging to the second title he stripped himself of his tyranny. Yet as for Periander, while he shared the name of sage with a few and that of tyrant with many, as both tyrant and sage he stood alone. [7] Well then, when Solon visited Periander and received a share of their common possessions — for the possessions of friends are held in common — still he received no statue, though surely he did not disdain a statue, no, he esteemed highly the honour of having had a bronze likeness of himself set up at Salamis; then why not so at Corinth, the promenade of Hellas? Again, Herodotus the historian also paid you a visit, bringing tales of Greece, and in particular tales of Corinth — not yet fallacious tales — in return for which he expected to receive pay from the city. But failing of obtaining even that — for your forebears did not deem it fitting to traffic in renown — he devised those tales we all know so well, the tales about Salamis and Adeimantus.
[37.8] However, in my own case, upon my second visit to Corinth you were so glad to see me that you did your best to get me to stay with you, but seeing that to be impossible, you did have a likeness made of me, and you took this and set it up in your Library, a front-row seat as it were, where you felt it would most effectively stimulate the youth to persevere in the same pursuits as myself. For you accorded me this honour, not as to one of the many who each year put in at Cenchreae as traders or pilgrims or envoys or passing travellers, but as to a cherished friend, who at last, after a long absence, puts in an appearance.
[37.9] Yet Honour, dreamlike, takes wing and flies away.
[37.10] Therefore I have come to be perplexed, not only as to my own case, but now, by Heaven, as to that of some one else as well, wondering whether I did not truly see, and what took place was not the happenings of my waking moments but merely a dream, or whether the events were really so in all detail, both the enthusiasm of the populace and the decision of the Council, and yet, as luck would have it, the statue was one of the works of Daedalus and slipped away without our notice. [10] However, not since the death of Daedalus down to the present day has any one made such progress in the art of sculpture as to impart to bronze the power of flight; nay, though they make statues of men with a fine and noble stride, and sometimes even riding on horseback, still these all maintain their pose and station and, unless some one moves them, so far as they are concerned bronze has no power to flee, not even if the statue has wings, like the Perseus of Pythagoras.
[37.11] But supposing my statue to be actually of the ancient craftsmanship of Daedalus, for what strange reason would it have taken leave of your city, the city for which they say the two gods, Poseidon and Helius, vied with one another, the one being lord of fire, the other lord of water? And after the twain had striven and had entrusted the decision to a third god who was their elder,
[37.11b] Whose heads were many, many too his arms,
[37.12] having, as I say, left to him the decision, they both have held this city and district ever since, surely no slight or obscure sign of its superiority over all other cities. [12] For while the others are portion and property of the gods individually — Argos of Hera and Athens of Athena — and while, with reference to these very gods of whom I speak, Rhodes belongs to Helius and Onchestus to Poseidon, Corinth belongs to each of the two. You might imagine, since the myth suggests it, that the strip of land between two seas was an exceptional grant made by Helius because Poseidon wished it so.
[37.13] Now then, both myth and history, while singing in fair harmony on this theme, invite the Sibyl of prophetic song as a third for their trio of praise; and she, having obtained as her prerogative the voice of a god, sings aloud:
[37.13b] What place to thee so happy as the blest
Isthmus of Ephyrê, Ocean’s child, whereon
Poseidon, sire of Lamia, mother mine,
Did first with Helius appoint the games,
Though his alone the honours there received?
[37.14] For the fact is, you know, men say not only that the contest was first established there by the two gods, but also that Castor won the single course and Calaïs the double — for we are told that Calaïs ran, refraining from flying. But now that we have broached the subject, the others too who were prize-winners and victors should be named. Orpheus was victorious with the lyre, Heracles in the rough-and-tumble, in boxing Polydeuces, in wrestling Peleus, in the discus Telamon, in the contest in armour Theseus. And there had been instituted also a contest for horses, and Phaëthon won with a courser, and Neleus with a team of four. [15] And there was also a boatrace, in which Argo was the winner, and after that she sailed no more, but Jason dedicated her there to Poseidon, and he carved on her a couplet, which men say is the work of Orpheus:
[37.14b] I am the good ship Argo, to God by Jason devoted,
Victor in Isthmian Games, crownèd with Nemean pine.
[37.16] But a place where gods control the games, and heroes the victors and the vanquished, and Argo lies at rest — what lovelier place than this could Daedalus himself discover as he flew with wings — to say nothing, of course, of that statue made by Daedalus? [16] Nay, that statue of mine neither ran away nor tried to do so nor had any such intention at all; therefore we are left to conclude that the Corinthians themselves banished it, not only without holding any trial, but also without having any charge at all to bring against it. And would any one have believed this to the discredit of the Corinthians, whose forefathers were pre-eminent among the Greeks for cultivating justice? For, I ask you, was it not they who put an end to the tyrannies in the cities and established the democracies and freed Athens from her tyrants — first from Hippias and later from Cleomenes — [17] and who after that, when Athenians themselves undertook to play the rôle of Hippias and Isagoras and to set up a tyranny over Hellas, being the first to sense what was going on and being especially pained thereat, led the way to freedom for the others and maintained that purpose, not only in the case of the Athenians, but also in that of the Spartans? For example, in company with the states of Thebes and Elis they opposed the Spartans in defence of the common rights of Hellas; and by this act they also showed that they were not mere lovers of honour, but rather lovers of Hellas, of justice, of freedom, and haters of villainy and tyranny. [18] Yes, and they were such haters of barbarians that they dispatched to Thermopylae four hundred of their own troops on the same occasion on which the Spartans sent three hundred. And at Salamis they won the prize for valour and became responsible for the victory. For I pay no heed to Herodotus but rather to the funeral monument and to Simonides, who composed the following epitaph for the Corinthian dead who were buried in Salamis:
[37.16b] O stranger, once we dwelt in Corinth blest
With fountains; now the isle of Ajax holds
Our bones. With ease we took Phoenician ships,
Vanquished alike the Persians and the Medes,
And saved our sacred Hellas from the foe.
[37.19] And Simonides also has another epitaph referring particularly to the commander himself:
[37.19b] Here lies that Adeimantus by whose designs
Greece bound about her brows fair freedom’s crown.
[37.19c] And what is more, the Corinthians also freed Sicily from the foreigner and Syracuse too from her tyrants. And Dionysius was then to be seen in Corinth — a most glorious spectacle! — shorn of all his power; and yet no one wronged even him or tried to banish him or to deprive him of the wealth he brought with him from Sicily.
[37.20] But who overturned the statue dedicated by the city? Of course, if it was a whirlwind or a hurricane or a thunderbolt that struck it, causing it to totter and darting lightning at it! — But if it is a question of some trial of a statue, such as they say took place in Syracuse — but how it took place I shall not shrink from telling by way of parenthesis. The Syracusans, your colonists, in the course of their many wars against the Carthaginians and the other aliens who dwelt in Sicily and Italy, had run short of bronze and currency; [21] so they voted that the statues of their tyrants — most of the statues in their city were made of bronze — should be broken up, that is, after the people had held a trial to determine which of the statues deserved to be melted down and which did not; and — for you must hear this too — Gelon son of Deinomenes survived the trial. As for the others, they all were broken up, except of course the statue of Dionysius, the elder of the pair portrayed wearing the attributes of Dionysus.
[37.22] Then supposing some such decree were to be passed in Corinth too, prescribing that statues should be subjected to an accounting — or rather, if you please, supposing this to have been already decreed and a trial to have been instituted — permit me, pray permit me, to make my plea before you in my own behalf as if in court.
[37.23] Gentlemen of the jury, it is said that anything may be expected in the course of time; but he who stands before you is in jeopardy of first being set up as the noblest among the Greeks and then being cast out as the worst, all in a brief span of time. [23] Now then, to prove that I was set up fairly and justly and to the good of your city and of all the Greeks, I could speak at length, but there is one thing I do want to tell you which took place in that same Syracuse. For indeed the illustration is germane, and there may be justice in it too — just as the people of Syracuse honour their mother-city, so also it is well that you should follow the example of your colony.
[37.24] Very well, in those early days, because a certain Lucanian spoke Doric in reporting some mission before the Assembly, those Syracusans were so pleased by his dialect that they not only sent him home successful in the general purposes of his mission but also presented him with a talent and set up a likeness of him, and on that account the Syracusans won much commendation from the neighbouring cities and from the Dorians of that region, especially from those who dwelt in Italy, who felt that they had requited the man in fine and elegant fashion in behalf of the Dorian race, whose dialect he had cultivated to the point of being actually eloquent in it.
[37.25] Well, if some one who is not a Lucanian but a Roman, not one of the masses but of the equestrian order, one who has affected, not merely the language, but also the thought and manners and dress of the Greeks, and that too with such mastery and manifest success as no one among the Romans of early days or the Greeks of his own time, I must say, has achieved — for while the best of the Greeks over there may be seen inclining toward Roman ways, he inclines toward the Greek and to that end is sacrificing both his property and his political standing and absolutely everything, aiming to achieve one thing at the cost of all else, namely, not only to seem Greek but to be Greek too — taking all this into consideration, ought he not to have a bronze statue here in Corinth? [26] Yes, and in every city — in yours because, though Roman, he has become thoroughly hellenized, even as your own city has; in Athens because he is Athenian in his speech; in Sparta because he is devoted to athletics; in all cities everywhere because he pursues the study of wisdom and already has not only roused many of the Greek to follow that pursuit with him but also attracted even many of the barbarians. [27] Indeed it seems that he has been equipped by the gods for this express purpose — for the Greeks, so that the natives of that land may have an example before them to show that culture is no whit inferior to birth with respect to renown; for Romans, so that not even those who are wrapped up in their own self-esteem may disregard culture with respect to real esteem; for Celts, so that no one even of the barbarians may despair of attaining the culture of Greece when he looks upon this man.
[37.28] Well then, it is for some such reasons as these that I have been erected — not to expose myself to opprobrium by naming more. [28] But in truth planning for the erection of a statue is not like planning for its tearing down. Why? Because each one of these statues which have been erected by your city — be its subject better, be it worse — is at once invested with the attributes of sanctity, and the city should defend it as a votive offering. One might urge many reasons in support of the claim that Gorgias the sophist should not have a statue at Delphi, and what is more, a statue on a lofty base and made of gold. Why do I name Gorgias, when you may see there even Phrynê of Thespiae, perched on a pillar like Gorgias?
[37.29] However that may be, while it is possibly legitimate and within the right of citizens to object at the outset, later on to go and try to cancel the resolution authorizing the erection of a statue is, by Apollo, a grievous wrong; and none of the Amphictyons would have permitted it. For indeed if statues were erected wrongfully, once they have gained the advantage of having been erected they hold their position rightfully from the moment they gained that advantage. For just as with the officials who are elected for a year, even if one of them is unworthy of holding office, he continues in office at least for the year for which he was elected, so also with statues that term should be valid for which they were erected; and this term is all time to come. [30] Otherwise how will you differ from the men who fashion their images of clay? And what fine answer will you have to offer those who demand of you the reason why the honours in your city are mortal but the dishonours immortal? If, then, this practice is in no wise disgraceful — as it certainly is shocking — what an absolutely crazy government it is whose statues are annuals, like their crops! For men whom you honour with statues of bronze, not to have them desert you immediately, but to have them remain with you as long as possible, you show to be of softer stuff than even the images of wax.
[37.31] Or, by Heaven, will the excuse be that men thus honoured were later on, as it happened, seen to be rogues? If they have turned rogues subsequently, that does not free the city of its guilt; for it is not because of what is to be but rather because of what has been that you confer your honours. If, on the other hand, a man who previously was a scoundrel was only subsequently discovered to be so, by which course of action do you suppose you would be more likely to win esteem among the Greeks, and by which course would you more effectively appeal to those who wish to do you favours — by undoing your decision, or by abiding by what has been decided once for all? As for myself, I believe it is by the second course of action. For the one course is that of men who have missed their aim, the other that of men of steady purpose.
[37.32] I have not yet mentioned the most important consideration, which is that so signal an honour should be upset, if at all, not in consequence of slander, but by due process of law; and not for some casual fault, but only for the greatest. For so far as slander is concerned, even Socrates might be a corrupter of youth and a subverter of all the cherished beliefs of men, beginning with the gods. For whom have these men failed to slander who slander any one at all? Have they not slandered Socrates, Pythagoras, Plato? Have they not slandered Zeus himself, Poseidon, Apollo, and all the other gods? [33] And they lay impious hands even upon the female deities, for whom they might be expected to feel even more reverence than for the male. Aye, by Heaven, for you hear what they say of Demeter and Aphroditê and Eos; and they do not keep their hands off even Athena or Artemis; on the contrary, they strip Artemis naked for Actaeon, and they unite Athena with Hephaestus and almost make a mother of the Virgin. Therefore, knowing all this as you do, are you surprised if there has been spread abroad against this man too some censure, a thing which absolutely none of those who have lived distinguished lives has had the power to escape, but which in his case is based upon the charm of his eloquence, or whatever one should call that gift to which you yourselves, along with women and children, give approval?
[37.34] Will you not consider the matter? Will you not test your memory to see whether any such thing has been done by him in Corinth? Although you live in a city favoured by Aphroditê beyond all that are or ever have been, nevertheless you have heard nothing of the sort regarding him, and, I venture to assert, no other Greek has either. Then do you believe that the man who has lived a decent life in Greece, in the midst of greater licence and indulgence, has suffered transformation in Rome, in the presence of the Emperor himself and the laws? Why, there is very much as if one were to say of the athlete that, though privately he keeps the rules, in the stadium and in the presence of the Master of the Games he violates the code!
[37.35] However, I hold freedom of speech to be a two-sided matter — one side is that of the man who has knowledge of some misdeed, the other is that of the Master of the Games. If the latter has given credence to an accusation he will exact full satisfaction from the wrongdoer, but a man who has heard a report of it will turn informer, which is precisely what the man in question did. But when you followed the lead of persons who — however, I shall say nothing of them by way of retaliation, save only that it would have been more proper for them to follow your lead than for you to follow theirs. [36] For you are now, as the saying goes, both prow and stern of Hellas, having been called prosperous and wealthy and the like by poets and gods from olden days, days when some of the others too had wealth and might; but now, since wealth has deserted both Orchomenos and Delphi, though they may surpass you in exciting pity, none can do so in exciting envy.
[37.37] Now these remarks have been offered in the interest of the city, which must not suffer disgrace in the eyes of the Greeks, seeing that all men not merely welcome with delight him whom you have banished, but even send for him and dispatch him on missions here and there and, among other things, show him honour by actually erecting statues of him. On the other hand, I shall now in my own behalf and in behalf of my statue use a phrase which Anaxagoras used when he had lost a son: “I knew I had begotten a mortal.” However, I did not know that my progeny was as mortal as that; for though each statue is erected as if were to last for ever, still they perish by this fate or by that, the most common and most fitting fate and the one ordained for all things being the fate of time; [38] and the poet was idly boasting who composed this epitaph, which they say has been inscribed on the funeral mound of Midas:
[37.37b] A maid of bronze am I. I mark the grave
Of Midas. While water flows and trees grow tall,
Here will I bide by the tear-drenched tomb and tell
The passers-by that Midas lies here.
[37.39] Well, my self-announcing maiden, we hear indeed the poet’s words, but, though we sought, we found not thee nor yet the tomb of Midas. And though those waters still flow and those trees still thrive, in time even they are likely to vanish with the rest, like Midas, like maiden.
[37.39b] Hippaemon the man was called, Podargus his horse,
Lethargus his hound, and Babês his serving-man
[37.39c] Well now, who of the Greek race knows, I won’t say the horse, but Hippaemon himself? None, I fancy, even at Magnesia, whence Hippaemon came. He, then, has vanished from the sight of men, Babês, Podargus and all.
[37.40] However, the statues of other men still stand and are known, though they wear the label of others, and what is going on is like an antispast in poetry, and, as one might say, the authors give counter information — Greek character, but Roman fortune. I have seen even Alcibiades, the handsome son of Cleinias — I know not where, but I saw him in a commanding site in Greece — wearing the label Chalcopogon, and also another likeness of him with both arms lopped off, a likeness said to have been the work of Polycles — ye gods, a fearsome spectacle, Alcibiades a cripple! [41] And I know that Harmodius and Aristogeiton have served as slaves in Persia, and that fifteen hundred statues of Demetrius of Phalerum have all been pulled down by the Athenians on one and the same day. Aye, they have even dared to empty chamber-pots on King Philip. Yes, the Athenians poured urine on his statue — but he poured on their city blood and ashes and dust. In fact it was enough to arouse righteous indignation that they should class the same man now among the gods and now not even among human beings.
[37.42] Then, knowing as I do that men spare not even the gods, should I imagine you to have been concerned for the statue of a mere mortal? Furthermore, while I think I shall say nothing of the others, at any rate the Isthmian, your own Master of the Games, Mummius tore from his base and dedicated to Zeus — disgusting ignorance! — illiterate creature that he was, totally unfamiliar with the proprieties, treating the brother as a votive offering! It was he who took the Philip son of Amyntas, which he got from Thespiae, and labelled it Zeus, and also the lads from Pheneüs he labelled Nestor and Priam respectively! But the Roman mob, as might have been expected, imagined they were beholding those very heroes, and not mere Arcadians from Pheneüs.
[37.43] Indeed you may well laugh at these doings; but in all seriousness, it has occurred to me to congratulate Agesilaüs, king of Sparta, on the stand he took, for he never thought it fitting to have either a statue or a portrait made of himself, not because he was deformed, as people say, and short — for what was to hinder the statue’s being tall, or having shapely legs, like Euphranor’s Hephaestus? — but rather because he saw clearly that one should not try to prolong the allotted span of human life or expose the body to the vicissitudes of stone or bronze. Would that it might be possible to take leave even of the body which we have!
[37.44] But farewell to Daedalus and to the imitative devices of that artist; enough of Prometheus, enough of clay. In fact it is said that even the body of noble souls is foreign substance,
[37.45] For very many things do lie between
body and soul. For the soul is not present when the body is outworn nor is it concerned for it. Cambyses was mad when, as if it were Amasis, the king of the Egyptians, he stabbed and flogged his dead body. To be sure, the Egyptians say that Amasis, having long viewed with distrust the cruelty of Cambyses, caused his own body to be hid away and another to be substituted for it, and that this was the corpse which fell in the way of Cambyses. [45] However, O ye Egyptians and Cambyses too, no matter whether it was some one else who suffered this treatment or Amasis himself, at all events it was a form sans blood, sans flesh, sans soul. This, so please you, you may drag, you may rend, you may stab, yet real Amasis you have failed to catch. Again, another man who was endowed with life and breath and feeling exclaimed, “Grind, grind the sack of Anaxarchus; for the real Anaxarchus you do not grind!” You see, this man, having been thrown into a mortar and being pounded by the pestles, declared that he himself was not being ground, but only that thing of his in which, as it chanced, he had been enclosed — just as we are told that the peers of the realm in Persia are beaten — their cloak instead of their body.
[37.46] Well then, though Persians may resent so slight a chastisement, a Greek allowed his body to be pounded as if it were a cloak; and shall not I allow my statue to go to the melting-pot, even supposing it to have sensation? But as matters stand, while Anaxarchus was superior to sensation, I, in the language of Euripides’ Laodameia,
[37.46b] Would not desert a friend, though void of life.
Accordingly I wish to speak words of comfort to my friend, my statue, as to one possessing sensation: O thou mute semblance of my eloquence, art thou not visible? No more was Aristeas visible, who lived before thee. For he too had this experience, as I conjecture, the experience of being raised up by the men of Proconnesus and then being spirited away by his foes, and of having a tale disseminated by these same men to the effect that Aristeas was not to be seen, either living or dead. However, Aristeas was alive then, lives now, and will live always.
[37.47] Some one, I ween, will yet remember me,
as Sappho very beautifully says; and far more beautifully Hesiod:
But fame is never utterly destroyed
Which many people voice; a goddess she.
[37.47b] I myself will raise thee up and place thee in the precinct of the goddess, whence naught shall tear thee down — not earthquake or wind or snow or rain or jealousy or foe; but lo! e’en now I find thee in thy station! Aye, ere now forgetfulness hath tripped and cheated sundry others too, but judgement plays no tricks on any man of worth, and ’tis because of this that thou standest upright for me like a man.

## THE THIRTY-EIGHTH DISCOURSE: TO THE NICOMEDIANS ON CONCORD WITH THE NICAEANS

THIS IS THE first in a series of speeches by Dio dealing affairs in his native Bithynia, speeches which shed much light upon the troubles and problems referred to by Pliny the Younger in his correspondence while governor of that province. The administration of Bithynia was clearly no easy task. Besides the natural resentment of the provincial toward his Roman overlord, who in some instances seems to have been unworthy of the office, we learn of much social and economic distress and unrest, financial mismanagement, and civic bickerings. Still another source of trouble was the bitter rivalry between cities of the district such as forms the subject of the present Discourse. 1 Nicomedia and 2 Nicaea were near neighbours. While Nicomedia profited from its nearness to the sea and was the “metropolis” of the district, Nicaea lay on an important trade route and seems to have outstripped its neighbour in material prosperity. Under the Empire it appears to have enjoyed the special favour of Rome. As early as 29 B.C. Augustus established there the cults of Roma and of Julius Caesar, and at the time of our Discourse Nicaea was honoured with the title πρώτη. This title it continued to hold despite the counterclaims of Nicomedia, and that it was no empty honour seems to be attested both by coins and inscriptions and by Dio’s own words (§ 26), which seem to negative the disparaging reference immediately preceding. His efforts to establish concord between these rivals seem not to have had lasting success, for as late as the Council of Chalcedon the bishops of these two cities presented counterclaims to the right of ordaining bishops in Bithynia.
Dio does not provide a clue as to the precise date of our Discourse, but both his choice of theme and the spirit in which he deals with it indicate with some clearness that it belongs to his philosophic period. With what appears to be false modesty, he professes not to know why he, a native of Prusa, some sixty miles distant, should have been honoured with citizenship in Nicomedia. Possibly it had been the first city of the province so to honour him. However that may be, in his address before the people of Apameia (Or. 41.2) he states in no uncertain terms that such marks of distinction had become for him a common experience “wherever I have been, not only cities in general, but even, I may say, most of those which are of standing equal to your own, have presented me with citizenship, with membership in the Council, and with their highest honours without my asking it, believing me to be not unserviceable to themselves or unworthy of being honoured.” Although loyal to his birthplace and ambitious for its advancement, Dio’s long exile had fostered in him wider sympathies, and he seems to have been sincerely concerned for the welfare of Bithynia at large. It was only to be expected that the cities of the province should welcome the opportunity to enlist in their support a man with such an outlook, to profit by his wisdom, and to shine by his reflected glory.
The Thirty-eighth Discourse: To the Nicomedians on Concord with the Nicaeans
[38.1] Men of Nicomedia, when I undertake to compute the reasons why you gave me citizenship, I am at a loss; for I do not see that I have great wealth such as to warrant my believing that I have been sought after by you for mercenary reasons, nor am I conscious of having an attitude for flattering the masses; so you do not seem to want me even for the purpose of readily serving your every whim. No, the fact is that I am not even good company at a banquet or a sociable person at gatherings of that sort, so as to be able at least to afford pleasure for the populace from that quality. However, if I do not wholly mistake your purpose regarding me, and also if I am cognizant of all the matters in which I am capable of serving you, the only thing left to account for my having been made a citizen by you is naught else than that, perhaps to a greater degree than others, I have both the desire and the ability to give advice on the interests of the commonwealth. [2] However, if such is not the case, then not only have you been misguided in your interest in me but I too, it would appear, was rash in heeding your call in the hope of proving useful to your city in the future, since you are not making that use of me for which alone I am adapted. If, on the other hand, all cities, or rather the great cities, need not only the men of wealth, both to finance the public spectacles and liberally to provide such customary expenses, and flatterers to afford pleasure by their demagogic clap-trap, but also counsellors to provide safety by their policies, I myself shall not shrink from aiding the city to the best of my ability by giving advice on matters of greatest importance.
[38.3] Well now, there are indeed some other things in your city which deserve correction, and one after the other I shall apply my treatment to them, provided I win your confidence by speaking the truth about the greater matters. But for what strange reason or with what purpose do I not first give advice about the smaller matters and in those matters test the willingness of the people to be persuaded, instead of choosing to jeopardize my reputation at the start by offering advice on the weightiest matter of all? It is because it seems to me far easier to persuade men concerning the weightiest matters than concerning those which are slighter or trivial. For while one may actually scorn the harm resulting from these minor matters, a man who, when it is a question of policies apart from which it is impossible for him to be saved, has refused to be persuaded regarding these things is clearly a man who will not even listen concerning the minor matters.
[38.4] So then, if you will endure my advice with patience, I am indeed very confident you will be persuaded by me in the matters about which I am here to advise you. What then? It is a hard task to get you to view my remarks upon the subject which I have in mind as neither tiresome nor superfluous nor untimely. In order, therefore, that I may not at the outset encounter such objections on your part as: “But why do you offer advice in matters about which, to begin with, we are not even deliberating?” “But why do you accord yourself the privilege of the floor, when we have not bestowed it on you?” “But for what reason, when so many have been active in politics in our city, native-born and adopted, orators and philosophers, old and young, has no one ever presumed to give us this advice?” — to forestall all such objections, [5] I wish to make this very special request of you, men of Nicomedia — and do me the favour of being patient — that you listen to a speech which is superfluous and untimely and which may not convince you. Moreover, I do not consider it a great favour I am asking either; for if you are persuaded by my words, it is worth your while to have listened to one who tells you what is to your advantage; while, on the other hand, if you reserve your acquiescence, what is there unpleasant in having allowed a friend to take the floor who is willing to speak to no avail?”
[38.6] Very well, what is this subject on which I am about to offer advice, and yet am reluctant to name it? The word, men of Nicomedia, is not distasteful whether in the home or the clan or in friendly circles or cities or nations; [6] for concord is what I am going to talk about, a fine word and a fine thing; but if I proceed to add forthwith concord with whom, I fear lest, while you may be convinced that concord of and by itself is fine, you may believe that being concordant with those persons with whom I claim you should be concordant is impossible. For what till now has set you at your present enmity one toward another, and has prevented the establishment of friendship, is the unreasoning conviction that concord is impossible for your cities. Nay, don’t raise an outcry when I make a fresh start but bear with me.
[38.7] What I say, men of Nicomedia, is that you must achieve concord with the Nicaeans; but hear me out and don’t get angry yet before I state my reasons. For neither is the sick man angry with his physician when he prescribes his treatment, but, though he dislikes to hear him say he must submit to surgery or cautery, still he obeys; for his life is at stake. And yet why have I said this? For my remedy, the one I offer your cities, is a most pleasant remedy, and one without which no man would wish to live, if he has good sense.
[38.8] But I want to break up my address, and first of all to speak about concord itself in general, telling both whence it comes and what it achieves, and then over against that to set off strife and hatred in contradistinction to friendship. For when concord has been proved to be beneficial to all mankind, the proof will naturally follow that this particular concord between these particular cities is both quite indispensable for you and quite profitable as well. I shall not, however, refrain from telling also how concord may endure when once achieved; for that problem, indeed, I see is bothering many. [9] But I pray to all the gods, both yours and theirs, that if what I now say is said because of goodwill to you alone and not in pursuit of any personal glory or advantage to be devoted from your reconciliation, and above all if it is destined to be of advantage to the state — if this is true, I pray that the gods may not only grant me such eloquence as is worthy of my cause, but that they may also make you willing to take my advice in the matters which are to your advantage.
[38.10] Well then, concord has been lauded by all men always in both speech and writing. Not only are the works of poets and philosophers alike full of its praises, but also all who have published their histories to provide a pattern for practical application have shown concord to be the greatest of human blessings, and, furthermore, although many of the sophists have in the past ventured to make paradoxical statements, this is the only one it has not occurred to them to publish — that concord is not a fine and salutary thing. Therefore, not only for those who now desire to sing its praises, but also for those who at any time would do so, the material for their use is abundant, and it will ever be possible to say more and finer things about it.
[38.11] For example, if a man should wish to delve into its origin, he must trace its very beginning to the greatest of divine things. For the same manifestation is both friendship and reconciliation and kinship, and it embraces all these. Furthermore, what but concord unites the elements? Again, that through which all the greatest things are preserved is concord, while that through which everything is destroyed is its opposite. If, then, we human beings were not by nature a race of mortals, and if the forces which destroy us were not bound to be numerous, there would not be strife even in human affairs, just as also still not in things divine. However, the only respect in which we fall short of the blessedness of the gods and of their indestructible permanence is this — that we are not all sensitive to concord, but, on the contrary, there are those who actually love its opposite, strife, of which wars and battles constitute departments and subsidiary activities, and these things are continually at work in communities and in nations, just like the diseases in our bodies. [12] For in fact, though we know full well that health is the greatest of human blessings, still many times we ourselves plot against it to our own undoing, some yielding to the seduction of pleasures and some shirking labours which are healthful and habits which are prudent. On the other hand, if the greatest of our evils did not have for their support the pleasure of the moment, they would have no power at all to harm us; yet as it is, Nature has given that to them, and so they can deceive and delight their victims.
[38.13] Moreover, what might actually make one most indignant toward mankind is this — that all the evils afflict them though knowing well their nature. At any rate, if one were to question a single person, or a company of persons, about the terms themselves, asking in what category are to be placed such terms as wars, factions, diseases, and the like, no one would hesitate a moment to reply that these are classed among the evils, and that they not only are so but have been so considered and are called evils. [14] And as for their opposites, peace and concord and health, no one would deny that they likewise both are and are called goods. But though the conflict between the evil things and the good is so manifest, yet there are some among us — or rather a good many — who delight in the things which are admittedly evil. And take, for example, a ship — though all on board are well aware that the one hope of reaching port in safety lies in having the sailors on good terms with one another and obedient to the skipper, but that when strife and mutiny arise in it, even the favourable winds often veer round to oppose the ship’s course and they fail to make their harbours, even when close at hand, still the sailors sometimes foolishly quarrel, and this works their ruin, though they know the cause of their destruction.
[38.15] Again, take our households — although their safety depends not only on the like-mindedness of master and mistress but also on the obedience of the servants, yet both the bickering of master and mistress and the wickedness of the servants have wrecked many households. Why, what safety remains for the chariot, if the horses refuse to run as a team? For when they begin to separate and to pull one this way and one that, the driver is inevitably in danger. And the good marriage, what else is it save concord between man and wife? And the bad marriage, what is it save their discord? Moreover, what benefit are children to parents, when through folly they begin to rebel against them? And what is fraternity save concord of brothers? And what is friendship save concord among friends?
[38.17] Besides, all these things are not only good and noble but also very pleasant, whereas their opposites are not only evil but also unpleasant; and yet we often prefer them instead of the most pleasant goods. For example, there have been times when people have chosen wars instead of peace, despite the great differences between the two, not under the delusion that fighting is better or more pleasant and more righteous than keeping the peace, but because some were striving for kingly power, some for liberty, some for territory they did not have, and some for control of the sea. And yet, though the prizes await the victor are so rich, many have laid war aside as an evil thing and not fit to be chosen by them in preference to the things of highest value. [17] But, the waging of war and fighting even without occasion, what is that but utter madness and a craving for evils which is occasioned by madness? Now the chief reason why we human beings hate wild beasts is that remorseless warfare exists between them and us for ever; yet many even of us treat human beings too as wild beasts and take pleasure in the conflict waged with those of our own kind.
[38.18] What is more, we take no notice of the signs sent by the gods, all those signs and omens by which they try to teach us to live on good terms with one another. Indeed they are said to be, as it were, heralds sent by the gods, and for that reason among ourselves also, while peace is proclaimed by heralds, wars for the most part take place unheralded. Furthermore, men go unarmed into an armed camp as envoys to sue for peace and it is not permitted to wrong any of them, the belief that all messengers in behalf of friendship are servants of the gods. Again, whenever, as armies come together for battle, there suddenly appears an omen from heaven or there occurs a quaking of the earth, immediately the men wheel about and withdraw from one another, believing the gods do not wish them to fight; [19] but no divine portent is deemed a signal for war. And furthermore, when peace is brought about, we do all those things which are not only most pleasant for mortals but also tokens of happiness — we bedeck ourselves with garlands, offer sacrifice, and hold high festival; but we do quite the opposite in time of war, just as in time of mourning — we shut ourselves within the gates, live in dread of every thing, and abandon ourselves to despair. Moreover, at such times the women wail for their husbands and the children for their fathers, as they would over the greatest calamities.
[38.20] Again, whenever there comes a pestilence or an earthquake, we blame the gods, in the belief that they cause misery for mankind, and we claim they are not righteous or benevolent, not even if they are punishing us justly for most grievous sins; so great is our hatred of those evils which occur through chance. Yet war, which is no less destructive than an earthquake, we choose of our own volition; and we do not blame at all the human beings who are responsible for these evils, as we blame the gods for earthquake or pestilence, but we even think them patriotic and we listen to them with delight when they speak, we follow their advice, and in payment for the evils they occasion we give them every kind of — I won’t say return, for return would mean evil for evil — but rather thanks and honours and words of praise; and so they would be very witless indeed if they spared those who are even grateful for their evils.
[38.21] First of all, then, men of Nicomedia, let us inspect the reasons for your strife. For if the issues are so great that it is fitting to wage a war that is no short one, such as could be waged by force of arms and have as its consolation the speed of its decision, but instead a long war without cessation, one to be handed on to our children and our children’s children and never achieve the hope of settlement, then let us engage in the struggle, maintain the strife, and make all the trouble we can for one another, being vexed that our powers are not even greater. But if at best the prize for which this evil is endured is a mere nothing and the supposed issues are both small and trifling and it is not fitting even for private persons to squabble over them, much less cities of such importance, then let us not behave at all like foolish children who, ashamed lest they may seem to their fathers or their mothers to be enraged without a cause, do not wish to make it up with one another lightly.
[38.22] Well now, surely we are not fighting for land or sea; on the contrary, the Nicaeans do not even present counterclaims against you for the sea, but they have gladly withdrawn from competition so as to afford no cause for conflict. And what is more, we are not contending for revenues either, but each side is content with what is its own; moreover, these matters, as it happens, have been clearly delimited — and so indeed is all else besides — just as if in peace and friendship. Furthermore, there is interchange of produce between the two cities, as well as intermarriage, and in consequence already there have come to be many family ties between us; yes, and we have proxenies and ties of personal friendship to unite us. Besides, you worship the same gods as they do, and in most cases you conduct their festivals as they do. In fact you have no quarrel as to your customs either. Yet, though all these things afford no occasion for hostility, but rather for friendship and concord, still we fight. [23] And if some one comes up and asks you, “But how are the Nicaeans wronging you?” you will have nothing to reply. And if he asks them in turn, “But how are the men of Nicomedia wronging you?” they too will not have a single thing to say.
[38.24] However, there is a prize at stake between you, one over which you are at odds. And what is this prize? It is none of those things which are fit to name or to acknowledge, and the competitors for which one might even pardon, nay, its constituent elements it is not well even to mention or acknowledge; they are of such a nature, so petty, so commonplace, things upon which fools perhaps might pride themselves, but not any man of good sense. [24] For those who summon you to the contest — but their motives it is perhaps not for me to scrutinize — however that may be, those who delight in it prate of naught but this: “We are contending for primacy.” Very well, I will reply to these same persons with the query: “What primacy? And is it a primacy to be actually and in fact conceded to you, or is your battle for a name and nothing more?”
[38.25] Yes, I hear that this is not the first time this same thing has served as the cause of strife among the Greeks — that the Athenians and the Spartans went to war for the primacy. [25] Moreover, that strife and warfare were not profitable in their case either, but in struggling with one another for the primacy they both lost it, you all know and I myself may possibly mention a bit later. What then? In proposing this struggle of yours do they speak of it as similar to that of the Athenians and the Spartans? The Athenians waged war that they might continue to receive tribute from the islanders, and they and their opponents fought each other over the right of every man to have his lawsuits tried in his own home city, and, broadly speaking, the war between those states was for the prize of empire.
[38.26] But if we recover the primacy, the Nicaeans relinquishing it without a fight, shall we receive the tribute they get now? Shall we summon for trial here the cities which now are subject to their jurisdiction? Shall we send them military governors? Shall we any the less permit them to have the tithes from Bithynia? Or what will be the situation? And what benefit will accrue to us? For I believe that in all their undertakings men do not exert themselves idly or at random, but that their struggle is always for some end. [27] For example, the man who goes to war fights either for liberty — in which case others are trying to enslave him — or for sovereignty — in which case he himself is trying to enslave the others. Similarly the man who goes to sea does not undertake an aimless roving, for surely the risks he takes are either for the purpose of reaching some destination or else for trafficking. But, not to present all the various illustrations, in a word we human beings not only do all we do because of an end that is good, but we also avoid the opposite activities because of an end that is evil. On the other hand, to exert oneself or toil without a reason [28] is appropriate for fools alone. If, for example, a man should entertain a serious purpose to be called King when he is merely a private citizen — and when, moreover, he knows that fact about himself perfectly well — quite contrary to his fond imagining, he would become a laughing-stock, inasmuch as he would be using a false title devoid of reality. And it is much the same in all the other matters too, whether a man wishes to be thought a flautist when he doesn’t know how to blow the pipes, or musical when he knows nothing of the art of music, or a player of the cithara when he cannot even touch the harp intelligently. While, therefore, there will be nothing to prevent men like that from being deemed actually crazy, do we imagine that, provided we are somewhat registered as “first,” we shall actually have the primacy? [29] What kind of primacy, men of Nicomedia? You see, I am going to ask you a second time, and even a third time. A primacy whose utility is what? Whose function is what? One by reason of which we shall become wealthier or greater or more powerful? Vainglory has come to be regarded as a foolish thing even in private individuals, and we ourselves deride and loathe, and end by pitying, those persons above all who do not know wherein false glory differs from the genuine; besides, no educated man has such a feeling about glory as to desire a foolish thing.
[38.30] Shall we say, then, that all these things befit our cities as communities which do not befit even persons in private life who are men of breeding and cultivation? [30] But, speaking generally, if some one were to question you and say, “Men of Nicomedia, what do you want? To be first in very truth, or to be called first when you are not?” Surely you would admit that you prefer to be first rather than to be called first to no purpose. For names have not the force of facts; whereas things that are in very truth of a given nature must also of necessity be so named. [31] Try, therefore, to hold first place among our cities primarily on the strength of your solicitude for them — for since you are a metropolis, such indeed is your special function — and then too by showing yourselves fair and moderate toward all, by not being grasping in any matter or trying to gain your end by force. For greed and violence necessarily stir up hatreds and disagreements, since it is natural that the weaker party should be disposed to look with suspicion on the stronger, believing they are due to be overreached in every matter, and when that does actually take place, their hostility is still more justly aroused.
[38.32] On the other hand, you have it in your power to benefit the cities more fully and more effectively than the Nicaeans, first and foremost because of the sea, all the revenue of which the cities share even now, partly as a favour — though your city should grant favours officially and not to certain persons privately — partly also through their own smuggling operations, and partly on application in each separate case; and while you never refuse such applicants, still the very necessity of making application is irksome. If, however, you will actually allow the communities who day by day petition for what is urgent for their need the privilege in sharing in all these rights, is it not reasonable to suppose that you will stand higher in their estimation when you become their benefactors? And at the same time you will also increase the concord which will spread everywhere.
[38.33] But you must also strive to give the provincial governors occasion to respect you, by continually making it manifest that you are not content with merely being well governed yourselves, but that you are concerned for the welfare of the whole Bithynian people, and that you are no less displeased over the wrongs inflicted upon the others than you are over those inflicted upon yourselves; moreover, that if any persons flee to you for succour, you aid them promptly and impartially. This line of conduct is what will yield you that primacy which is genuine, and not your squabble with Nicaeans over titles.
[38.34] And I should like the Nicaeans also to pursue the same course, and they will do so if you come to terms with them, and the power of each will become greater through union. For by joining forces you will control all the cities, and, what is more, the provincial governors will feel greater reluctance and fear with regard to you, in case they wish to commit a wrong. But as things are now, the other cities are elated by the quarrel between you; for you seem to have need of their assistance, and in fact you do have need of it because of your struggle with each other, and you are in the predicament of two men, both equally distinguished, when they become rivals over politics — of necessity they court the favour of everybody, even of those who are ever so far beneath them. [35] And so while you are fighting for primacy, the chances are that the primacy really is in the hands of those who are courted by you. For it is impossible that people should not be thought to possess that which you expect to obtain from these same people. And so it is going to be absolutely necessary that the cities should resume their proper status, and, as is reasonable and right, that they should stand in need of you, not you of them. And applying this principle I shall expect you to behave toward them, not like tyrants, but with kindness and moderation, just as I suggested a little while ago, to the end that your position as leaders may not be obnoxious to them, but that it may be not only leadership but a welcome thing as well.
[38.36] Again, what need is there to discuss the present situation of your governors in the presence of you who are informed? Or is it possible you are not aware of the tyrannical power your own strife offers those who govern you? For at once whoever wishes to mistreat your people comes armed with the knowledge of what he must do to escape the penalty. For either he allies himself with the Nicaean party and has their group for his support, or else by choosing the party of Nicomedia he is protected by you. Moreover, while he has no love for either side, he appears to love one of the two; yet all the while he is wronging them all. Still, despite the wrongs he commits, he is protected by those who believe they alone are loved by him. [37] Yet by their public acts they have branded you as a pack of fools, yes, they treat you just like children, for we often offer children the most trivial things in place of things of greatest worth; moreover, those children, in their ignorance of what is truly valuable and in their pleasure over what is of least account, delight in what is a mere nothing. So also in your case, in place of justice, in place of the freedom of the cities from spoliation or from the seizure of the private possessions of their inhabitants, in place of their refraining from insulting you, in place of their refraining from drunken violence, your governors hand you titles, and call you “first” either by word of mouth or in writing; that done, they may thenceforth with impunity treat you as being the very last!
[38.38] In truth such marks of distinction, on which you plume yourselves, not only are objects of utter contempt in the eyes of all persons of discernment, but especially in Rome they excite laughter and, what is still more humiliating, are called “Greek failings!” And failings they are indeed, men of Nicomedia, though not Greek, unless some one will claim that in this special particular they are Greek, namely, that those Greeks of old, both Athenians and Spartans, once laid counterclaims to glory. However, I may have said already that their doings were not mere vain conceit but a struggle for real empire — though nowadays you may fancy somehow that they were making a valiant struggle for the right to lead the procession, like persons in some mystic celebration putting up a sham battle over something not really theirs.
[38.39] But if, while the title “metropolis” is your special prerogative, that of leader is shared with others, what do you lose thereby? For I would venture to assert that, even if you lose all your titles, you are losing nothing real. Or what do you expect to be the consequence of that? That the sea will retreat from your shores, or your territory be smaller, or your revenues less? Have you ever yet been present at a play? More properly speaking, almost every day you behold not only tragic actors but the other sort too, the various actors who appear to come upon the scene to give pleasure and enjoyment, but who really benefit those who are sensitive to the action of the play. Well then, does any one in the cast appear to you to be really king or prince or god? [40] And yet they are called by all these titles, as well as by the names Menelaüs and Agamemnon, and they have not only names of gods and heroes, but their features and robes as well, and they issue many orders, just as would the characters they represent; however, when the play is over, they take their departure as mere nonentities. A person wishes to be dubbed “first”; very good. Some one really is first, and no matter if another wears the title, first he is. For titles are not guarantees of facts, but facts of titles.
[38.41] Well, here is another outcome of concord for you to take into account. At present you two cities have each your own men; but if you come to terms, you will each have the other’s too; and as for honours — for a city needs these too — set them down as doubled, and likewise the services. Some one in your city is gifted as a speaker; he will aid the Nicaeans too. There is a rich man in Nicaea: he will defray public expenses in your city too. And in general, neither will any man who is unworthy of first place in a city achieve fame with you by assailing the Nicaeans, or with the Nicaeans by assailing you; nor, in case a man is found to be a low fellow and deserving of punishment, will he escape his just deserts by migrating from Nicomedia to Nicaea or from Nicaea to Nicomedia. [42] Yet as things are now, you two cities, as it were, are lying in wait for each other at your moorings, and men who have wronged the one can find refuge with the other. But once concord is achieved, persons must be men of honour and justice or else get out of Bithynia. You are proud of your superiority in population; you will be still more populous. You think you have sufficient territory; you will have more than sufficient. In fine, when all resources have been united — crops, money, official dignities for men, and military forces — the resources of both cities are doubled.
[38.43] Furthermore, that which is the aim of all human action, pleasure, becomes greater than tongue can tell. For to achieve, on the one hand, the elimination of the things which cause you pain — envy and rivalry and the strife which is their outcome, your plotting against one another, your gloating over the misfortunes of your neighbours, your vexation at their good fortune — and, on the other hand, the introduction into your cities of their opposites — sharing in things which are good, unity of heart and mind, rejoicing of both peoples in the same things — does not all this resemble a public festival? [44] But figure it this way. If some god, men of Nicomedia, had given you the option of having not merely your own city, but also that of the Nicaeans, would not that have seemed to you a boon of incredible magnitude, and would you not have made all sorts of vows in the hope of obtaining it? Well, this thing which seems incredible can take place at once — Nicaea can be yours and your possessions theirs. [45] Or, since we admire those brothers who share completely a common estate and have not because of stinginess divided their patrimony; whose wealth, moreover, is even more admired, since it is greater for the very reason that it has not been divided and half of everything is thought to belong to both; and whom, furthermore, all men regard as good and just and really brothers — since this is true, if this spirit of brotherhood is achieved in your cities, will it not be an even greater blessing, more beautiful and richer?
[38.46] Moreover, it deserves to be achieved, not alone because of the ancestors which both cities have in common, but also because of the gods, whose rites are alike both in their city and in yours. For this is a fact which might cause one even greater sorrow, that though we have everything in common — ancestors, gods, customs, festivals, and, in the case of most of us, personal ties of blood and found, still we fight like Greeks against barbarians, or, what is still more like your conduct than that, like human beings against wild beasts! [47] Will you not look each other in the face? Will you not listen to each other? Will your two cities not clasp hands together, you being the first to extend your hand? Will you not by making peace acquire for yourselves all the good things both possess? Will you not enjoy them eagerly? Oh that it were possible for you to make even the Ephesians your brothers! Oh that the edifices of Smyrna too might have been shared by you! [48] But all these things, mighty blessings that they are — are you forfeiting them for lack of one single word, gains so rich, pleasure so great?
[38.49] However, that the reconciliation will be profitable to you two cities when it is achieved, and that the strife still going on has not been profitable for you down to the present moment, that so many blessings will be yours as a result of concord, and that so many evils now are yours because of enmity — all this has been treated by me at sufficient length. [49] But it remains for me to add that these advantages will be permanent when you have made peace with one another. For already there are some who have fears on this score too, men whose reasons for fear I understand, at least if they give utterance to it from a genuine desire for concord and a fear that concord may be destroyed, and if they are not, instead, putting forth this idea for the very purpose of preventing any reconciliation at all.
[38.50] Well, let the greatest and most trustworthy guarantee that your concord will be permanent by its expediency. For if the mere recital of the reasons which show that it will be advantageous apparently is already convincing you, why should not these reasons when supported by experience have a persuasiveness even more unshakable? [50] But what is more, I am hopeful also because of your being difficult to dislodge from accustomed habit. For instance, if strife, which is so great an evil, has remained among you so long merely through force of habit, why is it not reasonable to expect that your reconciliation, since it is more pleasant and more righteous, will make that habit also more potent? But you will need also to be watchful of little matters, and above all to be watchful of the men of no reputation, in case they ever malign you to each other — for you must not listen to them when they pursue some selfish purpose, in case they with again to secure for themselves a kind of pleasure — and you will need also to avoid becoming irritated for petty reasons. [51] A further reason for my optimism is that it is likely the gods will make it their prime concern that concord shall endure. In fact, I feel that even this beginning is due to them, and that otherwise it would not have occurred to me to dare to speak in your presence on so great a topic, a topic on which no one previously, whether old or young, has ever spoken. And it is even fitting that I pray to them once more. You remember that in the beginning I prayed them to make you heed my words; but now that you evidently are doing this already, it remains for me to pray that they may preserve for ever your admirable resolutions.

## THE THIRTY-NINTH DISCOURSE: ON CONCORD IN NICAEA UPON THE CESSATION OF CIVIL STRIFE

AS NOTED IN the introduction to the preceding Discourse, Bithynia was a turbulent province. The present Discourse, as its title indicates, was delivered following a period of civil strife in Nicaea. Neither the occasion nor the date is known. Arnim would place the speech in the period following Dio’s return from exile, but Schmid and Lemarchand would assign it to his sophistic period on stylistic grounds. The speaker’s allusion to frail health would lend some support to the later dating.
The opening paragraphs are of special interest as an expression of that pride which the several communities of the province took in their Greek ancestry, but which unfortunately failed to knit them together to form a harmonious entity. Whatever may have been the ancestry of the inhabitants of this region, they were evidently eager to claim Greek blood and the patronage of Greek gods. Their pride of race may have been heightened because of their proximity to the world of the barbarian.
Ancient tradition is not united regarding the founding of Nicaea. On the evidence of its coinage, Dionysus would seem to have been claimed as founder and the name of the city to have been derived from the nymph Nicaea. Strabo (12.565) mentions Antigonus as the original founder, adding that he called his settlement Antigoneia, but Strabo says that it was founded a second time by Lysimachus, who renamed it Nicaea in honour of his wife, the daughter of Antipater. Stephanus of Byzantine calls it a castle of Bottiaea, which may be interpreted as referring its founding to veterans of Alexander’s army. Whatever may have been the truth of the matter, at the time of our Discourse Nicaea could boast of a fair degree of antiquity.
The Thirty-ninth Discourse: On Concord in Nicaea upon the Cessation of Civil Strife
[39.1] I am delighted at being honoured by you, as indeed it is to be expected that a man of sound judgement would be when honoured by a city which is noble and worthy of renown, as is the case with your city in regard to both power and grandeur, for it is inferior to no city of distinction anywhere, whether in nobility of lineage or in composition of population, comprising, as it does, the most illustrious families, not small groups of sorry specimens who came together from this place and from that, but the leaders among both Greeks and Macedonians, and, what is most significant, having had as founders both heroes and gods.
[39.2] But it is fitting that those whose city was founded by gods should maintain peace and concord and friendship toward one another. For it is disgraceful if they do not prove to be extremely lucky and blessed of heaven and to some extent superior to the others in good fortune, desiring, as they must, to show birth to be something real and not merely a sham and empty term. For founders, kinsmen, and progenitors who are gods desire their own people to possess nothing — neither beauty of country nor abundance of crops nor multitude of inhabitants — so much as sobriety, virtue, orderly government, honour for the good citizens and dishonour for the base. [3] Even as I myself rejoice at the present moment to find you wearing the same costume, speaking the same language, and desiring the same things. Indeed what spectacle is more enchanting than a city with singleness of purpose, and what sound is more awe-inspiring than its harmonious voice? What city is wiser in council than that which takes council together? What city acts more smooth than that which acts together? What city is less liable to failure than that which favours the same policies? To whom are blessings sweeter than to those who are of one heart and mind? To whom are afflictions lighter than to those who bear them together, like a heavy load? To whom do difficulties occur more rarely than to those who defend each other? [4] What city is dearer to its people, more honoured by the stranger, more useful to its friends, more formidable to its foes? Whose praise is held more trustworthy, whose censure more truthful? Who are more nearly equal in honour to their rulers, and whom do the rulers more respect? Whom do good rulers so admire, and bad rulers less despise? Why, is it not manifest that not merely the rulers, but even the gods, pay heed to men who live in concord, while men who are torn by civil strife do not even hear one another? For no one readily hears the words either when choruses do not keep together or when cities are at variance.
[39.5] Again, what sort of edifices, what size of territory, what magnitude of population render a community stronger than does its domestic concord? For example, when a city has concord, as many citizens as there are, so many are the eyes with which to see that city’s interest, so many the ears with which to hear, so many the tongues to give advice, so many the minds concerned in its behalf; why, it is just as if some god had made a single soul for so great and populous a city. Conversely, neither abundance of riches nor number of men nor any other element of strength is of advantage to those who are divided, but all these things are rather on the side of loss, and the more abundant they are, so much the greater and more grievous the loss. Just so too, methinks, it is with human bodies — that body which is in sound health finds advantage in its height and bulk, while the body which is diseased and in poor condition finds a physical state of that kind to be most perilous and productive of severest risk. [6] Similarly too any ship which sails the sea with concord existing between the skipper and his crew not only is safe itself but also maintains in safety those on board; otherwise the more numerous the sails so much the more violent must be the impact of the storm and so much greater the confusion. This same thing is true in the case of a chariot — if the driver knows how to exercise proper control, and if at the same time the horses are not only in agreement with one another but also obedient to the driver, there is hope that in a race such a chariot will win the prize and in a war emerge in safety; but on the other hand, if strife and confusion are present, the danger increases in proportion to the strength and speed of the horses. [7] In much the same way also when a city enjoys concord, all such things are useful — abundance of riches, size of population, honours, fame, and power; but otherwise they are hard to use well and vexatious, just as when, for example, many wild animals or cattle are kept in the same enclosure, penned within a single stockade, they go butting and trampling and leaping upon one another.
[39.8] Well now, if I were blessed with robust health, I should not have abandoned my theme before discussing it adequately to the best of my ability; but as it is, not only are you perhaps more intent upon other matters, but I myself am far too frail to match the importance of the occasion. [8] Therefore, all that remains for me to do is to make the briefest and most efficacious appeal, I mean the appeal to the gods. For the gods know what men mean to say even when they speak in whispers. After all, possibly this too is typical of one who is especially well-intentioned; for instance, good fathers use admonition with their children where they can, but where persuasion fails they pray the gods on their behalf. Accordingly I pray to Dionysus the progenitor of this city, to Heracles its founder, to Zeus Guardian of Cities, to Athena, to Aphroditê Fosterer of Friendship, to Harmony, and Nemesis, and all the other gods, that from this day forth they may implant in this city a yearning for itself, a passionate love, a singleness of purpose, a unity of wish and thought; and, on the other hand, that they may cast out strife and contentiousness and jealousy, so that this city may be numbered among the most prosperous and the noblest for all time to come.

## THE FORTIETH DISCOURSE: DELIVERED IN HIS NATIVE CITY ON CONCORD WITH THE APAMEIANS

AS INDICATED BY the title, the background of this Discourse is a quarrel between Prusa, the home of the speaker, and its near neighbour, Apameia. The precise nature of the quarrel remains in doubt, but it seems to have involved business relations, and possibly also property rights. The relations between the two cities were extremely intimate. Prusa used the port of Apameia, and Apameia looked to Prusa for its timber. There was constant intercourse of many kinds between the two, and citizens of the one not infrequently were citizens also of the other, sometimes even receiving a seat and vote in the Council of the second city. Dio’s own connexion with Apameia was especially close. As we learn from Or. , not only had he himself been honoured with citizenship there, but also his father before him; his mother and her father too had been awarded citizenship in Apameia along with the grant of Roman citizenship; and, finally, it would appear that Dio’s household had found a refuge in that city during his exile.
Whatever the nature of the quarrel, it had lasted for some time prior to the date of our Discourse (A.D. 101), and it had been so bitter that Dio had feared to accept the invitation of Apameia to pay a visit joint upon his return from exile, lest by doing so he might offend the city of his birth, and for the same reason he had resisted a request to intervene in behalf of Apameia in its quarrel. He had, to be sure, urged upon his fellow citizens, as occasion offered, the desirability of reconciliation with Apameia, and negotiations to that end were actually in progress when Dio, responding with some reluctance to the summons of his fellow townsmen, appeared in town-meeting and pleaded afresh the cause of concord. It would appear that his words received a favourable hearing, for in the next Discourse in our collection, delivered at Apameia shortly afterwards, he speaks as a member of an official delegation to arrange terms of agreement.
This Discourse, as well as several to follow, is valuable both as shedding light upon doings in Bithynia, doings about which we get supplementary information from the correspondence of Pliny the Younger written during his term as proconsul of that province, and also as supplying biographical data regarding the speaker.
The Fortieth Discourse: Delivered in his Native City on Concord with the Apameians
[40.1] I used to think, fellow citizens, that now at least, if not before — now that I am home again — I could look forward to enjoying complete leisure, and that I was not going to engage in any public business, either voluntarily or otherwise. One reason was because I see that many older men, by the grace of God, and many younger men as well, are ever ready and able to direct the city and to defend your interests rightly, being deficient in neither speech nor action, and what is more, being thoroughly acquainted with your form of government, while, on the other hand, I suspected — for the truth will out — that some were vexed with me as being an outsider and a nuisance. [2] A second reason is that, in my opinion, I should take some thought, not only for my body, exhausted as it is from great and unremitting hardship, but also for my domestic affairs, now in thoroughly bad condition, affairs which, though so long in ruinous state, have met with no improvement. For when a proprietor’s absence from home, if protracted, suffices to ruin even the greatest estate, what should one expect in the course of so many years of exile? From such an exile no one could have expected me to come home safe except yourselves — because of your extreme partiality for me. And yet as long as poverty was the only risk confronting me, that was nothing to be afraid of. For I am not unprepared, I may say, to cope with that, having wandered so long, not only without hearth and home, but even without a single servant to bear me company. Furthermore, I did not expect my son to find poverty a grievous thing to bear either, since his nature is not inferior to my own.
[40.3] But since the question before us concerns my not proving false toward my native land and not defrauding you of the promise I made under no compulsion, a promise by no means easy to make good and involving no small outlay of money, this I conceive to be a difficult matter and one calling for much serious cogitation. For there is nothing more weighty, no debt bearing higher interest, than a favour promised. Moreover, this is the shameful and bitter kind of loan, when, as one might say, because of tardy payment the favour turns into an obligation, an obligation the settlement of which those who keep silent demand altogether more sternly than those who cry aloud. [4] For nothing has such power to remind those who owe you such obligations as your having utterly forgotten them. For these reasons, therefore, I felt it had become necessary for me to devote myself to my own affairs and not to any public business, not even to the extent of making a speech, until, as the poet says, I shall perceive
[40.3b] What ill or good has happened in my halls.
[40.5] The fact is that hitherto I had not had even a moment’s leisure, possibly because of my own officiousness, when I ought merely to have met you and given you friendly greetings and sacrificed to the gods, and, of course, read the letter from the Emperor, since that was a matter of necessity, and then to have retired immediately and turned to my own affairs, instead I made a speech in behalf of a certain undertaking, not on my own responsibility alone, but with the backing of the proconsuls as well, who possibly were minded to do you a favour, and perhaps me as well, and also to put the city into better shape and make it more impressive as a whole. For formerly, as you doubtless are aware, we were behind even our neighbours in such matters.
[40.6] Well, when I made that speech on the occasion referred to, not only was the Assembly aroused with enthusiasm for it — for you are not illiberal or insensible in your nature — but also many of the citizens were even moved to patriotic fervour in its support. And again, when later on I repeatedly laid the matter before you, now in the council chamber and now in the theatre, to make sure that I should not offend anyone in case you did not approve or desire the project — for I had my misgivings as to the hard work which would be connected with the enterprise — the proposal was repeatedly sanctioned by you and by the proconsuls too with not a dissenting voice.
[40.7] However, when the work was started, all the trouble to which I myself was put in taking measurements and allotting space and making computations, to insure that the project should not be unbecoming or useless — as in other cities many public works have been ruined for lack of planning — and finally in making a cursed excursion to the mountains, though I was not at all experienced in such matters and did not lack for something to do either, but might rather have occupied myself with other activities, possibly more important, from which I was likely to enjoy renown with others besides yourselves — all this I now refrain from narrating in detail; for nothing was too burdensome for me, seeing that I bore it for your sake.
[40.8] But there was a lot of talk — though not on the part of many persons — and very unpleasant talk too, to the effect that I am dismantling the city; that I have laid it waste, virtually banishing the inhabitants; that everything has been destroyed, obliterated, nothing left. And there were some who were violent in their lamentations over the smithy of So-and‑so, feeling bitter that these memorials of the good old days were not to be preserved. One might have supposed that the Propylaea at Athens were being tampered with, or the Parthenon, or that we were wrecking the Heraeum of the Samians, or the Didymeium of the Milesians, or the temple of Artemis at Ephesus, [9] instead of disgraceful, ridiculous ruins, much more lowly than the shed under which the flocks take shelter, but which no shepherd could enter nor any of the nobler breeds of dogs, structures that used to make you blush, aye, be utterly confounded when the proconsuls essayed to enter, while men who bore you malice would gloat over you and laugh at your discomfiture — hovels where even the blacksmiths were scarcely able to stand erect but worked with bowed head; shanties, moreover, in tumbledown condition, held up by props, so that at the stroke of the hammer they quivered and threatened to fall apart. And yet there were some who were distressed to see the signs of their former poverty and ill-repute disappearing, who, far from being interested in the columns which were rising, or in the eaves of the roof, or in the shops under construction in a different quarter, were interested only in preventing your ever feeling superior to that crew.
[40.10] For, let me assure you, buildings and festivals and independence in the administration of justice and exemption from standing trial away from home or from being grouped together with other communities like some village, if you will pardon the expression — all these things, I say, make it natural for the pride of the cities to be enhanced and the dignity of the community to be increased and for it to receive fuller honour both from the strangers within their gates and from the proconsuls as well. But while these things possess a wondrous degree of pleasure for those who love the city of their birth and are not afraid lest some day they may be found to be not good enough for it, to those who take the opposite stand and wish to wield authority over weak men and who deem the glory of the city to be their own ignominy, these things necessarily bring pain and jealousy. [11] And yet, while it is true that the shoe must fit the wearer and his own special foot, and if the shoe is judged to be too large it must be trimmed down, one must never curtail a city or reduce it to one’s own dimensions or measure it with regard to one’s own spirit, if one happens to have a small and servile spirit, particularly in the light of existing precedents — I mean the activities of the men of Smyrna, of the men of Ephesus, of those men of Tarsus, of the men of Antioch.
[40.12] Again, I know perfectly that on former occasions too certain persons were ready to burst with rage on hearing me talk this way and were incensed that you were growing accustomed to listening to such words, and that any one should presume to name your city in company with such distinguished cities. [12] But still, because of their angry protests at these proceedings, because of the things they say, because of their attempts to prevent any one’s making a contribution, and because of their efforts to block operations, they have put me into such a frame of mind as almost to condemn myself to voluntary exile. For it really was ridiculous if, after having experienced so long an exile, so many tribulations, and so tyrannical a foe, after reaching home at last with the hope of finding respite and of being able to forget past hardships from then on — like a man who had through the kindness of some god unexpectedly and with difficulty been rescued from a dreadful, savage sea and tempest — I should then in port, so to speak, meet shipwreck here.
[40.13] But I am especially amazed at the malevolence of sundry persons — or rather at their folly — as I call to mind what sort of tales they invented, first of all in connexion with the mission of congratulation which you sent. For they claimed that he was not glad to receive your envoys, but was vexed, as if it were incumbent upon him to meet at the gate and there embrace all arrivals, or to speak the names of those who had not yet arrived, or to inquire about this one and that one, wanting to know how they were or why they had not all come. [14] And others invented the tale that he gave the delegates from Smyrna very many presents, and that he sent untold riches along with the images of Nemesis, and, by Heaven, that after some one else had delivered an address he granted him ten thousand councillors and ordered a flood of gold to be turned in the direction of his city, and countless thousands of guineas were bestowed — not a word of which was true, though for my part I wish it were. [15] For to see many people meeting with success and gaining great favours would never disturb a man of discernment, especially a man who had been the first to encounter such good fortune, and had possibly furnished the precedent for it. For it is quite as if a man were to demand that for him alone the sun should shine, or Zeus send his rain, or the winds blow, or that no one else should be permitted to drink from the springs. On the contrary, being at once most benevolent and most sagacious of all men, the Emperor not only gave me what I asked, but also gave others what they asked.
[40.16] Well, why have I made all this harangue, when you were considering other matters? Because previously I not only had touched upon this matter, but had also in this place made many speeches in behalf of concord, believing that this was advantageous for the city, and that it was better not to quarrel with any man at all, but least of all, in my opinion, with those who are so close, yes, real neighbours. However, I did not go to them or speak any word of human kindness in anticipation of the official reconciliation of the city and the establishment of your friendship with them. And yet at the very outset they sent me an official resolution expressing their friendship toward me and inviting me to pay them a visit. Furthermore, I had many obligations toward them, like any other citizen of Prusa; but still I did not undertake to show my goodwill toward them independently, but preferred rather to make friends with them along with you. So they looked upon me with distrust and were displeased.
[40.18] Besides, at the present moment, although I had heard of the breaking off of hostilities, and that this compact of friendship was being negotiated, and although you had voted to summon me, possibly even for this very business — for you may have expected that everything would be easier to achieve and surer if I participated in it; and in fact even now by their honouring, not only those who are already in Apameia, but me too along with the others, taking into account that I too am a citizen of yours, they may conceivably have become better disposed toward you — still, for all that, I was in no great haste to come before you, being wary lest my coming might prove a stumbling-block, not to the Apameians, but to some of the men from here. For, it is safe to say, many persons are wont to look with disfavour, not on the business under consideration, but rather on the negotiators. [18] Why, even a year ago the leaders in Apameia were making these proposals to me, and you might at that time have been freed from trouble; yet I had misgivings lest the proposal might prove repugnant to some from here and they might be irritated if I acted in the matter. And so now too I have, as one might say, delayed intentionally. Accordingly, whatever can be accomplished for the city through others as well as through myself I ask to have entrusted to others preferably, so that no one may make opposition or be offended because of malice toward me. On the other hand, anything which cannot easily be achieved by any one else from here, but which is possibly very difficult to achieve at all, you may be sure always has my lively interest as long as I draw the breath of life. [19] Nay more, whoever is enthusiastic in matters concerning the city and has the ability to accomplish anything to your advantage will find me the first to bear him witness and to lend a hand in his endeavour, and I would much more gladly, yes, more eagerly, praise the same enterprise, provided it be upright, if some one else were active in it than if I myself were its moving spirit. For it is not from a desire to be popular or because I lack men to praise me or because of a craving for notoriety, but rather because of my goodwill toward you, that I wish whatever is needful to come to pass, and I pray to all the gods that, as I grow old, I may behold the greatest possible number of men more competent than myself to benefit the city.
[40.20] And now in this enterprise I praise both the official in charge and the man who made the motion. For practically every enmity, every disagreement arising in connexion with any person at all, is a vexatious thing and unpleasant for both state and private citizen, no matter how they may be situated. For enmity can not only expose and humiliate the weak, to say nothing of the hardships they have already, but also annoy those who are prosperous and distress their spirits. Therefore sensible persons prefer to submit to defeat in ordinary matters and to be not too precise in defending their rights, rather than, by quarrelling over every matter and never making any concessions to any one, always to have persons plotting against them and making war on them, persons who feel resentment at their good fortune and, so far as they are able, try to stand in the way of it, and who, on the other hand, if any reverse should take place — and many are the reverses which do occur, as is natural among men — [21] rejoice and seize the opportunity to attack. For there is no one so weak or impotent by nature, man for man, who does not chance upon some opportunity to display his malice and hatred, either alone or in conjunction with others, and to make some statement by which he is certain to cause pain, or to contrive some situation sure to cause injury. Similarly there is no disease so imperceptible to those afflicted with it as never to do harm or become a hindrance to some activity, but even if it does not greatly hamper the strength of a man while awake and walking, at least it confronts him when he goes to bed and causes him distraction and destroys his slumber.
[40.22] So I claim it is never profitable even for the greatest city to indulge in hostility and strife with the humblest village; but of course when the hostility is directed against men who occupy no small city, who have a superior form of government, and who, if they are prudent, enjoy a measure of distinction and influence with the proconsuls — for you must hear the truth and not be vexed if a man praises others in his desire to benefit you — men who, above all, share your borders, are neighbours to your city, and mingle with you almost every day, most of you being bound to them by ties of marriage, while some citizens, yes, virtually the most influential citizens among us, have obtained the honour of citizenship with them — how in these circumstances should we regard this hostility as causing no pain and doing no harm?
[40.23] And let no one imagine that I mean we should be wholly submissive, and that when they are not at all just or fair in their policies we should beg and entreat them; nay, but when they choose friendship and display an eagerness for it, to show ourselves more favourable to this policy and to transfer the rivalry growing out of our disagreement to this alternative course is far more creditable, a course whose aim is to make it plain that we ourselves are more reasonable and more scornful of wealth and personal advantage. [24] For it is not so disgraceful to prove inferior in actions prompted by hatred and, by Heaven, in those which provoke enmity as it is in those which are inspired by a spirit of moderation and benevolence. For while he who is overcome in the one is likely to gain a reputation for mere weakness, in the other it will be for boorishness and contentiousness. Indeed, the better it is to be deemed weak rather than base, so much the more preferable is it to be tardy in making war rather than in making peace.
[40.25] Now there may be other grounds also on which you might with reason pay heed to me rather than to those others, but that is especially true because you observe that I have no private interest and am not disposed through any dread of annoyance or expense on my part to disregard the course which is becoming to you. For I know full well you will not trouble me against my wishes, or order me to go abroad as if I had already made too long a stay in Prusa — and besides, I do not believe I can assist you by sacrificing my leisure or by going abroad in this manner — however, as I was saying, I consider it better for men in general, and not merely for you, both to refrain from entering lightly into an enmity which is not extremely necessary and also by every means possible to put an end to enmities already existing, recognizing that the damage resulting from quarrelling with any people is greater than the loss incident to the reconciliation. [26] For any peace, so they say, is better than war, and any friendship is far better and more profitable for men of right judgement than enmity, not only individually for our families, but also collectively for our cities. For peace and concord have never damaged at all those who have employed them, whereas it would be surprising if enmity and contentiousness were not very deadly, very mighty evils. Moreover, while concord is a word of good omen, and to make trial of it is most excellent and profitable for all, strife and discord are forbidding and unpleasant words even to utter, and much worse are their deeds and more forbidding. For the fact is, strife and discord involve saying and hearing said many things one might wish to avoid, and doing and experiencing them too.
[40.27] But the wrangling and hatred of men who are such near neighbours, yes, who share common borders, is like nothing else than insurrection in a single city, since many have ties both of marriage and of business, and there is almost daily visiting back and forth, and the inhabitants are all related and intimate and, as one might say, on terms of hospitality with one another. But a neighbouring city that is at enmity and ill disposed is a grievous thing in every way and hard to get along with, even as a city that is well disposed and friendly is beneficial and much to be desired. [28] Furthermore, consider how much more pleasant it is to visit one’s neighbours when they are on terms of intimacy and not of hostility, and how much better it is for those who are entertained away from home to be received without distrust, and how much better and more sensible it is at the common religious gatherings and festivals and spectacles to mingle together, joining with one another in common sacrifice and prayer, rather than the opposite, cursing and abusing one another. [29] And how different are the shouts of the partisans of each of two cities in the stadium and the theatre, when uttered in praise and generous acclamation, from the cries which are uttered in hatred and abuse! For these outbreaks are not for reasonable men or well-behaved cities, but rather for indecent harlots, who are not at all ashamed to utter licentious phrases, each from her respective chamber, as Homer puts it,
[40.27b] Who in a rage to mid-assembly go
And bandy insults, so their choler bids.
[40.30] How much, then, is it worth to avoid experiencing these things? How much more to avoid inflicting them on others? What amount of money or extent of territory would be such as to warrant sensible men in bartering therefor the seemly language of their daily lives, their becoming conduct at spectacles, and their readiness to go abroad? Furthermore, the very land and sea and mountains in every way bring you people together and, even if you did not wish it, compel you to deal with one another. For not only do the Apameians need our timber and many other things as well, but we ourselves have no other harbour through which to import foreign goods or to export our own domestic products.
[40.31] Is it not, then, most unfortunate that each should have to buy from men who are not friends and sell to men who hate them, to enter the port of men who are irked at their presence, to afford hospitality to men who revile them, and at times to recline at a banquet next to men who are most hostile to them; if one takes passage on a ship, to know clearly that both the skipper and all his crew are muttering curses at him; and to have ever before one’s eyes, whether sailing or walking, the most distasteful sight of all, that of enemies, and always to encounter such persons in greatest numbers on one’s travels — an evil and disagreeable omen — as the result of which one is absolutely sure to have said something disagreeable or to have heard it said about himself as he passes by? [32] So I have often reflected on the folly and the corruption of mankind, noting that men are spiritually inferior to the most despised and meanest creatures. For human beings often come to blows on meeting one another, and before they part they have exchanged abusive language; yet the ants, although they go about in such swarms, never bother one another, but quite amicably meet and pass and assist each other.
[40.33] Again, that which has now come to pass regarding our city in truth touches intimately many people and irritates without exception those who are not from Prusa, because it is you who hear their law-suits and it is in your city that they must stand trial; then you ought on that account to be the more gracious and not make yourselves obnoxious. For example, from what place will envoys chosen for this function set out? Will it not be from Apameia? Will they not set out on their voyage from the shores of their bitterest foes, and use the harbour of the enemy’s city? Or will they make a detour around it, as if the sea at our doors were difficult and inaccessible? As for me, I believe that those also who in days gone by were at variance with their neighbours found such incidents harder to bear and more grievous than that people should take up arms and invade their country or attack their fortifications or cut down their trees or set fire to their crops. [34] For although, in my opinion, such actions are hard to bear, altogether harder to bear are the passions of enmity and hatred which cause them. For from such activity as this nothing beneficial or useful can ever possibly come to pass. For the fruit of enmity is most bitter of all and most stinging, just as, methinks, its opposite, the fruit of goodwill, is most palatable and profitable. For the unwillingness ever to yield or make concessions to our neighbour — that is, without a feeling of humiliation — or while receiving some things ourselves, to concede some to the others, is not manly conduct, as some imagine, but, on the contrary, senseless and stupid.
[40.35] Do you not see in the heavens as a whole and in the divine and blessed beings that dwell therein an order and concord and self-control which is eternal, than which it is impossible to conceive of anything either more beautiful or more august? Furthermore, do you not see also the stable, righteous, everlasting concord of the elements, as they are called — air and earth and water and fire — with what reasonableness and moderation it is their nature to continue, not only to be preserved themselves, but also to preserve the entire universe? [36] For even if the doctrine will seem to some an airy fancy and one possessing no affinity at all with yourselves, you should observe that these things, being by nature indestructible and divine and regulated by the purpose and power of the first and greatest god, are wont to be preserved as a result of their mutual friendship and concord for ever, not only the more powerful and greater, but also those reputed to be the weaker. But were this partnership to be dissolved and to be followed by sedition, their nature is not so indestructible or incorruptible as to escape being thrown into confusion and being subjected to what is termed the inconceivable and incredible destruction, from existence to non-existence. [37] For the predominance of the ether of which the wise men speak — the ether wherein the ruling and supreme element of its spiritual power they often do not shrink from calling fire — taking place as it does with limitation and gentleness within certain appointed cycles, occurs no doubt with entire friendship and concord. On the other hand, the greed and strife of all else, manifesting itself in violation of law, contains the utmost risk of ruin, a ruin destined never to engulf the entire universe for the reason that complete peace and righteousness are present in it and all things everywhere serve and attend upon the law of reason, obeying and yielding to it.
[40.38] For example, do you not observe how the sun gives place to night, permitting the more obscure heavenly bodies to rise and shine, and again how it allows the moon to flood with light the whole earth during the absence of the greater luminary? And again, how the stars make way for the sun and do not feel they are being mistreated or destroyed through that god’s power? And again, how the sun sometimes about mid-day is darkened when the moon passes over it — the moon to which he himself gives his light — and furthermore, how the sun often is hidden by the most tenuous clouds or by some thin vapor arising near ponds and rivers, so that at times the sun is completely shut in, while at other times it sends its ray through the vapour thin and feeble? [39] And again, the ceaseless circling dance of the planets, which never get in each other’s way? Moreover, the earth is content with having drawn the lowest place, like a ship’s prop, and the water with having been poured about it, and, above them both is the atmosphere, soft and fresh, and, highest of all and all-embracing, is the ether, a divine fire encompassing the others. Now if these beings, strong and great as they are, submit to their partnership with one another and continue free from hostility, cannot such puny, petty towns of ordinary mortals, such feeble tribes dwelling in a mere fraction of the earth, maintain peace and quiet and be neighbours to one another without uproar and disturbance?
[40.40] Why, birds make their nests near each other, yet do not plot against each other or quarrel over food and twigs; and ants do not quarrel either, though they have their burrows close together, often carrying home grain from the same threshing-floor, but instead they make way for each other and turn off the trail and co‑operate frequently; no more do several swarms of bees, though they range over the same meadow, neglect their labours and wrangle over the nectar of the flowers. [41] What is more, herds of cattle and droves of horses often mingle in the pasture and graze quietly and tranquilly, insomuch that to the eye the two breeds form but a single group. And again, goats and sheep which have mingled in the pasture and passed the day together are easily and gently separated by their keepers. However, human beings are worse than cattle and creatures of the wild, it would seem, in regard to friendship and partnership with one another. For what Nature has done in the cause of friendship turns out, as we can see, to be a source of enmity and hatred. For example, the first and high friendship is that of parents toward children. . . .

## THE FORTY-FIRST DISCOURSE: TO THE APAMEIANS ON CONCORD

THIS SHORT ADDRESS constitutes the sequel to Or. , which it must have followed closely in point of time. Dio is speaking before the Council of Apameia as a member of the official delegation from Prusa sent to conclude the reconciliation which forms the theme of both speeches. That the question was of widespread interest is shown by the presence in the audience of others than members of the Council (§ 1).
The first half of the address is aimed at dispelling the distrust and hostility toward Dio occasioned by his seeming indifference to the Apameians in the past. This he attempts to bring about by recalling the ties which bound him and his family to that city and by explaining the delicacy of his situation as a member of both communities. The remainder of the speech is devoted to praising the blessings of concord and stressing the peculiarly intimate nature of the ties existing between the two cities. Here there are many echoes of Or. 40.
The abruptness of the close might suggest that the speech is incomplete. However, such a supposition is not unavoidable. Dio has presumably achieved his immediate purpose — to restore himself to good favour at Apameia and, as a delegate from Prusa, to make his voice heard in support of concord. It is not as if he were the only delegate to be heard.
The Forty-first Discourse: To the Apameians on Concord
[41.1] Members of the Council and you other most fair-minded gentlemen here present, I believe I know for a fact that you are kindly and amiably disposed toward me. For I am sure I myself esteem highly your favourable regard and have never said or done anything against you, and besides, immediately on my reaching home you honoured me officially with a resolution which you sent me, expressing your joy over my return and inviting me to pay you a visit. [2] And perhaps there was nothing remarkable in what you did; for wherever I have been, not only cities in general, but even, I may say, most of those which are of equal rank with yourselves, have presented me with citizenship, with membership in the Council, and with highest honours without my asking it, believing me to be not unserviceable to themselves or unworthy of being honoured. And your action is not that of strangers but rather, as it were, of a fatherland honouring its own son in token of goodwill and of gratitude. Yet that there should be some here — as is natural in a democracy — who, if I may say so, are not too pleased with me would not surprise me, because of the rivalry between our two cities. Though I am aware that I cannot please even all the citizens of Prusa, but, on the contrary, that some of them are vexed with me for the very reason that I seem to be too patriotic and enthusiastic. [3] However, a man who is reasonable and fair-minded must allow his fellow citizens this licence too. For it is not to be expected of democracies, nor is it reasonable, that they should not allow anyone in a city either to raise his voice against a single person or to find fault with him, even when that person shows himself to be behaving well in all respects, but such immunity from criticism is more likely to be accorded to dictators than to benefactors. Therefore, if there are some who are ill disposed toward me, it is they in whom I have the most confidence. For it is clear that they feel as they do because they believe I love my fatherland and try to foster it in every way. Therefore, if they become convinced that I regard this city too as my fatherland and am eager to do in its behalf all in my power, they will readily change and come to love me as the others do.
[41.4] Now love of native land is a thing which, above all, I do not disclaim. But I ask them whether they regard this as the mark of an unjust man and one who is base, and whether they would not care to have that kind of citizen in their state. Well then, you have the opportunity to have as a citizen above suspicion not only me but the best of the other Prusans as well. And furthermore, you might more justly feel confidence in me for this very reason; for whoever is inconsiderate toward his natural parents would never be a dutiful son to his parents by adoption; [5] whereas he who cherishes those to whom he owes his being would never neglect those who have become parents as an act of grace. For Nature operates without our choice, whereas grace is an act of freewill. Now then, I am a citizen of each of our two cities; but while I need not feel grateful to the men of Prusa in that connexion, it is only fair that I should requite you as benefactors. For it is through your kindness and generosity that I am a member of your city.
[41.6] However, for all who have gained citizenship by themselves there is only the benevolence inspired by the grant, and the compulsion which Nature imposes is not attached to it. [6] But as for me, I partake of both; for my grandfather, along with my mother, acquired from the emperor of that day, who was his friend, not only Roman citizenship, but along with it citizenship in Apameia too, while my father got citizenship here from you; consequently I am your fellow townsman by both grace and birth. Again, to my children at least this is fatherland rather than Prusa. While, therefore, necessity dictates that the children follow the father, it is much more pleasant for this father to follow his children.
[41.7] These, then, are the reasons why I happen to be well disposed toward you and have a citizen’s state of mind; and, moreover, I have shown it openly too. For when strife had broken out between our cities and the city of my birth very considerately disliked to trouble me against my wishes, though it was very eager to take up the problem, often inviting my support by the honours it bestowed upon me, I did not give heed to this inducement alone — not that I should have had any reluctance about acting in behalf of Prusa, since I might possibly have accomplished as much as any one and had not a few friends, and friends, too, not lacking in influence, not to say anything invidious or likely to hurt some persons’ feelings; furthermore, it was not because I shrank from the journey, since I had to go abroad in any case. [8] Well then, in spite of these considerations I held off from the affair, not as a traitor to the men of Prusa, but out of consideration for you, and because I believed I should be more serviceable to both sides if I could make the cities friends, not alone by ridding them of their past subjects of dispute, but also by turning them toward friendship and concord for the future. For this is the best course of all and the most expedient, not only in dealings between equals, but also in dealings between superiors and inferiors.
[41.9] Now I understand how difficult it is to eradicate strife from human beings, especially when it has been nurtured for a fairly long period of time, just as it is not easy to rid the body of a disease that has long since become a part of it, especially in case one should wish to effect a painless cure. But still I have confidence in the character of your city, believing it to be, not rough and boorish, but in very truth the genuine character of those distinguished men and that blessed city by which you were sent here as friends indeed to dwell with friends. That city, while so superior to the rest of mankind in good fortune and power, has proved to be even more superior in fairness and benevolence, bestowing ungrudgingly both citizenship and legal rights and offices, believing no man of worth to be an alien, and at the same time safeguarding justice for all alike.
[41.10] In emulation of that city it is fitting that you should show yourselves gentle and magnanimous toward men who are so close to you, virtually housemates, not harsh and arrogant neighbours, since they are men with whom you have common ties of wedlock, offspring, civic institutions, sacrifices to the gods, festive assemblies, and spectacles; moreover, you are educated together with them individually, you feast with them, you entertain each other, you spend the greater portion of your time together, you are almost one community, one city only slightly divided. Besides, several citizens of Prusa you have even made citizens of Apameia, you have made them members of the Council, you have deemed them not unworthy of becoming magistrates among you, and you admitted them to partnership in these august privileges which pertain to Roman citizenship. [11] How, then, is it reasonable to regard individuals singly as friends and to show them honour, and then as a community to view their city as a foe, as Apameia and Prusa both are doing? For when men love the inhabitants of a city and mingle with them and welcome them to citizenship, what explanation remains except that they do not like each other’s climate and the position of each other’s city, or else — an unholy thing even to suggest — that they detest each other’s gods? Furthermore, any enmity towards any people is an irksome, grievous thing. For there is no enemy so weak as not on occasion to hurt even the man who appears to be very strong, or to display his hatred by either saying some painful word or doing some injurious act.
[41.12] For the fruit of hatred is never, so to speak, sweet or beneficial, but of all things most unpleasant and bitter, nor is any burden so hard to bear or so fatiguing as enmity. For example, while it always interferes with strokes of good fortune, it increases disasters, and while for him who suffers from something else it doubles the pain, it does not permit those who are enjoying good fortune to rejoice in fitting measure. For it is inevitable, I suppose, that the masses should be harmed by one another, and, on the other hand, be despised and held in low esteem by the others, not only as having antagonists to begin with, but also as being themselves foolish and contentious. [13] However, there is nothing finer or more godlike than friendship and concord, whether between man and man or between city and city. For who are they who acquire the good things of life more becomingly, when it is their friends who assist in supplying them? Who escape the bad things more easily than those who have friends as allies? Who are less affected by distress than those who have persons to share their suffering and to help them bear it? To whom is good fortune sweeter than to those who gladden by their success not only themselves but others too? For I would not count that man fortunate who has no one to share his pleasure. [14] Again, what helper, what counsellor, is more welcome to behold than a friend met unexpectedly? In fact one might almost say that he is also an augury, not only most auspicious, but even most helpful, and to whomever he may meet a loyal friend. But the works of hatred, indeed, and of enmity are painful and grievous everywhere. The presence of an enemy is a grievous thing, whether in a serious business or in the midst of good cheer, a painful thing to behold and painful to recall, but beyond all things most baneful to experience.

## THE FORTY-SECOND DISCOURSE: AN ADDRESS IN HIS NATIVE CITY

THIS DELIGHTFUL LITTLE bit, obviously the introduction to a more pretentious performance, served to disarm the audience and make it sympathetic with the speaker. Its note of self-depreciation sounds quite modern. Incidentally, we get valuable information about the fate of literary works even in the lifetime of their authors, as well as about the activity of the booktrade and the low cost of its product.
Arnim asserts that our little “curtain-raiser” is unmistakably from Dio’s philosophical period. Actually all that seems unmistakable about the piece is that its author either has achieved fame as a public speaker or thinks he has. The very title is not above suspicion, for the remarks which follow afford no clue to the identity of the speaker or to either place or occasion of delivery.
The Forty-second Discourse: An Address in his Native City
[42.1] What your purpose is about me and my wisdom — or folly, as the case may be — I can’t imagine; whether you really want a speech from me with the expectation of hearing something wonderful, something the like of which you could not hear from any other man now living, or, just the reverse, with a view to showing me up and proving that I know nothing important or weighty. [2] For if this is your purpose, I put myself at your disposal with full confidence, to the end that you may satisfy your desire; but if such is not one, I am apprehensive as to the opposite opinion, lest when you have heard me you may pass unfavourable judgement upon me undeservedly, merely for the reason that you yourselves had formed an incorrect opinion about me. For I have never given any one to understand that I am an able speaker or thinker or that I possess more knowledge than the average; but on that very point I strongly insist, on every occasion, to those who ask me to speak, and I correct that false impression before settling down to my speech; and many consider this very protest of mine to be ostentation.
[42.3] However that may be, I myself also take now this path and now that. For, on the one hand, whenever I consider myself and my inexperience, my inexperience in simply everything, but especially in speaking, recognizing that I am only a layman, I am minded for the future to live the life of a layman; on the other hand, when I consider those who take me seriously and invite me to make a speech, I am constrained to feel suspicious of myself, lest some quality of mine may after all be worth while, and without being aware of it, I may be in the same position as certain members of the animal kingdom, which, though they are useful to mankind and have within them some power to cure diseases, whether it be a potency of bile or blood or fat or hair, are unaware of it, while human beings, aware of this power, pursue and try in every way to capture them, not for the sake of their meat, but for that power of theirs.
[42.4] Perhaps, then, in my case too people are always trying to make me speak, not because they have any need of my speech, but of something else. For I cannot imagine they have shown such interest in me from being ignorant and from never having heard me, as many no doubt desire many things because of ignorance. For almost all men are acquainted with my speeches, and they distribute them broadcast in all directions, just as lads in the cities sing cheap ditties at eventide. Moreover, almost all report my speeches to one another, not as they were delivered, but after having made them still better in accordance with their own ability, some making improvements purposely and [5] — evidently being ashamed to remember such stuff — introducing numerous changes and rearrangements by way of betterment, while others possibly do so unconsciously through not remembering very well. And so one no longer buys my wisdom from the market in abundant supply at an obol, as somebody has it, but instead one merely stoops and plucks it from the ground. One might almost say, therefore, that my speeches have had much the same fate as the pottery of Tenedos; for while all who sail that way put on board pottery from there, yet no one finds it easy to get it across in sound condition; but many crack or smash it, and ere they are aware they have naught but shards.

## THE FORTY-THIRD DISCOURSE: A POLITICAL ADDRESS IN HIS NATIVE CITY

THIS DISCOURSE, LIKE the one preceding, is merely a prelude to a longer speech. As the title indicates, this prelude deals with political problems. In his concluding sentences Dio enumerates the separate counts in what he calls his κρυφαία τις γραφή, but various clues sprinkled here and there prove the scene to have been, not the courtroom, but a town meeting. However, Dio is on the defensive, if not against a formal indictment, still against slanders spread by an anonymous person, who appears to have been the tool and lackey of an official whom Dio labels ἡγεμόνα πονηρόν. This official Arnim identifies with that Julius Bassus whose conduct as proconsul of Bithynia figures largely in the correspondence of Pliny. If we may believe Dio (§ 11), that conduct would seem to deserve the name tyranny which he applies to it, but in the trial itself (A.D. 103 or 104) the only count on which Bassus was condemned was that of accepting bribes. It is assumed that the acts enumerated by Dio were held at Rome to have been in line with his official duty.
However, in the performance of that duty, Bassus seems to have found an all too zealous henchman in the person whom Dio pillories. The turbulence and unrest that characterized Bithynia as a whole at just this period undoubtedly gave an unscrupulous man, such as he appears to have been, ample opportunity both to satisfy personal grudges and to line his pocket. Dio’s own reputation and connexions protected him against direct attack, but his foe seems to have tried covertly to undermine his reputation and thus to remove him from the scene as a champion of the common people, who were the man’s natural victims. Dio had an unusual sympathy for the disfranchised and under-privileged (cf. Or. .‑ and Or. .‑). It has been suggested that in the present instance he had displayed that sympathy by using his personal influence with Bassus during his consulship. If so, the malice of Dio’s unnamed foe is understandable.
We have observed already that at the close of his remarks Dio professes to report certain charges on which he is to be tried. It is plain from the final sentence that these charges were to be aired in the argument to which our Discourse forms the prelude. However, Arnim points out that they really apply, not to Dio, but to his antagonist. Therefore, although we do not know clearly the business before the assembly which Dio is addressing, it may have concerned the attitude of Prusa toward the approaching trial of Bassus at Rome (cf. § 11). Possibly the journey which Dio says he must make (§ 8) is a journey to Rome for the purpose of influencing Trajan against Bassus, and Dio may have wished to carry with him some official message from Prusa.
The Forty-third Discourse: A Political Address in his Native City
[43.1] According to the fable, a Lydian had no troubles, but he went out and bought some. Very well, the Lydian deserved to have troubles, seeing that he himself desired them; as for myself, on the other hand, although I have no desire for troubles, I have them because of ineffectual, envious fellows for no other reason than that I am thought to be fond of you, and because I have already done some good turns to my native city, having raised it to the level of the leading cities in the matter of distinction, and, God willing, shall do it other good turns in the future. [2] And I have said this, not as a bit of idle boasting — for you know yourselves that I have never referred to these services of mine in all the many speeches I have delivered in your hearing — but rather in self-defence against those who eye with malice you and me, in order that, if such a thing is possible, they may burst with rage — which from the standpoint of the city as a whole is the best thing that could happen — or else that they may at least suffer pain. But that the same persons dislike me as dislike the city you yourselves can testify, if you care to recollect both those who love and those who hate you. And yet they treat me more fairly than they treat you; for they accuse me here, whereas they accuse you from the witness-box.
[43.3] Now if I am seen to employ illustrations from Greek history, as is my habit, don’t jeer at me. For I am not showing scorn for my fatherland, nor do I suppose you to be incapable of understanding such matters for yourselves, nor do I regard either Assembly or Council as ignorant. Therefore, I desire most of all that you should have the character which is Greek and be neither ungrateful nor unintelligent; but if that is asking too much, it is at least not a bad plan to listen to words which, in my opinion, might improve your character.
[43.4] Very well then, what is my illustration? there was a certain man in Thebes called Epaminondas; he loved his country above all else; and, seizing such opportunities as existed at that period, he performed for it many great services. For, instead of the craven, helpless, subservient people they had been, he made them foremost among the Greeks and contenders for leadership. For in those days these things were possible, whereas to‑day the times are different — though of course goodwill and devotion are always the same. For the breed of traitors and informers and persons who do anything to harm their fellow citizens existed in the cities even then; moreover, while patriots and men who do not wish their fellow citizens to suffer any harm and who are ambitious to exalt their country were plentiful then and performed mighty deeds, they are fewer now and not able to perform as many noble deeds.
[43.5] However that may be, the famous Epaminondas was hated by those who were not like him, and there were some who maligned him, and the common people — as common people will — did not understand and were misled. And on one occasion one of the desperate, disfranchised group, a fellow who had done any and every thing to harm the city when it was in slavery and ruled by a dictator, abused Epaminondas in town meeting and said many harsh things — for every man who is a liar seeks to discover, not what he can say that is true, being unable to say anything that is true, but rather something offensive. Now when Epaminondas himself in turn took the floor, he did not speak regarding the other matters, nor did he defend himself against a single charge, but he merely said to his accuser, speaking in his own Boeotian dialect, “May Damater be wroth wi’ ye!” But the Thebans on hearing that were delighted and burst into laughter, as well they might, recalling, I suspect, the friendliness of Epaminondas toward the people and the scurvy conduct of the man who was trying to vilify him. [6] Accordingly, if a certain person should say to me something I do not deserve, whether in plain terms or in figurative language to win renown as an orator — though his own figure is far from comely — I shall use toward him the reply of Epaminondas.
[43.7] But rest assured that they do and say these things because they are irked at my presence here in Prusa, and for no other reason; for I do not lie in wait for any of the citizens, nor do I take pay from anybody, nor do I stand ready to levy tribute on your country, nor do I make myself a nuisance to anyone in the market-place — for I am no orator — nor have I defended anyone in court, save one luckless fellow alone whom I saved from being torn to pieces by his kinsmen and guardians, after they had first stolen his documents and pillaged much of his estate and afterwards tried by false witness to ruin him; [7] but I have spoken in no other case at law, so that I am in no respect offensive to any one. No, it is with the purpose that in case a crisis ever arises such as certain persons pray for, a crisis similar to that earlier one — the kind that is not going to arise — but supposing that it should, the purpose is, I say, to prevent my being present to aid the commons, and to insure that the victims of blackmail shall not even have any one to intercede for them or to express sympathy for them; that, I repeat, is why a certain person is incensed that I am here in Prusa. For if there were several to assume that rôle — as indeed there are — no one would speak more readily than I; and I can speak to you more frankly than any one else. The reason is that I have both sacrificed for you my own good fortune and also shared with you your ill fortune. [8] And now I must leave my country, not, as on that other occasion, without repining, attended as I then was by the affection and admiration of all, but rather attended by the enmity of some; since I myself have suffered no harm,
[43.7b] For never did they lift my cows or mares.
[43.9] However, I am not surprised at my present troubles; since even the famous Socrates, whom I have often mentioned, during the tyranny of the Thirty did everything in behalf of the people and took no part in the crimes of that régime, but, when ordered by the Thirty to fetch Leon of Salamis, he refused to obey, and he openly reviled the tyrants, saying they were like wicked herdsmen, who, having received the cows when strong and numerous, make them few and weaker; [9] but nevertheless it was by the government of the people, on whose account he then risked his life, that later on when that government was flourishing, because he had been slandered by certain informers, he was put to death. Now his accuser was Meletus, a loathsome fellow, and a liar too. Said he, “Socrates is guilty of corrupting young men and of not honouring the deities whom the city honours but of introducing other new divinities” — virtually the opposite to what Socrates was wont to do. [10] For not only did he honour the gods more than did anybody else, but he had composed a hymn in praise of Apollo and Artemis, this paean which even now I myself am wont to chant, and he tried to prevent, not merely the young men, but their elders too, from being corrupted, rebuking and reproving them, in case any one was greedy or licentious or tried to make money out of politics, some by arranging an acquittal for a bribe, some by blackmailing people, and some by pillaging the wretched islanders on the pretext of tribute or in connexion with the drafting of soldiers, just as some men are doing in Prusa. This is why they hated him and claimed he was corrupting the young men.
[43.12] But my bill of indictment was longer and, one might say, nobler, a sort of occult bill apparently: “Dio is guilty, first, of not honouring the gods either with sacrifices or with hymns, by abolishing the festivals of our fathers; secondly, of so misleading a wicked proconsul as to cause him to torture the people and to banish as many as possible, and even to put some to death, making it necessary for them to die a voluntary death because, old as they were, they could not go into exile or endure to abandon their native land; thirdly, of co‑operating in everything even now with the man who took the rôle of tyrant over our nation, and of arranging, so far as it is in his power to arrange, that that tyrant shall be successful in his struggle and shall take by force the cities and their popular governments; [12] fourthly, of spoiling even democracy itself, setting himself up as its accuser, and with his own words and tongue committing crimes against his fellow citizens, yes, the members of his own community, and doing many other things which I am ashamed to specify; fifthly, of making himself a bad example of laziness and high-living and faithlessness for both young and old; and sixthly, of bribing the masses, so that no one may reproach him with what was done in those days, but that people may instead acquire a sort of forgetfulness of his hatred and treachery.
[43.12b] Well then, men of Prusa, I shall defend myself against these charges, and if it seems good to you when you have heard me, condemn me; for the Athenians heard Socrates before they condemned him.

## THE FORTY-FOURTH DISCOURSE: AN ADDRESS OF FRIENDSHIP FOR HIS NATIVE LAND ON ITS PROPOSING HONOURS FOR HIM

INTERNAL EVIDENCE MAKES it fairly certain that this Discourse was delivered in the winter of A.D. 96‑97, shortly after Dio’s return from his long exile of fourteen years. The occasion was a town meeting at which it was proposed to accord him certain unnamed honours. These honours he modestly deprecates, pointing out that Prusa has honoured him sufficiently in having honoured various members of his family. Taking advantage of the present temper of his audience, he then urges the advisability of a reform in the conduct of the citizens. Though he is adroit in making his plea, it is abundantly evident from other speeches in this group that such a plea was warranted, for Prusa, in common with other cities of the province, was in a state of social and political upheaval. It is hinted that such reform is a necessary prerequisite to securing the concessions alluded to in § 11.
At the conclusion of his remarks, he announces that he is going to read to his hearers some correspondence between himself and the Emperor. Unfortunately that correspondence has not been preserved, but it becomes reasonably certain from Or. .‑ that his imperial correspondent was Nerva, with whom he was on very friendly terms, and that their exchange of letters concerned, not only an invitation to visit Rome, but also certain aspirations on the part of Prusa, aspirations thwarted temporarily by Nerva’s untimely death.
The Forty-fourth Discourse: An Address of Friendship for his Native Land on its Proposing Honours for him
[44.1] Fellow citizens, no sight is more delightful to me than your faces, no voice dearer than yours, no honours greater than those you bestow, no praise more splendid than praise from you. Even if the whole Greek world, and the Roman people too, were to admire and to praise me, that would not so cheer my heart. For though, in truth, Homer has spoken many wise and divine words, he never spoke a wiser or a truer word than this:
[44.1b] For naught is sweeter than one’s native land.
[44.2] Indeed, you may rest assured that I find all my honours, both those you now propose and any others there may be, contained in your goodwill and friendship, and I need naught else. For it is quite sufficient for a reasonable human being to be loved by his own fellow citizens, and why should the man who has that love need statues too or proclamations or seats of honour? Nay, not even if it be a portrait statue of beaten gold set up in the most distinguished shrines. For one word spoken out of goodwill and friendship is worth all the gold and crowns and everything else deemed splendid that men possess; so take my advice and act accordingly.
[44.3] But if really I must have some such honours also, I have here at Prusa many other honours already — in the first place, those belonging to my father, all those honours bestowed upon him for being a good citizen and for administering the city with uprightness as long as he lived; then, too, those belonging to my mother, in whose memory you not only set up a substitute but also established a shrine; furthermore, the honours bestowed upon my grandsires and my other ancestors; and more than that, the honours possessed by my brothers and other kinsmen. [4] For numerous statues and state funerals and funeral games and many other precious marks of distinction have been accorded them by this city — none of which have I forgotten, nay, I know them all as well as any man could — and I feel that I myself owe you the thanks for these honours, and I pray the gods I may be able to discharge the debt. For though I know they proved themselves very worthy and had a right to all they received, still the city was more than generous in each instance. For their fatherland thanked them even for all they wished, but through some turn of fortune proved unable, to accomplish. [5] For example, if my grandfather had enjoyed the friendship of the emperor of that day for a longer period and if the time left to him had not been altogether brief, he had in mind, as I am told, to obtain independence for Prusa, and indeed he had already drafted his plea to that end. However, there is no need to abandon hope so long as the city continues to bear noble, patriotic men such as those it bears to‑day. For though I have been in many cities, I do not know better men than the men of Prusa.
[44.6] Now I might go on to speak at some length of individuals, were it not that, since virtually all are my kinsmen, I shrink from the task of praising them, even though I should be making to each and all a contribution, as it were, due in return for the honours paid to me. [6] For, indeed, I have listened to these men too — though greatly awed on account of the speakers themselves, admiring their generosity and their devotion, and, what is more, their gift of eloquence. No wonder, then, if I myself have loved such a fatherland so greatly that I would not have chosen either Athens or Argos or Sparta, the foremost and most distinguished of the Greek cities, as my native land in preference to Prusa; and I have given practical demonstration of this too. For although many people in many lands have invited me both to make my home with them and to take charge of their public affairs, not merely at the present time, but even earlier, at the time when I was an exile — and some went so far as to send the Emperor resolutions thanking him for the honour he had done me — yet I never accepted such a proposal even by so much as a single word, but I did not even acquire a house or a plot of ground anywhere else, so that I might have nothing to suggest a home-land anywhere but here.
[44.6b] For indeed it would be shocking if human beings are to prove more unjust than bees. For no bee ever abandons its own hive and shifts to another which is larger or more thriving, but it rounds out and strengthens its own swarm, no matter if the district be colder, the pasturage be poorer, the nectar scantier, the work connected with the honeycomb more difficult, and the farmer more neglectful. But, according to report, so great is their love for one another and of each for its own hive, that when they are caught outside the hive in winter and a great wind springs up, they each seize with their feet a pebble as if for ballast before beginning to fly, so that they may not be borne astray by the gale or miss their hive.
[44.8] But when a man has a country which is both so devoted and so fine, why should he not regard all else as of minor importance? Taking all this into account, I rejoice to see my own son, my nephew, and the other young men too — and by God’s grace I see many who one and all are both of goodly lineage and, at least in personal appearance, resemble goodly men — I rejoice, I say, to see them aiming without envy and jealousy to vie with one another, and with all other men as well, concerning character and good repute both their own and that of their country too, and also striving that each may gain first rank in his fatherland for being just and patriotic and not incapable of promoting his country’s welfare. [9] For you may rest assured that, although Prusa is not the largest of our cities and has not been settled for the longest time, it is more illustrious than many, even in the estimation of the outside world, and that it has long caused its citizens to rank, not last, or even third or second, in competition with virtually all Greeks everywhere. And I say this, not for my own sake, but rather for the sake of the others, some of whom through foreign travel and through becoming notable men in a number of countries have gained a notable renown, while others through performing their civic duties here and remaining at home are not inferior to those just mentioned in either speech or action.
[44.10] But I observe that it is not from the pursuit of eloquence alone but also from the pursuit of wisdom that men of character and distinction are being produced here in Prusa; and I shall not hesitate to exhort our young men in behalf of these things both in private and in public whenever there is opportunity. And I ask of you the people that, as to privileges which must come from our rulers, you cherish the hope of their realization and pray that some measure of honour or fame or affluence may accrue; but that, on the other hand, as regards the blessings which must come from yourselves, you possess them by being superior to the other self-governed communities in orderly behaviour, in respect for others, in obedience to your men of character, in industry, in temperance in your daily lives, in neglecting neither your bodies nor your souls, insofar as each man’s private circumstances grant him leisure, in devotion to the task of rearing and educating your children, in making your city truly Hellenic, free from turmoil, and stable, and in devoting your native shrewdness and courage and intelligence to greater and finer things, while refraining from discord and confusion and conflict with one another so far as possible.
[44.11] For, my friends, education can be predicated of a people also and morality of a state, a morality based upon love of learning and fair-dealing. Moreover, not only did the Spartans and the Athenians in ancient days — and certain other peoples too — through orderly behaviour in civic matters have the good fortune to make their cities great and illustrious even out of very small and weak beginnings, but such an achievement as that is possible also for those to‑day who wish it. For if you follow the practices I have mentioned, they will benefit you more than either the size of your Council, or the right to settle your disputes at home, or the gaining of some revenue from without, or even than independence itself, should you be so fortunate as to obtain that too some day. [12] For rest assured that what is called independence, that nominal possession which comes into being at the pleasure of those who have control and authority, is sometimes impossible to acquire, but the true independence, the kind which men actually achieve, both the individual and the state obtain, each from its own self, if they administer their own affairs in a high-minded and not in a servile and easy-going manner. But that you may know my opinion from another source as well, I will read you a letter which I myself sent to the Emperor in answer to his invitation to visit him, because in that letter I begged to be excused in favour of you, and also the letter which he wrote in reply.

## THE FORTY-FIFTH DISCOURSE: IN DEFENCE OF HIS RELATIONS WITH HIS NATIVE CITY

THIS DISCOURSE SEEMS to have been delivered in A.D. 101 or 102 in a meeting of the popular assembly at Prusa (§§ and ). We do not know for certain the reason for the meeting, but, since Dio concludes his address with a vigorous defence of his programme to enhance the beauty and dignity of his city, that programme may have been the main item of business on the agenda.
As suggested by its title, the speech covers Dio’s relations with the city of Prusa. It is unusually rich in details, but unfortunately the language employed is sometimes so allusive and vague as to leave the modern reader in doubt as to the actual facts involved.
Dio begins by referring briefly to the period of his exile, speaking with bitterness of Domitian, who had sent him into exile, and recalling with pride the courage he had displayed in opposing the Emperor. After a brief reference to the friendship which had existed between the speaker and Nerva and to the loss which he and his city had sustained through Nerva’s untimely death, Dio passes to a discussion of a recent visit which he had made at the court of Trajan, from which he had brought back certain concessions which had long been sought after by Prusa. It appears that Dio’s enemies had been critical of what he had accomplished, and he takes pains to point out, not only that he had sacrificed his own personal advantage to further the welfare of Prusa, but that the concessions he had won were such as had been granted to only one other city, “the most illustrious city in all Asia.”
Although Dio does not specify what those concessions were, we may infer that they included a revision of finances (§§ and ) and either the establishment or the enlargement of the Council at Prusa (§ 7). It would appear that Dio’s enemies had accused him of wire-pulling in connexion with the election of the hundred members of this new Council, and he is at some pains to establish his innocence in the matter.
The last topic to be discussed is his programme for municipal improvements. He devotes much space to explaining that, although he was ambitious to make far-reaching improvements and had possibly allowed his enthusiasm to lead him into indiscreet remarks upon that theme, what he was then undertaking was relatively conservative in its scope. His concluding sentences contain a most interesting recital of the manner in which his project had been ratified — the proconsul had called a meeting of the Assembly without the previous knowledge of Dio and had himself read to the members in attendance either a motion to approve the plan or some statement in support of it; Dio had made an extempore speech advocating its adoption and explaining what it involved; and, if we may believe his words, not only was the vote in favour of the measure unanimous, but all promised to lend it their financial support.
The Forty-fifth Discourse: In Defence of his Relations with his Native City
[45.1] Fellow citizens, I want to render you an account of this sojourn of mine, since I believe that the time remaining to me is going to be very brief. Well, how I bore my exile, not succumbing to loss of friends or lack of means or physical infirmity; and, besides all this, bearing up under the hatred, not of this or that one among my equals, or peers as they are sometimes called, but rather of the most powerful, stern man, who was called by all Greeks and barbarians both master and god, but who was in reality an evil demon; and this too without fawning upon him or trying to avert his hatred by entreaty but challenging him openly, and not putting off until now, God knows, to speak or write about the evils which afflicted us, but having done both already, and that too in speeches and writings broadcast to the world, not being goaded by madness or desperation to do these things, but trusting in a greater power and source of aid, that which proceeds from the gods, though most men scorn it and deem it useless — [2] but to speak of these things in detail I think is superfluous, for these matters are better known among other men and enjoy a renown and honour which is their due, whereas if I narrate in Prusa the course of my exile, men will say, not that I am lamenting, but far rather that I am boasting.
[45.3] However that may be, when that man had died and the change of administration had been effected, I was on the point of going to visit the most noble Nerva; but, having been prevented by a serious illness, I lost that opportunity completely, being robbed of an emperor who was humane and fond of me and an old-time friend. And I swear to you by all the gods, it is not because of what I might have obtained for myself or for some member of my family that I am distressed at having missed it, no, because of what I might have achieved for you and for the state at large; for this I count a great injury and loss. [3] For what we have now obtained we might have had then, and we might have employed the present opportunity toward obtaining further grants. However that may be, when I had experienced at the hands of the present Emperor a benevolence and an interest in me whose magnitude those who were there know full well, though if I speak of it now I shall greatly annoy certain persons — and possibly the statement will not even seem credible, that one who met with such esteem and intimacy and friendship should have neglected all these things and have given them scant attention, having formed a longing for the confusion and bustle here at home, to put it mildly — for all that, I did not employ that opportunity or the goodwill of the Emperor for any selfish purpose, not even to a limited degree, for example toward restoring my ruined fortunes or securing some office or emolument, but anything that it was possible to obtain I turned in your direction and I had eyes only for the welfare of the city.
[45.4] But the question whether these concessions are useful and important, or whether they have been granted, not to many other cities, but to one only, and that too, I venture to state, one of the most illustrious in all Asia, a city possessing so great a claim upon the Emperor, inasmuch as the god they worship had prophesied and foretold his leadership to him and had been the first of all openly to proclaim him master of the world — I am not speaking of anything like that. But that you desired these concessions most of all, and that there had been a long period during which you were in a state of expectancy, victims of deception, constantly bestowing extravagant honours upon those private persons who merely gave you promises — for of course none of the proconsuls ever either expected or promised these concessions — inasmuch as you went in a body far from Prusa to meet the men of whom I speak, and waited for them in other cities — this perhaps is a matter worth bearing in mind. [5] And yet, seeing that only trifling, yes worthless, concessions were effected by them, the high-minded man, the man who was not the slave of envy and malice, should have said at the time, “You are crazy and deluded in clinging so tenaciously to men like that and in cultivating such low fellows in order to gain favours that are neither essential nor important, to say nothing of their being vague and of your having no assurance.” But, I suspect, any of these things, no matter how it was brought to pass, was to them difficult. Yet surely the people were not equally distressed that it was this or that proconsul who had effected the concession and presented it to them instead of one of our own citizens. Besides, they had a lurking hope which cheered them regarding concessions that never came to pass.
[45.6] And yet this too I have heard from many sources, that when one of the proconsuls on a previous occasion had sent a rescript regarding the administration of our finances and the project came to naught, many ridiculed the city — I don’t mean many of our neighbours, for the outrage would have been less in that case, but many of our own fellow citizens — alleging that the city was aiming at things beyond its reach and in point of folly proving in no wise superior to the sons of kings. And in saying these things they were not ashamed to be disparaging their own country and discrediting it so thoughtlessly by their words. For if they are among the foremost in it or among those held in honour, they are discrediting themselves, having been the outstanding men of a weak and ignoble city; while if they are among the outcast and lowest group, they are making their own disgrace still greater and more grievous, if they happen to occupy the lowest station in a city of the lowest grade.
[45.7] But, not to be diverted from my theme by these incidental reflections, now that these favours have been obtained in whatever way they were, and brought to Prusa, consider whether I have made myself obnoxious to any of our citizens, either privately by speaking to my own interest, or publicly by parading and casting in your teeth favours conferred, or by having given preferment to certain men of my choice; or whether, on the contrary, though no fewer than a hundred councillors were enrolled, while others had put in friends of their own and had schemed to have in the Council persons to aid them and to give their support to whatever they might wish to accomplish, I neither did anything of the kind nor discussed such a thing, in the belief that they would have sided with me rather than with somebody else had I so desired. [8] No, I held that, if possible, no other man should introduce such a practice or conduct state affairs by means of political clubs or split the city into factions, but if they did, that I at any rate should abstain from such misdeeds, even if it meant that I should have much less influence than any of the others and be considered of no importance at all.
[45.9] Then what error have I committed in the matters under consideration, or in what have I been found remiss? I have the right to admit to you that I was neither doing anything unjust or illegal myself nor trying to prevent the others from so doing, although by a single word I could have prevented and, by presenting myself, have disclosed to you and the proconsuls what was going on, though you knew it already. And, in case you paid no heed and the matter did not impress the proconsuls either, it would not have been difficult to send word to the Emperor. [9] It was this, therefore, that made me keep quiet, that I might not be suspected of accusing certain persons or of maligning the city and, in general, that I might not be too irritating to anyone at Prusa. Now then, the matter of the Council was managed as follows, correctly for the most part, for you elected men who were neither mediocre nor undeserving; however, since they all received the same rank — even though they obtained it justly and through their own merits — they nevertheless, like those who are being initiated into the mysteries, required mystagogoi. Yet I did not see fit even to vote on a single candidate, yes, I alone, lest such action on my part might seem to lend some weight and testimony, and lest some of the others might be reluctant to write and declare themselves in opposition to me. [10] What then? When the voting had been in progress for two or three days I left Prusa and did not intend by being present at the proceedings to have any one as my debtor or confederate or owing me thanks because of the affair. For it was for you, not for myself, that I had asked for the councillors.
[45.11] And again, when now for the first time the question of financial administration had been brought up, though I had been wronged by many men in many matters — as indeed it was to be expected that a man should be who had come home after so many years of exile — and although with regard to some I did not even need to go to law, but rather to speak to them and remind them of what was being held in their possession, nevertheless I did not mention these matters to any one or make any statement, although so many slaves had run away and obtained freedom, so many persons had defrauded me of money, so many were occupying lands of mine, since there was no one to prevent such doings. [11] For if Odysseus, who had left at home a father, a faithful wife, and friends, had the misfortune to be so despised because of his absence from home that some took possession of his house and feasted and drank there every day, draining his wine casks and killing off his cattle, and finally did not even keep their hands off his wife, but tried to make her marry again against her will and to abandon her husband and her home, was it not to be expected that I should have suffered many such wrongs at the hands of many men, since all had come to despair of me and no one any longer expected me to return in safety?
[45.12] However, though possibly I have not been like others in regard to such matters — I mean that, as compared not only with laymen but even with many who are known as philosophers, I may have acted with more self-restraint — still I have offended the city in the matter of the public improvements. Concerning these, how they came about, you have often heard me speak; yet perhaps I should take this occasion also to refresh your memory. For, gentlemen, that I wished in the first place to beautify the city and equip it with, not merely colonnades and fountains, but also, if that were possible, fortifications and harbours and shipyards, I freely admit. [13] And also that I have had another passionate desire — call it either so childish or so foolish as you will — I do not deny. I mean my desire to make our city the head of a federation of cities and to bring together in it as great a multitude of inhabitants as I can, and not merely dwellers in this distinct either, but even, if possible, compelling other cities too to join together with us, just as Epaminondas once brought Boeotia into union with Thebes, and as Theseus brought Attica into union with Athens, and as the people of Mytilenê once, according to report, having become masters of Aeolis and of the regions about the Hellespont and the Troad, gathered all Lesbos into their own state as a unit.
[45.14] However, being acquainted with the views of some of the people here, as well as with my own limitations and responsibilities and the duration of my sojourn in Prusa — for the time at my disposal is altogether brief — I neither undertook anything too ambitious nor entertained any such expectations, only I could not control my own thoughts, but, just as lovers when alone together expatiate on such things as they most desire, so I too would often mention those things which I did believe it would profit the city to have for its equipment and its establishment of a federation and its revenues and countless other things. [15] And if the opportunity should ever arise for the fulfilment of these projects and some god should bring them to pass, then you will see the extravagance of the hostility of certain persons and of their hatred of me — to say nothing of their hatred of you — since they will no longer be ambiguous and mild in their speech and their abuse, but open and outspoken, and if they prove unable to block proceedings, they will hang themselves sooner than see the city become such a city as, God willing, it is not impossible for it to come to be. At that time, at any rate, when the proconsul accepted the proposal — possibly through your efforts, but perhaps through mine as well — and convened an assembly, though I had had no previous warning, and began to read a statement about these matters, I could not keep quiet, but took the floor and gave the measure my support and explained the project for those who lacked information on the subject. [16] And as to what happened after that, it is not that you the Assembly desired the improvements but a certain one of the officials opposed them, nor yet that, while no one opposed them, none was found enthusiastically in favour of them and ready to co‑operate; on the contrary, one and all, believing that the undertaking was fine and for the city’s good, were ready not only to vote for it but also to contribute to it; and thus the proposal was carried, as being fine and magnificent and beneficial to the city.

## THE FORTY-SIXTH DISCOURSE: DELIVERED IN HIS NATIVE CITY PRIOR TO HIS PHILOSOPHICAL CAREER

THE TITLE OF this Discourse, though doubtless truthful, affords no information as to either the contents or the occasion. Such a title must have been given by a person who was interested in the chronology of the speeches. It is the only title of the sort preserved in our MSS., though Synesius found several of that type in his copy of Dio.
Relying on internal evidence, Arnim dates the speech shortly prior to Dio’s exile. Although the clues when taken separately may not be conclusive on that point, their combined witness supports that dating. The speaker is conscious of his powers as an orator (§ 7) and has appeared as an advocate in court (§ 8); he has been in possession of his inheritance for some time, though he has not yet collected all the debts due the estate; he has excited the envy of the masses by his reputed wealth (§§ 5‑6); he appears to have only one infant child (§ 13); he has recently built a pretentious villa and some workshops (§ 9). Furthermore, he rests his claim to respect upon the reputation of his forebears rather than upon any merits of his own (§§ 2‑4), and his failure to appeal for sympathy on the score of having been an exile is in marked contrast with his behaviour in the speeches which are demonstrably subsequent to that exile.
The occasion for the address is briefly as follows. As a result of the rising price of grain at Prusa a bread riot has taken place. The excited mob rushed to attack the properties of Dio and an unnamed neighbour, either because they were suspected of having manipulated the grain market or because it was felt that they should be doing something toward the relief of the masses or because of pure hatred of the poor for the rich. Having reached a narrow lane near Dio’s estate, the mob suddenly was seized with panic and withdrew. The following morning the local authorities call a town meeting to discuss ways and means of easing the situation. In this meeting of citizens Dio rises to protest against his maltreatment by the mob. The gathering is hostile, and he appeals for a fair hearing both in the beginning of his remarks and later when he speaks of the price of grain; but he shows himself a man of fearless courage both in defending himself and in upbraiding his fellow townsmen. The address is interesting, not only as presumably the spontaneous eloquence of a distinguished speaker, but also as portraying in vivid colours the social and economic unrest that must have characterized more than one community in Bithynia.
The Forty-sixth Discourse: Delivered in his Native City prior to his Philosophical Career
[46.1] I am not so astounded at your conduct, gentlemen, shocking as it is, but since I cannot see any justification for your anger against me, I am in a quandary. For while justifiable anger can be assuaged by entreaty, hatred that is unjust who could heal? However, I ask you to give me a hearing, since I speak as much on your account as on my own. For if I am guilty of no wrong, neither do you, I presume, wish to hate without a cause one of your own citizens; while if I am guilty, my words will be harmful instead of helpful to me; and thus I shall undergo at your hands a punishment greater than you yourselves are seeking. For it is in every way more dreadful to be proved a scoundrel than to be stoned to death or consumed by fire. [2] And you must recognize first of all that the things which seem terrible to you — stones and fire — are not terrible to anybody, and that you are not really strong because of these things, but weakest of all — unless one were to take into account the strength of brigands and madmen. But as for a city and a government by the people, strength lies in other things, and first and foremost in wisdom and fair dealing.
[46.3] Now with reference to my father, there is no need for me to tell whether he was a good citizen, for you are always singing his praises, both collectively and individually, whenever you refer to him, as being no ordinary citizen. [3] You should know, however, that these words of praise of yours are of no use to him; on the other hand, when you give your approval to me, his son, then you have been mindful of him too. Again, no one could say of my grandfather either that he disgraced the city or that he spent nothing on it out of his own means. For he spent on public benefactions all that he had from his father and his grandfather, so that he had nothing left at all, and then he acquired a second fortune by his learning and from imperial favour. [4] Moreover, it is plain that he asked for no favour for himself, though held in such great friendship and esteem, but rather that he guarded and husbanded for you the goodwill of the Emperor. But if anyone thinks it foolishness to remind you of goodwill and nobility on the part of your own citizens, I do not know how such a man can wish to be treated well himself. Being descended, then, from such forebears, even if I were an utter knave myself, yet surely on their account I should merit some consideration instead of being stoned or burned to death by you.
[46.5] But consider my own claims too, gentlemen, not unsympathetically. For my father left us an estate which, while reputed to be large, was small in value, yes, much less than that of others; for no less than four hundred thousand drachmas were in bills receivable, besides foreign business ventures of such nature that they were far more troublesome than the bills. For we had no security, I might say, for any part of our assets, but my father had acquired all his wealth through trusting to his own influence, believing that no one would contest his claims. [6] Yet, left as I was in such a situation, while I have not even now succeeded in securing a settlement of that part of the loans which fell to me, I have performed for you the greatest liturgies, in fact no one in the city has more of them to his credit than I have. Yet you yourselves know that many are wealthier than I am. What is it, then, that makes you angry with me, and why of all the citizens have you singled out for dishonour me and what’s-his‑name, and why do you threaten us with stoning and burning? And let no one say that I am speaking in behalf of that man. For though perhaps you should not be so exasperated at any one, even among the wrongdoers, still my own troubles are enough for me.
[46.8] And pray consider what sort of citizen I am in other respects also, comparing me with whom you please — of all whom you do not consign to the flames. For example, though I have real estate, all in your territory too, yet none of my neighbours, whether rich or poor — and many of the latter class are my neighbours too — has ever lodged complaint against me, either justly or unjustly, alleging that he was being deprived of something or being evicted. Nor am I either over-clever as a speaker or, if I may say so, poorest of all in that art. [8] Well then, is there any one whom I have injured by my words, by causing trouble for any one who loves peace and quiet or by contriving some outrage against him? Or have I placed anyone in jeopardy touching his estate, pretending that it belongs to Caesar, or have I as advocate played false to any one?
[46.8b] Again, no man is more blameless than I am in connexion with the present shortage. Have I produced the most grain of all and then put it under lock and key, raising the price? Why, you yourselves know the productive capacity of my farms — that I rarely, if ever, have sold grain, even when the harvest is unusually productive, and that in all these years I have not had even enough for my own needs, but that the income from my land is derived exclusively from wine and cattle. Nay but, some one may claim, though I lend money, I am unwilling to supply it for the purchase of grain. There is no need for me to say anything on that score either, for you know both those who lend money in our city and those who borrow.
[46.9] What is it, then, which I might do to relieve you from your distress but which I refuse to do, or what is it that makes you feel toward me as you do? It is because, by Heaven, I have built the colonnades near the hot springs, and workshops too; for this is the injury some claim the city is suffering at my hands! Yet whom have either you or any other person ever taken to task for building a house on his own farm? Or is it that which makes grain dearer? Why, I bought the land at fifty thousand drachmas, a price altogether higher than its worth! Nay, I am ashamed, by all that’s holy, if any of the citizens — for of course it is not the city itself — is so depraved as to feel hurt and jealous if he sees that somebody has built a colonnade or a workshop!
[46.10] Besides, though the matter over which you have become incensed truly does require some attention, still it is not beyond repair or such as to make you act as you are acting. For while the cost of grain has risen higher than what is customary here, it is not so high as to make you desperate. Why, there are cities in which it always is at that price, when conditions are best! There you go, making a tumult once more, as if I were saying it ought to be that price at Prusa too, and never lower. But the point I am making is that, while it is necessary to take steps to make it cheaper, still it is not necessary to feel so bitter over what had happened or to lose your senses; for the way you have acted just now is not the conduct befitting such a matter, nay, if I had murdered your children and your wives you could not have behaved with greater savagery. [11] For to be enraged at one’s own fellow citizens — I care not whether justly or unjustly, but at all events at fellow citizens, citizens in good standing, yes, as good as anybody — and not to let them explain or to make an explanation to them, but without more ado to try to stone them and burn their houses, with a view to consuming in one conflagration, if possible, them and their children and their wives — what kind of human beings act that way? In my opinion, I swear by all that’s holy, no matter if you will be angry to hear it, such conduct is not that of men in needy circumstances or lacking the necessaries of life. For need develops self-control.
[46.12] And if you do not suppose these remarks of mine are being offered for your good, you are very much mistaken. [12] For if you are going to be like this and, in case you become angry with any one — and many things are likely to happen in a city, both right and wrong — you are going to see fit to exact so extreme a punishment as forthwith to try to consume with fire the victim of your rage along with his children and to force some of the women, free citizens as they are, to appear before you with garments rent, supplicating you as if in time of war, what mortal is so foolish, so unfortunate, that he will choose to live in such a city a single day? The fact is, it is far better to be an exile and a sojourner on foreign soil than to be subjected to such outrage. Why, even now the alleged reason which, they say, made you turn back from my house — having become suspicious, forsooth, at the depth of the lane — see how flimsy it is! [13] For if that is what saved me, it is high time from now on, as if the city were an armed camp, to occupy the difficult terrain and the lofty or precipitous positions! And yet, God knows, not even in armed camps does one soldier seek a safer spot than his neighbour in which to pitch his tent; no, their precautions are aimed at the men with whom they are at war.
[46.12b] So, although my thanks are due to the lucky chance which made you turn back, whether this was your motive or anything else at all; still you had no real reason to be suspicious. For I should not have warded you off, no, so far as that is concerned, you are absolutely safe in burning down my house any time you please, and I was content to take my wife and baby and leave.
[46.14] And let no one imagine that it is in anger over my own position that I have said these things rather than in fear for yours, lest possibly you may some day be accused of being violent and lawless. For nothing which takes place in the cities escapes the attention of the proconsuls — I mean the more important ones in these parts; on the contrary, just as relatives denounce to the teachers the children who are too disorderly at home, so also the misdeeds of the communities are reported to the proconsuls. Now while such conduct as yours would not be honourable or advantageous for yourselves, to demand that there should be supervision of your market and that those men should be elected who are financially able and have not performed liturgies, but if that cannot be, that then the choice of supervisors should rest with you, this, I say, is the course of sensible human beings and in this no one will oppose you.

## THE FORTY-SEVENTH DISCOURSE: A SPEECH IN THE PUBLIC ASSEMBLY AT PRUSA

THE THEME OF this Discourse is Dio’s pet project of embellishing his native city. He seems to have conceived the idea soon after his return from exile (A.D. 96). We learn both from the present address and from Or. . that the people of Smyrna, Ephesus, Tarsus, and Antioch, not to mention lesser communities in that quarter of the Roman world, were taking energetic measures to beautify their respective cities, and Dio was concerned that Prusa should not lag behind. The full magnitude of his ambitious scheme is suggested by Or. .‑, where he says he had dreamed of constructing not merely colonnades and fountains but also fortifications, harbours, and shipyards and of increasing the population of Prusa by attracting immigration from all directions and even by incorporating with Prusa while communities, “as Epaminondas once brought Boeotia into union with Thebes and as Theseus had brought Attica into union with Athens.”
The opening paragraphs of Or. form a valuable supplement to our present Discourse, which it seems to have preceded by not more than a few months. By combining both sources of information we gather that thus far Dio’s operations have been confined to the construction of one or more colonnades; that the project had been sponsored by one or more proconsuls, as well as by Trajan himself; and that it had been welcomed by the people of Prusa, who on more than one occasion had heard the plan explained and had repeatedly expressed enthusiastic approval and guaranteed financial support by private subscription. However, the work involved the demolition of older structures and the removal of certain landmarks, both sacred and profane, and Dio son found himself the target for hostile criticism. He seems to have been attacked on the charge of impiety and lack of local patriotism and as being chiefly concerned to serve his personal pride and ambition. It was no doubt by means of such charges that the small but energetic group of opponents tried to discourage payment of subscriptions to the building fund and thus to block proceedings. In the concluding paragraphs of the present address Dio deals ironically with the criticisms of one enemy in particular, whose gossipy remarks are treated as if they were intended for Dio’s own good but who seems to have likened him to a tyrant.
Dio tells us, no doubt truthfully, that his active opponents are relatively few; yet his long exile had made him seem to be an outsider, his social and financial status undoubtedly raised him above the general level at Prusa, and his intimacy with Trajan and other influential Romans, while on occasion it was capitalized to the advantage of his people, laid him open to popular suspicion and jealousy. Again, it is human nature for men to be carried away by enthusiasm when plans are first proposed but to find their ardour cooling when work is in progress and subscriptions are falling due. Whatever may have been the cause, it is apparent that affairs have reached such a stage that Dio feels he must abandon his earlier intention of making no more public appeals in support of the work. The speech which he proceeds to deliver is notably sarcastic and bitter, but the justice of his case is made so manifest and his threat to wash his hands of Prusa is so disturbing that his hearers seem to have burst forth into shouts calling for the work to be carried forward. That it was carried forward to completion and acclaimed as a success may reasonably be inferred from the close of Or. , which Arnim dates in A.D. 101 or 102, at most but a few months later than the present Discourse.
We find welcome testimony regarding conditions in Bithynia in the tenth book of Pliny’s Letters. Immediately following Pliny’s entry into that province, A.D. 100 or 111, he reports (17A and B) that finances are in bad shape, that on various pretexts private individuals are in possession of public funds, that public grants have been made for illegal purposes, but that substantial sums may be recoverable from certain contractors at Prusa. Letter and Trajan’s reply concern a project to “repair an ancient and ruinous bath” at Prusa. A sequel is found in, in which Pliny proposes to abandon the original structure, once a private residence of some pretensions but now “a hideous ruin,” and to build afresh in a district now “exceedingly deformed.” More interesting still for our present purpose is, in which it is reported that Cocceianus Dio had been eager to have the Council of Prusa accept for the city “a public edifice which had been erected under his charge.” A certain Flavius Archippus, acting through his attorney Eumolpus, had demanded that Dio first render an account of expenditures, charging that the work had not been carried out according to specifications and adding that Dio had been guilty of a grave offence in setting up a statue of Trajan in the same edifice in which were buried Dio’s wife and son. Dio had been prompt in presenting to the proconsul the required statement and was urging a speedy hearing, but his opponents continued to create delays. We do not know the outcome of the squabble, but Trajan’s reply (82), while recommending an inspection of Dio’s accounts, as a matter of public interest, exhibits slight concern over the charges laid against him.
Thus we are led to infer that the popular support achieved by Or. 47 sustained Dio in the years that followed the completion of the colonnade and encouraged him to undertake with renewed zeal some of the projects associated with the ambitious program spoken of in Or. .‑. It is equally clear that he still had to contend with the opposition of some of his fellow citizens.
The Forty-seventh Discourse: A Speech in the Public Assembly at Prusa
[47.1] In the first place, my friends, do not by any means suppose when I rise to speak that you are about to hear a discourse that is extraordinary or remarkable; I mean, for example, one composed to produce a kind of pleasure or to exhibit beauty or wisdom. For possibly I should not in any event have been equal to that sort of thing, but it may be that by good luck I have deceived the public and all the cities; yet be that as it may, it stands to reason that now at all events I have experienced a great lack, indeed a complete forgetfulness, of that sort of eloquence. For a man’s words must needs be coloured by the nature of what he is doing and in which he is engrossed; and in my case I have long been engaged in petty and inglorious affairs.
[47.2] Now perhaps this experience of mine is a matter of necessity, for previously I used to be surprised at those philosophers who abandoned their own countries under no compulsion and chose to dwell among other peoples, and what is more, despite their own claim that a man should honour his fatherland and regard it as of supreme importance, and that activity in public affairs and playing one’s part as a citizen is the natural duty of a human being. I am referring to Zeno, Chrysippus, and Cleanthes, not one of whom stayed at home, despite these brave words. Did they not, then, mean what they said? They above all others did, to my way of thinking. [3] Why, they regarded concern for a man’s own city as a noble and truly blessed and appropriate function for men of wisdom; on the other hand, they used to view with distrust the difficulties and vexations it involved — not only ignorance on the part of some, but malice on the part of others, and sheer heedlessness on the part of still others — unless a man of wisdom could at the same time possess the strength and power of a Heracles; however, they considered this impossible.
[47.4] And yet we hear of Heracles himself that, though he made himself master of Egypt and Libya, and also of the people who dwelt about the Euxine Sea, both Thracians and Scythians, and though he captured Ilium, having crossed over with a small army, and though, after gaining control over all these peoples, he actually set himself up as king; still when he arrived in Argos he busied himself with removing the dung from the stables of Augeas or hunting serpents or chasing birds, to keep them from troubling the farmers in Stymphalus, or with performing other such menial and humble tasks at the bidding of another; and finally, they say, he was sent to Hades, with such exceeding fairness did his fellow townsman treat him! But we hear that, though the Argives and Thebans praised and admired Heracles, still they shut their eyes to his mistreatment.
[47.5] It was the thought of this, it seems to me, which made Homer, who was not only a fine poet but also in his way a philosopher, spend all his time abroad — so much so that no one could determine his country — and prefer to get twenty-five drachmas by begging, and that too in the rôle of a madman, rather than live at home. And so it was that in later days all men claimed him as their countryman. Again, while Homer’s name is well known among all Greeks and barbarians, most men, it is safe to day, have not even heard of Ios — if he really was born there — and there is not much talk of Chios or of Colophon either; and yet Colophon can show a poet not inferior to Homer, namely Apollo. Again, Pythagoras of his own volition fled from Samos when it was under the tyrant, and yet among all other peoples, and especially, I believe, about the shores of Italy, he was honoured as a god.
[47.6] “What of it,” some one in this audience has been saying long since, “are you comparing yourself with Homer and Pythagoras and Zeno?” Nay, by Heaven, not I, except that it was the opinion of all the philosophers that life in their own native land was hard. For what think you? That they did not love their home-lands, but that Homer, while he lamented over Odysseus and declared that Odysseus was willing to die forthwith if only he could see the smoke rising from Ithaca, did not himself cherish his own city, but, on the contrary, that he was not confessing under the name of Odysseus his own love and longing for his native heath? [7] On the other hand, while I cannot say whether the man who always remained in his father land, doing whatever seemed best to his fellow citizens and the laws, benefited the Athenians to any great extent, I do know the loss which they sustained in his death. For even now they still are reproached concerning Socrates for not having behaved toward him either justly or piously, and it is said that this conduct of theirs occasioned all the evils which befell them later.
[47.8] Now this is merely idle talk which you have heard from a “vagabond” and a “chatterbox.” But as I was saying, I beg you not to expect from me at present any high-minded, sage address, but rather one which is amateurish and commonplace, just as are the matters of which it treats. But let me assure you, just as from the moment of my arrival this time I had purposed to maintain a discreet silence, I should not have said a single word had not something urgent taken place. For I have taken in hand a problem which has caused me many real problems and amazing unpleasantness. Consequently, although formerly I did not understand what in the world was meant by the saying that the Thessalian witches draw down to themselves the moon, now I have come to understand it fairly well. [9] And I used to envy Aristotle at times because, being a native of Stageira — Stageira was a village in the territory of Olynthus — and having become the teacher of Alexander and an acquaintance of Philip’s after the capture of Olynthus, he brought it about that Stageira was resettled, and they used to say that he alone had had the good fortune to become founder of his fatherland. But meanwhile, quite recently, I came upon a letter in which he exhibits a change of heart and laments, saying that some of these settlers are trying to corrupt, not only the king, but also the satraps who came there, so as to thwart any good outcome and to prevent entirely the resettlement of the city.
[47.10] But when some persons, exiles and homeless as they were, were actually annoyed by the prospect of having a fatherland and enjoying constitutional government in independence, but preferred to be scattered in villages like barbarians rather than to have the form and name of a city, would it be proper, I ask you, to feel surprise no matter what else annoys certain persons? Accordingly, just as Aristotle has written in his letter as one who has become sick and tired of his troubles — for he says he is holding up his fingers — you may consider that I too am holding up my own fingers, as well as any other fingers there are. [11] For in truth the infatuation of those fellows proved more than a match for the exertions of Aristotle, so that they did not permit the petty village to grow to the rank of a city, and to this day the spot is uninhabited. But let no one charge me with calling this city of ours a Stageira and a village; for I can declare on oath that no other city has appeared to me more excellent, even were it to possess only the smithy of So-and-so, which I, the “sacker of cities and citadels,” tore down.
[47.12] However, that I may not forget the reason why I took the floor, perhaps I have been guilty of a human error. Well then, what penalty do you want me to suffer now in payment for this error, or what do you wish me to do? I ask you to give me your advice. Should I tear down at my own expense the work thus far accomplished and make everything just as it was before? But perhaps I shall not be able to do so. [13] Or what shall I do, in Heaven’s name? Do tell me! For I thought as I perceived that other cities were ambitious in such matters — not merely the cities in Asia and Syria and Cilicia, but these neighbouring cities so close at hand, Nicomedia, Nicaea, and Caesarea yonder, well-born folk and very Greek, yet occupying a city much smaller than our own; — and that those who enjoyed the rights of citizenship in each of these cities, no matter if they differed concerning other matters, agreed on such matters as these; and that the Emperor, as luck would have it, was sending written instructions to this effect, stating that he wishes your city to be developed in every way — but just let me read you his letter, since it would take too long to read the letter of Aristotle and it would not be worth the trouble — [14] I thought, as I was saying, that it would be this way with you people too, and that no one would be vexed because the city was being embellished. And so far as that is concerned it turned out as I had expected; for you approved these plans, and you yourselves made many and frequent contributions and showed yourselves enthusiastic.
[47.15] What, then, do you wish? For I swear to you by all the gods, if it meant paining you, or any among you, or being thought a nuisance, I should not choose to have for my very own the palace of Dareius or of Croesus, or to have my own ancestral dwelling golden in very truth instead of in name alone like the house of Nero. [15] For there is no advantage in a golden house any more than there is in a golden pot or in the Persian plane tree. On the other hand, there is advantage when a city becomes good-looking, when it gets more air, open space, shade in summer and in winter sunshine beneath the shelter of a roof, and when, in place of cheap, squat wrecks of houses, it gains stately edifices that are worthy of a great city, the purpose being that, just as with well-bred colts and puppies, those who see them can forecast their future height if the legs are long and sturdy, whereas if they are short and stunted men say they will always remain so, thus it may be also with our city.
[47.16] But what use is there in you speaking of these things now? One of the sophists did well to call me a nightingale, though he intended it as an insult; his reason, no doubt, was that the poets call the nightingale a tiresome chatterer. But perhaps I may be like the cicadae; for when parched with thirst from exposure of that sun, they sing out of sheer folly, since they are in no wise benefited thereby. Yet perhaps I should not fail to add this much at least on the subject of the tombs and shrines, namely, that it is not likely that the people of Antioch did not lay hands upon anything of this kind; the reason is that they were providing much more space than we are, for their city is thirty-six stades in length and they have constructed colonnades on both sides; nor is it likely that the people of Tarsus did not either; nor indeed the people of Nicomedia, who passed a resolution to transfer their tombs. [17] And Macrinus, whom you have recorded as a benefactor of the city, removed from the market-place the tomb of King Prusias, and his statue as well. The explanation is that the cities I have named have no one who is public-spirited or scrupulous in religious matters; but we had many such!
[47.18] However, just suit yourselves in these matters. For what concern of mine is the colonnade in this city? As if I could not promenade in any place I please — in the Painted Porch at Athens, in the Persian Porch at Sparta, in the golden colonnades in Rome, in those of Antioch and Tarsus — attended by marks of greater respect, or as if I expected that I alone should sally forth and promenade but no other citizen! Why, no one has either a municipal gymnasium all to himself where he exercises or a colonnade or a bath or any other public structure. Or else I have become demented or feeble-minded.
[47.19] However, as I have requested, give me your advice. For though it is my desire to please you in every way possible, I am at a loss. For as things are now, if I take the business in hand and try go get the work done, some persons say I am acting the tyrant and tearing down the city and all its shrines. For of course it was I who set fire to the temple of Zeus! Yet I saved the statues from the scrap-pile, and now they are placed in the most conspicuous spot in the city. But if, on the contrary, I hold my peace, not wishing to make any one groan or to give offence to any one, you cry out, “Let the work proceed, or else let what has been accomplished to date be torn down!” — as if by this you were taunting and reproaching me. [19] Well, what do you wish me to do? For I will do whatever you say, and as to everything essential I will raise no objection, no matter if some one has done a job for which he has rendered no accounting, no matter if he is still at work and receiving funds regularly from the annual officials, just as if he were destined to continue receiving these funds for the jar that never fills, no matter what else may take place — for what have I to do with these matters? For I shall not go walking through your colonnade, you may be sure. But do you wish me to go ahead with the work, and to visit the proconsul and beg him to collect the subscriptions, gently and with regard to ability to pay, from those who have promised them? you ready to do even this; not only so, but even to contribute a portion of what has been subscribed myself, so as to lighten the burden of the rest. [20] Only do give me some instructions; otherwise I shall hold my peace and let you shout — or rather I shall go away. For unlike the fox who ate the meat and could not get out of the oak because she had stuffed herself, I shall find no difficulty in getting out on that score, for I have grown much thinner than I was when I came in.
[47.21] And in Heaven’s name don’t imagine you are showing me kindness when you shout about the colonnade, for there is, I may say, only one man in the city, so I hear, who is showing me kindness and taking special thought for my welfare; moreover, no one, whether friend or kinsman, shows concern for me in that way. But consider whether you will think he reasons well in my behalf and is devoted to me, [21] seeing that, in the first place, he believes that after all my perils and hardships I should live here quietly and devote myself to my private affairs and neither cultivate proconsuls nor have any other occupation; also, since I have recovered only a small part of my property, and since, on top of my earlier losses, when my sister died I not only derived no profit from her estate but even lost everything of mine that she controlled and had to make a loan for the purchase my farm, he argues that I should repay this obligation, as well as the earlier debts, and not be building a colonnade or incurring expenses beyond my ability to carry; [22] furthermore, since I am on terms of acquaintance, perhaps even of intimacy, with the Emperor, as well as with many others who may be called the most influential among the Romans, he suggests that I should associate with them, enjoying their esteem and admiration, instead of being taken to task in your city before this or that individual; again, if I really like foreign travel, I should, he says, visit the greatest cities, escorted with much enthusiasm and éclat, the recipients of my visits being grateful for my presence and begging me to address them and advise them flocking about my doors from early dawn, all without my having incurred any expense or having made any contribution, with the result that all would admire me and perhaps some would exclaim,
[47.21b] Ye gods! his dear and honoured is this man
To whatsoever town and folk he comes;
[47.23] but I should not spend money out of slender resources, be busied with unprofitable ventures, destroy with neglect my body, which calls for treatment and much attention, allow my soul to go so long without a taste of philosophy and kindred subjects, and be called to account before this or that man and be subjected to abuse at times and made to smart.
[47.24] By Heaven, is not the man who frets and reasons thus in my behalf most well disposed toward me of all and most deserving of my love? However, when I hear that a certain person is talking about me as if I were a tyrant, it seems to me to be amazing, yes, ridiculous. [24] For according to my understanding tyrant’s acts are like the following: seduction of married women and ruining of boys, beating and maltreating free men in the sight of all, sometimes even subjecting men to torture, as, for example, plunging them into a seething cauldron, and at other times administering a coat of tar; but I do naught of this. Furthermore, I know regarding a female tyrant, Semiramis, that, being advanced in years and lustful, she used to force men to lie with her. And of male tyrants I have heard it said that so-and-so did the same thing, outrageous old sinner!
[47.25] But what has all this to do with me? Is it because I build my house in costly style instead of letting it tumble down? Or because I myself wear purple instead of a miserable rag or cloak? Can it be because I wear long hair and have a beard? But, possibly this is not the mark of a tyrant but rather of a king. However that may be, some one has said that being roundly abused, though doing kindly deeds, is also a mark of royalty.

## THE FORTY-EIGHTH DISCOURSE: A POLITICAL ADDRESS IN ASSEMBLY

THIS ADDRESS, LIKE the one preceding, is closely related to Dio’s project for embellishing Prusa, of which we are to hear no more. The immediate occasion is the presence in Prusa of Varenus Rufus, newly appointed proconsul of Bithynia. He has just arrived in the province and plans on the morrow to leave Prusa on a tour of inspection. The populace of Prusa, exercising its newly regained right of public assembly, has gathered for the purpose of greeting the new governor. Dio pleads with them not to treat the occasion as an opportunity to air their local grievances against certain fellow townsmen, but to present a united front and postpone to a later date such charges as may require attention. These charges appear to involve members of the upper class at Prusa, some of whom have been tardy in paying their pledges to the building project (§ 11), while others are accused of having state money in their possession (§§ and ), presumably obtained in connexion with that same enterprise. Dio urges patience and a sympathetic treatment of the points at issue, defending the character of the persons involved and extolling the blessings of concord.
If the date of the proconsulship of Varenus were known, the dating of this Discourse would present no problem. By close reasoning from internal evidence Arnim arrives at the summer of A.D. 102 as the date of this address. Of importance for his argument is the turmoil in Bithynia, so prominent in this speech, a turmoil which Arnim connects with the maladministration of the province by Julius Bassus, the immediate predecessor of Varenus. Although Dio is at great pains to minimize the manifestations of unrest at Prusa and to attribute them to injection from without, the space devoted to that effort is in itself fair proof that conditions at Prusa must have been bad.
The Forty-eighth Discourse: A Political Address in Assembly
[48.1] In the first place, my friends, we ought to feel grateful to the most noble Varenus, not only for the general goodwill he has displayed toward our city, but also because, when we wished to hold an assembly once more, he gave his permission, not only readily but even gladly. For this was the act of one who trusts you and knows you will not use the privilege for any disagreeable purpose. For just as no one, I assume, collects green logs to build a fire, knowing in advance that there is bound to be much disagreeable smoke, so no proconsul of good judgement convenes a meeting of a community which is in a state of turmoil, unless some major emergency overtakes him. [2] On the present occasion, therefore, it is your duty not to prove false to his conception of you, but rather to show yourselves temperate and well-behaved in assembly, and first and foremost, I believe, to adorn yourselves with mutual friendship and concord, and if he comes in answer to our invitation, to defer the other matters about which you were so vociferous; for he will inquire into the public problems himself, even if you wish to prevent him. But for the present express your appreciation of his goodness, greet him with applause, and welcome him with auspicious words and honour, to the end that he may visit you, not as a physician visits the sick, with apprehension and worry over their treatment, but rather as one visits the well, with joy and eagerness. [3] For though now, indeed, he will possibly leave here to‑morrow, he will return a little later; and then, unless in the meantime we ourselves can win you to our view, in case some one really has something belonging to the commonwealth, by using one another as both judges and arbitrators, then, I say, you will have the opportunity not only to speak but also to shout others down. At all events I suspect it is very senseless to start a riot prematurely. For where have you put the matter to the test, or when have you made any demand upon them, or who has refused to listen to you?
[48.4] Furthermore, I do entreat you, address to all the praise you are offering me. For just as at a banquet it is very disgraceful for only one of the guests to be drinking, and for this reason we take umbrage, not merely at the cupbearer, but also at the man who is drinking, this same principle obtains in regard to the official resolutions of commendation. [4] Besides, if you do this, you will be bringing honour upon yourselves, since the greatest honour a city has is the praise its citizens receive. On what else do you base your pride? Do not other cities excel you in point of size, and also, God knows, in wealth and plenty and their public edifices? However, this is the one particular in which we rival practically all the world, namely, our having men competent both to act and to speak, and, what is the most important of all, men who love their country. But if any one takes this from you, to what city, even the humblest, will you be deemed superior? For now, in case you have a quarrel with any city — which may none of the gods bring to pass! — and the people of that city consequently revile our citizens, saying they are rapacious, untrustworthy, in what temper will you take it? Will you not be angry? Will you not straightway shout, be abusive, possibly come to blows, as has often happened in the past? [5] Then what you do not tolerate from the lips of others will you yourselves say against yourselves? If ever a quarrel arises and your adversaries taunt you with having wicked citizens, with dissension, are you not put to shame? As for myself, I swear to you by all the gods, I was indeed violently angry when a certain person said to me, “Bring reconciliation to the city,” and I was vexed with him. For may I never see the day when you need reconciliation, but, as the saying goes, may such things be diverted to the heads of our enemies, that is, to the accursed Getae, but not to any others, members of our own race.
[48.6] Why, what would be the good of my presence here, if I should fail to lead you to such a policy by persuasion, having constantly engaged with you in discussions conducive to concord and amity, so far as I am able, and trying in every way to eradicate unreasonable and foolish enmity and strife and contention? For truly it is a fine thing and profitable for one and all alike to have a city show itself of one mind, on terms of friendship with itself and one in feeling, united in conferring both censure and praise, bearing for both classes, the good and the bad, a testimony in which each can have confidence. [7] Yes, it is a fine thing, just as it is with a well-trained chorus, for men to sing together one and the same tune, and not, like a bad musical instrument, to be discordant, emitting two kinds of notes and sounds as a result of twofold and varied natures, for in such discord, I venture to say, there is found not only contempt and misfortune but also utter impotence both among themselves and in their dealings with the proconsuls. For no one can readily hear what is being said either when choruses are discordant or when cities are at variance. Again, just as it is not possible, I fancy, for persons sailing in one ship each to obtain safety separately, but rather all together, so it is also with men who are members of one state. [8] And it becomes you, since you excel in cultivation and in natural gifts and are in fact pure Hellenes, to display your nobility in this very thing.
[48.6b] I might go on to say a great deal on these topics, I believe, and things commensurate with the importance of the subject before us, were it not that I am in quite poor health, and also, as I was saying, if I did not observe that your condition is not permanent. For no incident has yet happened, nor does this malady thrive among you, but it is possibly a slight attack of distrust, which, like sore eyes, we have caught from our neighbours. But this is a thing which often befalls the sea too — when the depths have been violently disturbed and there has been a storm at sea, often there are faint signs of the disturbance in the harbours also.
[48.9] Do you imagine there is any advantage in market or theatre or gymnasia or colonnade or wealth for men who are at variance? These are not the things which make a city beautiful, but rather self-control, friendship, mutual trust. But when you find fault with the Council, with the leaders of the government, with the duly elected officials, are you not finding fault with yourselves? For if the better men among you are base, what should one assume regarding the others? “Shall we, then, lose what belongs to us?” some one retorts. No one is suggesting that; on the contrary, you may rest assured that in all our cities there are public funds, and a few persons have these funds in their possession, some through ignorance and some otherwise; and it is necessary to take precautions and try to recover these funds, yet not with hatred or wrangling.
[48.10] These men are generous; they have often made contributions to you out of their own resources. Use persuasion on them, appeal to them; if they are stubborn, urge the justice of your claims before them privately, with no outsider present. Is it not you who often praise us all day long, calling some of us nobles, some Olympians, some saviours, some foster-parents? Then, by all that’s holy, are you going to be convicted of false witness in your own household, and is it anger which now prompts your words, or was it flattery then; and is it that you are the victims of deception now, or were you guilty of deception then? Will you not cease your turbulence and recognize that you have fellow citizens of refinement and a city that can be prosperous? I can accomplish many things, if Heaven wills, with these men as my helpers; however, I cite the proverb, one man is no man.
[48.11] But possibly you were displeased that the work has not been completed. It is going forward, and it will be completed very speedily, especially with the enthusiastic and earnest interest of these men, provided they give willingly; for you know they were not unwilling when they gave their promise. But why do you demand payment from these men and not from me? Because I am supposed to have made payment to you already? Then do you regard it as my doing, if I have made my own fatherland more highly esteemed by providing some working capital, as it were, from the Council fees, and, and by Zeus, from increase in income brought about through the revision of our finances? Why, these matters are as if I had prayed in your behalf, while the gods did the work.
[48.12] Aye, and if I am able to do it again I will do it again. And I shall be able to do so with confidence, provided I have the friendship of the people of Prusa, and I shall not charge you anything for such efforts. For neither do parents charge to the account of their children the prayers offered in their behalf. Do you imagine I should be speaking of a colonnade or anything else, if I saw you wrangling? Why, that would be just as if, when a man is ill and suffering from brain fever, though the proper treatment, no doubt, would be to put him to bed and apply a poultice, one were to rub him with perfume and administer a garland! These things are a luxury for the well, for those who have no affliction. Do not you suppose that at the time when the Athenians were in the grip of civil war and had brought upon themselves the enemy and were betraying one another — poor devils! — they had both the Propylaea and the Parthenon and the colonnades and Peiraeus? Aye, but the Propylaea and the dockyards and the Peiraeus itself only echoed the more loudly to their cries.
[48.13] And yet a great and populous city suffering from civil war and folly can for a time endure its misfortune; still you can see how terrible even such things are. Do not the Athenians accuse one another, do they not drive men into exile, do they not put one party into the Council and drive out the other? Is not everything subject to upheaval as in an earthquake, everything unsettled, nothing stable? They have reached the point of not being satisfied with their own leaders, but, just as in the case of incurable diseases, require physicians from abroad. Then comes what happens with intractable horses — when the bit fails to hold them in check, a curb is put upon them from without.
[48.14] My concern is partly indeed for you, but partly also for myself. For if, when a philosopher has taken a government in hand, he proves unable to produce a united city, this is indeed a shocking state of affairs, one admitting no escape, just as if a shipwright while sailing in a ship should fail to render the ship seaworthy, or as if a man who claimed to be a pilot should swerve toward the wave itself, or as if a builder should obtain a house and, seeing that it was falling to decay, should disregard this fact but, giving it a coat of stucco and a wash of colour, should imagine that he is achieving something.
[48.15] If my purpose on this occasion were to speak in behalf of concord, I should have had a good deal to say about not only human experiences but celestial also, to the effect that these divine and grand creations, as it happens, require concord and friendship; otherwise there is danger of ruin and destruction for this beautiful work of the creator, the universe. [15] But perhaps I am talking too long, when I should instead go and call the proconsul to our meeting. Accordingly I shall say only this much more — is it not disgraceful that bees are of one mind and no one has ever seen a swarm that is factious and fights against itself, but, on the contrary, they both work and live together, providing food for one another and using it as well? “What!” some one objects, “do we not find there too bees that are called drones, annoying creatures which devour the honey?” Yes, by Heaven, we do indeed; but still the farmers often tolerate even them, not wishing to disturb the hive, and believe it better to waste some of the honey rather than to throw all the bees into confusion. [16] But at Prusa, it may be, there are no lazy drones, buzzing in impotence, sipping the honey. Again, it is a great delight to observe the ants, how they go forth from the nest, how they aid one another with their loads, and how they yield the trails to one another. Is it not disgraceful, then, as I was saying, that human beings should be more unintelligent than wild creatures which are so tiny and unintelligent?
[48.17] Now this which I have been saying is in a way just idle talk. And civil strife does not deserve even to be named among us, and let no man mention it. [17] However, I propose that after purifying the city — not with squill nor yet with water, but with what is far more pure, namely, reason — we negotiate in public meeting what yet remains, not only concerning ourselves with our clerks of the market and so forth, but also calling the attention of the Council to these matters, so that it may make provision for the city, as is its practice; for these things will be quite easy for you to do. Besides, this deserves your serious attention also on account of the archon whom you have created, in order that, having taken a man of inexperience, you may not later abandon him in wave and tempest.

## THE FORTY-NINTH DISCOURSE: A REFUSAL OF THE OFFICE OF ARCHON DELIVERED BEFORE THE COUNCIL

THE MAJOR PORTION of this Discourse is devoted to a consideration of the importance of the philosopher in the administration of affairs of state and of his duty to accept office for the good of the state. It appears that Dio, without his previous consent, had been set up as a candidate for election to the archonship, the highest office in the government. That election to this office was a function of the Council is clear, not only from the fact that Dio’s excuses are offered to that body, but especially from the natural interpretationº of §§ 14‑15. Furthermore, we learn from § 15 that the Council had once before elected him to that office by acclamation. Arnim argues with much cleverness that the election just referred to took place the year preceding our Discourse, A.D. 102, that Dio declined to serve on that occasion, and that he used his influence to bring about the substitution of his son to fill his place (cf. Or. 48.17 and note). On the occasion referred to Dio, in support of his request to be excused, urged the imminence of his departure from Prusa. Not yet having made good that announcement, he now feels called upon to assert his good faith and to declare that this time he is really about to leave (§ 15).
For what reason was he to take his departure? In the initial sentence of Or. (A.D. 101 or 102) he says he believes he has not much longer to stay in Prusa. One infers from his use of the verb οἴομαι that his departure is not wholly a matter of personal choice. In that same speech (§ 3) and in Or. he suggests that he might reasonably look to Trajan for some preferment. Arnim concludes that some such offer of preferment had been made prior to Or. 45 and that Dio’s earlier uncertainty as to the precise moment of his departure was due to the Emperor’s absence from Rome in connexion with his campaign in Dacia. That campaign is now over and Dio is due to begin his journey to Rome.
The Forty-ninth Discourse: A Refusal of the Office of Archon Delivered before the Council
[49.1] To reasonable and cultivated men the holding of office is neither distasteful nor difficult. For they enjoy nothing more than doing good; and the ruler of a city, or of a tribe, or of still larger aggregations of mankind, not only has the fullest opportunity for doing good, but also is practically bound to do so; but if he fails in that respect, the ruler who does harm is not tolerated, I do not say by human beings, reputed to be the most petulant of all creatures, but not even by the stupidest of the beasts. [2] For example, neither do cattle willingly submit to neglect on the part of the hersdmen nor do flocks of goats and sheep submit to keepers who ruin them. For some run away and do not obey, and others even retaliate against their wicked guardians. In fact horses inflict much worse punishment on ignorant drivers by throwing them off than the drivers inflict by striking them with the whip. But of all these creatures man is the most clever and has the most intelligence; accordingly man is most hostile of all toward a bad ruler, though most kindly of all toward one who is good. Thus being a ruler is pleasant for those who know the art — though no pursuit could be difficult for the man who had practised it from the start and had equipped himself for it.
[49.3] But he who is really a philosopher will be found to be devoting himself to no other task than that of learning how he will be able to rule well, whether it be ruling himself or a household or the greatest state or, in short, all mankind, provided they permit it, and, while himself needing no ruler other than reason and God, he will be competent to care for and give heed to the rest of mankind. Moreover, this fact has not escaped the notice even of kings themselves, or of any men in power who are not utterly bereft of judgement. For they entreat men of cultivation to become their counsellors in their most important problems, and, while giving orders to everybody else, they themselves accept orders from those counsellors as to what to do and what not to do.
[49.3b] Take Agamemnon for example — Homer says that Agamemnon also sought the opinion of Nestor especially, and that every time he did not follow Nestor’s advice he bewailed the fact and promptly repented. Again, Philip, who is reputed to have been the cleverest of kings, engaged Aristotle as teacher and ruler for his son Alexander, believing that he himself was not competent to give instruction in the science of kingship; nay, while he thought himself fit to rule the other Macedonians and Thracians and Illyrians and all the Greeks, he handed his son over to another to be ruled, and while he gave orders to so many myriads, he did not dare give orders to that one man. The reason is that he did not feel his own risk to be as great if he should err where it concerned any one else as it would be if he should commit some error in connexion with his son.
[49.5] And yet previously Philip himself, while a hostage at Thebes, not only was associated with Pelopidas, a man of cultivation — in consequence of which it was even said that Pelopidas had been his lover — but he also witnessed the deeds of Epaminondas and listened to his words; and it was not mere accident that Epaminondas had acquired such power among the Greeks and had wrought so great a change in Greece as to overthrow the Spartans, despite their long-continued rule, but because he had conversed with Lysis, the disciple of Pythagoras. This, I fancy, explains why Philip was far superior to those who previously had become kings of Macedonia. Yet for all that, though he had the good fortune to obtain so good an education, he did not have the courage to instruct Alexander himself.
[49.6] However, while one would find that philosophers have rarely become rulers among men — I mean holding positions termed “offices,” serving as generals or satraps or kings — on the other hand, those whom they ruled have derived from them most numerous and most important benefits — the Athenians from Solon, from Aristeides, and from Pericles, the disciple of Anaxagoras; the Thebans from Epaminondas; the Romans from Numa, who, as some say, had some acquaintance with the philosophy of Pythagoras; and the Italian Greeks in general from the Pythagoreans, for these Greeks prospered and conducted their municipal affairs with the greatest concord and peace just so long as those Pythagoreans managed their cities.
[49.7] Furthermore, since they cannot always be ruled by kings who are philosophers, the most powerful nations have publicly appointed philosophers as superintendents and officers for their kings. Thus the Persians, methinks, appointed those whom they call Magi, because they were acquainted with Nature and understood how the gods should be worshipped; the Egyptians appointed the priests who had the same knowledge as the Magi, devoting themselves to the service of the gods and knowing the how and the wherefore of everything; the Indians appointed Brachmans, because they excel in self-control and righteousness and in their devotion to the divine, as a result of which they know the future better than all other men know their immediate present; [8] the Celts appointed those whom they call Druids, these also being devoted to the prophetic art and to wisdom in general. In all these cases the kings were not permitted to do or plan anything without the assistance of these wise men, so that in truth it was they who ruled, while the kings became are servants and the ministers of their will, though they sat on golden thrones, dwelt in great houses, and feasted sumptuously.
[49.9] And indeed it is reasonable to expect that man to administer any office most capably who, occupying continuously the most difficult office of all, can show himself free from error. [9] For example, the philosopher is always master of himself; and this is altogether more difficult than to be king over all the Greeks or all the barbarians. For what race of men is as savage as are anger and envy and contentiousness, things over which the philosopher must maintain control? What race is as knavish and intrigue number and traitorous as are pleasures and lusts, by which he must never be overcome? What race is as violent and terrifying and debasing to men’s souls as are fear and pain, to which he must never be seen to yield? [10] Again, what armour, what defences does he possess for protection against these efforts such as both kings and generals have against a foe? What allies or bodyguards can he employ against them, unless it be words of wisdom and prudence? Whom else can he bid do sentry duty or trust to stand guard, or what servants can he employ? Is he not, on the contrary, obliged to hold this watch himself both night and day, with anxious thought and vigilance, lest, ere he is aware of it, he may be excited by pleasures or terrified by fears or tricked by lust or brought low by pain and so be made to abandon those acts which are best and most righteous, turning traitor to himself? [11] However, the man who administers this office with firmness and self-control does not find it difficult from then on to show himself superior even to the whole world.
[49.12] But when I enter into these details regarding philosophers, let no one think I am speaking with a view to the outward appearance and the label. For as sensible men do not judge wine from the jar in which it is stored — for often you will find in an excellent jar the spoiled wine of the taverns — so also they do not judge the man of cultivation by his dress. [12] Yet I am not surprised that most men are deceived by such a thing as that. For example, the suitors pitted Odysseus against Irus because of their dress, supposing the two to be no different. But one of the philosophers who lived a short time ago has well said that it made Ismenias especially angry that the pipers at funerals should be called flautists, though that is not quite the same thing, it seems to me. For the pipers at funerals do no harm to the dead nor do they annoy them, whereas some of those who profess to be philosophers really do many grievous things. [13] However, the function of the real philosopher is nothing else than to rule over human beings. But if a man, alleging that he is not competent, is reluctant to administer his own city when it wishes him to do so and calls upon him, it is as if some one should refuse to treat his own body, though professing to be a physician, and yet should readily treat other men in return for money or honours, just as if his health were a smaller recompense than another kind; or again, it is as if some one who claimed to be an able trainer of athletes or a teacher of letters should be willing to teach the sons of others, but should send his own son to some one else of less standing; or as if some one who neglected his own parents should be ready to prefer the parents of others, provided he found them to be more wealthy or more distinguished than his own. [14] For it is neither more righteous nor, by Heaven, more pleasant to disdain those who are related by ties of blood and then to be of service to those who are not relatives at all.
[49.15] Very well, the conclusion to be drawn from these remarks is that the philosopher should hold office, since you wish it. However, you may be sure that, if there were not some insuperable obstacle, I should not be waiting to be asked but should myself be asking, yes, entreating you. For this too is a mark of those who are noble and sound-minded, that a man should rule his fellow citizens, himself announcing his candidacy and being grateful for his election instead of depreciating the honour, or even making it a dishonour. [15] What, then, is the insuperable obstacle in the present instance? I think I deserve to be believed in everything else whereof I speak — for in my opinion I have never deceived you in anything, nor have I in the past said one thing and meant another — yet I have always had too many engagements, and against my own inclination I have thus far been prevented from abandoning them. And now it is no longer possible at all, practically speaking. For it is not to my interest, and possibly not to yours either, that I should tarry here. Therefore I beg to decline my election. For I feel sure that I should not have had to submit to investigation, but that, just as previously you elected me unanimously by acclamation when you suspected I was willing to take office, you would have done the same now too. However, I am not so minded; but while I know that in order to hold office I should not have been obliged to call upon you, yet in order to be excused from holding office I am not ashamed to be calling upon you.

## THE FIFTIETH DISCOURSE: REGARDING HIS PAST RECORD, SPOKEN BEFORE THE COUNCIL

THIS DISCOURSE IS really earlier in date than Or. , though the interval between the two is presumably very brief. In the one Dio disclaims the ambition to become archon, announcing his intention to leave Prusa (50.7), in the other he declines that office in an election already in progress, referring to his departure as to an event of the immediate future (49.15). The projected journey is referred to briefly also in the opening sentence of Or. . A possible explanation of the reason for the journey and for the repeated postponement of it is suggested in the Introduction to Or. .
Our Discourse affords no sure clue as to the reason for the meeting of the Council. It may have been a regular session of that body, though we learn (§ 10) that Dio had been charged with having interfered with its convening. At all events the setting for this defence of his past record was highly dramatic. The presiding officer must have been his own son (τὸν υἰὸν τοῦτον, § 5), to whose recent election as archon Dio seems to refer at the close of Or. . Dio himself was a member of the Council, for in § 10 he is at some pains to explain why he has not been in attendance upon earlier sessions.
Arnim argues with some plausibility that, when on a previous occasion Dio had declined election as archon, he had engineered the substitution of his son for that position. We do not know the precise age of the son at the time of his election, but the reference to his inexperience (Or. 48.17) leads us to suppose that he was young for the highest office in the state, and that supposition is confirmed by the concluding sentence of the present Discourse as emended by Capps. What more natural, then, than that Dio’s enemies should have spread the report that the son was merely a cat’s paw for the father, and that, while evading the responsibilities of office, Dio was exercising all its prerogatives — πάντα ἁπλῶς νομίζουσι τὰ τῆς ἀρχῆς γίγνεσθαι κατὰ τὴν ἐμὴν γνώμην, § 10? Against that rumour Dio offers the favourite Greek argument of probability, pointing to his previous record and claiming that it would be inconsistent, especially for one of his age, to refrain from exercising the prerogatives of a member of the Council, while at the same time trying to usurp the functions of its presiding officer. The fact that shortly thereafter he was put up as a candidate for that office suggests either that his arguments or his flattery or both had silenced the opposition or else that his foes were really a very small minority. There is in these Bithynian addresses abundant testimony to his popularity and influence at Prusa.
The Fiftieth Discourse: Regarding his Past Record, spoken before the Council
[50.1] My friends, I admired you even ere this, as indeed it was to be expected that a man of fairness and no fool would cherish that element in his native city which is most sensible and trustworthy; on the other hand, to rank others ahead of you is as if a man who professed to be patriotic were to delight in the private houses and workshops in his city, but to regard with more indifference the market-place, the town-hall, the council-chamber, and the other sacrosanct places; or as if, by Heaven, a Spartan were to be fond of the common people, but were to hold in low esteem the kings and ephors and elders, men by far superior to all others in prudence, men by whose efforts the city as a whole was being preserved. [2] Again, take the Athenians, who had the most democratic government in the world and gave the most numerous privileges to the masses and the people’s party; they never had any demagogue, not even the notorious Hyperbolus or Cleon, so audacious as to regard the Areopagus or the Council of the Six Hundred with less reverence than the common people. But if I am continually referring to the Spartans and Athenians, let the carping critics pardon me, because I am judging you worthy of such comparisons and because in addressing Greeks, as I take to be the case, I deem it appropriate not to refer to any others than Greeks of the first rank.
[50.3] However that may be, let this be your evidence of my goodwill toward you, as well as of my trust in you, that I come before you with assurance neither because I rely upon some political club nor because I have among you some familiar friends; moreover, I believe I should stand as high with you as any man, obviously because I have based my confidence upon my friendship toward all and my goodwill toward all, and not upon my being elected to be an influential or formidable person or seeking to be favoured for such a reason. On the other hand, if I did pity the commons at the time when they were subjects for pity, and if I tried my best to ease their burdens, this is no sign that I am on more friendly terms with them than with you. We know that, in the case of the body, it is always the ailing part which we treat, and that we devote more attention to the feet than to the eyes, if the feet are in pain and have been injured while the eyes are in sound condition. [4] Again, if I have said that the commons were subjects for pity, let no one assume that I mean they have been treated unfairly and illegally, for we also pity persons who are subjected by physicians to surgery or cautery, although such treatment is for their recovery, and since their mothers and fathers alike weep over them, although they know that they are being benefited.
[50.5] However, as I was saying, though I admired you even ere this, before ever I had had sufficient experience of your disposition, now certainly, I swear to you by all the gods, I for my part not only judge the Council worthy of respect and affection, but am even amazed at your power and truthfulness and independence. [5] Moreover, I have conducted myself in such a way that, while I have, as I think, repaid the people in full to the best of my ability as a citizen, yet to you I am still indebted, and I could never outdo your benevolence toward me. And in fact that expression which was used by one of the orators of old which was considered to contain a certain excess of flattery, namely, “I might with good reason carry the commons around with me in my eyes,” I could justly use with reference to you. And what is more, this son of mine, if he is sensible and prudent, I believe will dedicate his whole life to your service and consult your welfare no less than I do.
[50.6] “What had happened,” some one will say, “and what experience of the gentlemen have you had, that you are so extravagant in your language?” Possibly it is an inspiration which has come to me spontaneously, a spiritual impulse of that sort in your direction; but one thing at any rate I would have you know clearly — that I cannot cherish or favour with my eloquence either commons or Council or man, be he satrap or prince or tyrant, without first praising them to myself and approving the character of their spirit. But in your case, practically every time there has been a test of your disposition, I see you have never displayed any injustice or double-dealing or baseness or fickleness or insensibility or yielding to clamour or annoyance. [7] And so I might say with assurance, that, while you have had excellent leaders, you have had none as excellent as you deserve, no, not even my father or my grandfather of days gone by, nor the forebears of the rest of you, all good men and deserving of honour as they were.
[50.8] And let no one imagine that I am trying through oratory to force my way into the presidency of the Council; for I am leaving Prusa for a variety of reasons — and you must believe that this time at least I speak the truth and perhaps not for the sake of special profit or any self-indulgence; indeed I have not been able to hide my purpose. [8] Besides, there is no fear that I may ever be thought guilty of flattering you, since I did not flatter the hateful tyrant or utter a single ignoble or servile word, at a time when many were glad to save their lives by any deed or word at all. On the contrary, your way of doing things seems to me to be grand, yes, superhuman. For, while I do not know with absolute precision what you are like in private life — though I believe you to be superior to most people — I do know that as a corporate body, whenever you gather here, or, it may be, in the Assembly, you have never said or thought anything base or servile, and that entreaty has no weight with you, nor promises, nor threats — supposing of course there is any one so low as to try to prevail by threats. But why should I not speak my mind — as if the philosopher had to confine himself to exposing what is bad and concealing what is better, or as if the truth were beneficial only in connexion with evils, instead of no less so in connexion with good things because it is laudatory!
[50.9] “But did you, then,” some one will ask, “rise to your feet merely to deliver a eulogy of the Council?” And what is there shocking in that, provided the eulogy be true? However, this eulogy of mine, in case you are clearly unlike what is said of you, is not a eulogy of you, but rather an accusation of the speaker. Still, for all that, I should not have delivered any such speech at all if I had not been very much hurt, as I was once before, on hearing that I am compromising your position. And this explains why I have defended myself, not disdaining to make a defence — why should I? — nor judging it to be beneath me. For while it is humiliating to make a defence before a dozing judge, as the saying goes, and also, by Heaven, before a malicious and rascally tyrant, to do so before fellow citizens and kinsmen and friends whom one regards as fair-minded is not humiliating, but reasonable and just. So not only was my conduct correct on that former occasion, but it is much more so now that I know you better. [10] For I learn — and there has been a flood of talk of that kind — that some have believed the charge that I blocked the assembling of the Council; indeed I have heard also that they believe that absolutely every act of the government takes place to suit my wishes. But as for me, while I do not rob my son of one thing, I mean his unwillingness to do anything within his own control against my wishes or in any other way than guessing at my opinion too, nevertheless I swear I never gave him any orders at all — I mean orders on public matters — though for one who is a father to advise what seems to him to be preferable does have the status of an order. Moreover, because of this suspicion of which I have spoken, for some time past I have not attended the sessions of the Council. For to have deemed him worthy of municipal activities as being competent by now to be a Councillor and to administer the commonwealth, but meanwhile actually to try to make him a private citizen and to rob him of the authority which is legally his — this, I say, is from any point of view neither reasonable nor yet fair for men of my age.

## THE FIFTY-FIRST DISCOURSE: IN REPLY TO DIODORUS

OF THE DIODORUS mentioned in the title of the present Discourse we know absolutely nothing. Dio supplies no clues in the speech itself. In fact, he does not address him directly. Consequently we may infer that the name rests upon reliable tradition. It would appear that the man in question had just made a speech in Assembly lauding some citizen of Prusa. It is plain from § 8 that this citizen had effected certain reforms in connexion with the ephebes. Diodorus may have moved — or seconded — a resolution to give him wider jurisdiction of similar character (cf. § 6). Dio followed him with this brief speech, whose purpose is both to register his own approval of the proposal and at the same time to cast suspicion upon the sincerity of the previous speaker.
If we are left in the dark as to Diodorus, we are in almost equal darkness as to the unnamed recipient of the city’s favour. Arnim states confidently that he is Dio’s son. This is possible, but the speech provides no proof of the assumption. On the contrary, the speaker exhibits remarkable self-restraint, if we are to think of him as the father of the person who is receiving signal honours. Most of his remarks are devoted to the merits of his city, and when he does refer to the man whom that city is honouring, it is by means of a colourless τούτου or τούδε. In fact, the rather satirical tone of the opening sentence in § 2, the grudging acknowledgement at the beginning of § 4, and the possible suggestion of hasty judgement contained in the clause εὐθὺς ἡγεισθε καὶ ὑμᾶς ἀμείνους δύνασθαι ποιεῖν (§ 8), give the impression that Dio was not enthusiastic over the task before him.
The Fifty-first Discourse: In Reply to Diodorus
[51.1] My friends, it strikes me as exceedingly surprising when a man who does not approve of some one or does not like him nevertheless rises to praise him in a speech, and on occasion enters into a long eulogy, one very carefully composed. For such a person has on his conscience all that is most disgraceful — envy, meanness of spirit, and, worst of all, servility. Not inappropriately, at any rate, is that term used for it by the ancients in the verse
[51.1b] A slave’s word this thou hast spoken.
Aye, how could that man be other than a slave, who in the presence of so many people acts at variance with his own thoughts — and that too, not with frankness, but with premeditation and cold calculation — and indulges in frequent flattery and admiration of a person whom he does not like? Indeed that is to put it mildly!
[51.2] As a matter of fact, you know, no doubt, that with us everybody lauds everybody; and so I rejoice with you and count you fortunate if we all are so fond of everybody — for this is the natural inference! However, I wish that, just as it is possible to hear many eulogies in meetings of the Council and of the Assembly, so also it might be in the market-place and the other places where men come together. But as it is, the words which are spoken are thus or thus in keeping with the place, and, just like those who are training themselves in the schools, we too try our hands at both sides of the question. Therefore, if a stranger attends a meeting of the Assembly, he will imagine that ours is a city of heroes, as it were, or sages; whereas if he bursts into the market-place — there is no need to tell what kind of people he will think us, for you know that yourselves. [3] “What then,” some one will exclaim, “have you taken the floor to censure those who praise?” Not so, by Heaven, but in order that, if possible, we may demonstrate our love of humanity and of nobility, not here alone, but in every place and on every occasion.
[51.4] Now although I observe that the laudation of the gentleman has been made complete by you, so that nothing remains to be added, yet it is fitting that you also should be praised. For you seem to me to be far superior to all other communities. And I should not have said this if I did not think it so too. For example, all the others have an eye only for what is profitable, and those who give them something — or might do so — alone receive their praise; whereas you regard as of great importance both the earnest desire and the willingness to give. [4] And I do not mean by this that our friend has not really rendered much important service, for he has, but rather that for you at least his mere willingness was sufficient. And again, the others stamp with approval the least important achievements — I mean such things as involve some expenditure of money — whereas you appreciate the greatest things as they deserve. And in fact it is an altogether greater achievement for a man to be really concerned for the city and to show himself well-disposed toward you than it is for him to spend money. Furthermore, while those who admonish, even if only verbally, are hated by most men, but those who delight with flattery are approved to a surprising degree, in your case, on the contrary, he who uses the fullest frankness and reproves those who go astray and tries to bring them to their senses is most admired.
[51.5] Who, then, could fail to admire the kind of city and administration in which the honours conferred outweigh the efforts made to obtain them, in which he who admonishes with kindly intent is more beloved than he who speaks to flatter, in which the masses are more eager to submit to correction and to be set right than to be courted and to live luxuriously? Or who could fail to be amazed at you and, on the other hand, to congratulate this man on having been chosen by men like you as worthy to hold office here?
[51.6] And yet I myself see that the task that lies before him with regard to you is a great one. For when an entire city and people voluntarily entrusts itself to a man for instruction and chooses him as supervisor of its public morals and gives him the supreme authority over temperance and orderliness and the right conduct of the individual, is that man not confronted by a mighty task, the task of not being found in any way inferior to your opinion of him? But, that you may recognize the truth of what I say, observe that not one of the men of old, not even of those who have always been admired, has gained from his fellow citizens such honour as you have now bestowed. [7] For instance the illustrious Pericles — who, we are told, flourished at Athens when the city was in its prime — though he repeatedly obtained the post of general, was not deemed worthy of holding office all the time. [But Socrates . . .] and that too, not as an administrator of funds nor as one concerned with buildings, but rather with the purpose of making his fellow citizens good men — chose both to admonish the erring ones and, at least so far as lay in his power, to make them better. Yet the men of that day did not tolerate him, because of their own lack of discipline. [8] How far superior, then, are you, who submit yourselves to instruction, yes, even demand it, to those who were irritated even if some one of his own accord was eager to do this for them, and who not merely refrained from honouring, but even put to death the man who tried to take them under his care, as the Athenians did in the case of Socrates!
[51.9] Accordingly, what more beautiful eulogy could any one pronounce, either of this man or of yourselves? For since you have seen that he has improved the ephebes and the young men, you immediately jump to the conclusion that he can improve you too. And, by Heaven, it is not true that, while the ephebes have need of instruction and virtue, those who are advanced in years, and in fact the entire city, do not. That would be just as if some physician were to think that boys or young men had need of medical attention, but not the adults. [9] Yet must we not concede that in the matter of honours the city’s magnanimity is surprising? For what mark of highest esteem have you not eagerly conferred? Have you not voted portraits, statues, embassies to the cities and to the Emperor? Have you not shown honour by public recognition; have you not shown honour by individual greeting? Therefore what man would not be pleased when these rewards are so distinguished? Or what man would not be eager to do you any service in his power? Well then, I at least believe I have spoken in praise of this man too as effectively as I could; for the eulogy directed toward those who approve and honour a man clearly would be that man’s highest praise.

## THE FIFTY-SECOND DISCOURSE: ON AESCHYLUS AND SOPHOCLES AND EURIPIDES OR THE BOW OF PHILOCTETES

THIS DISCOURSE IS not merely an interesting bit of ancient literary criticism but also our chief source of information as to two of the three plays with which it deals, the Philoctetes of Aeschylus and that of Euripides, both known to‑day only in scanty fragments. In Or. Dio presents in prose paraphrase the prologue of a Philoctetes, which by means of the present Discourse is recognized as that of Euripides, together with a portion of the ensuing dialogue between Odysseus and Philoctetes. The Euripidean play clearly appealed to Dio’s rhetorical instincts; yet we are reminded of the situation in the Frogs of Aristophanes, the god of the drama yielding the palm to Aeschylus, though unmistakably prejudiced in favour of Euripides.
There was little occasion for Homer to refer to Philoctetes, whom he names in only three passages. His most illuminating reference is Il. 2.716‑726, from which we learn that Homer at least knew the story. Fuller details were obtainable from three epics belonging to what is known as the Cycle — the Cypria, the Little Iliad, and the Iliupersis. The high points in the epic version are as follows. Heracles, out of gratitude for services rendered, had given Philoctetes his bow and arrows, once the property of Apollo. When the Greeks sailed for Troy, Philoctetes guided them to the island of Chrysê, where they were to offer sacrifice. There a venomous serpent bit Philoctetes on the foot. His cries of anguish and the stench of his wound caused the Greeks to abandon him on the shores of Lemnos. Ten years later, when the Greek fortunes were at a low ebb, upon the advice of the seer Calchas and by the stratagem of Odysseus the Trojan seer Helenus was taken captive. He revealed that Troy could be taken only with the aid of Philoctetes and his bow, and that Neoptolemus, the son of Achilles, must come from Scyros. Accordingly Diomedes is sent for Philoctetes and Odysseus for Neoptolemus. Philoctetes is healed of his wound, slays Paris, and in company with Neoptolemus causes the downfall of Troy. For further details the reader is referred to the introduction to Jebb’s edition of the Philoctetes of Sophocles.
The occasion on which our Discourse was delivered is unknown. Dio’s reference to the chill of the morning might suggest his home in Prusa as the setting for his adventure in dramatic criticism. His allusion to ill health and his manifest sympathy for the lonely Philoctetes, victim of misfortune, suggest the period subsequent to Dio’s exile as the time of composition.
The Fifty-second Discourse: On Aeschylus and Sophocles and Euripides or The Bow of Philoctetes
[52.1] Having risen about the first hour of the day, both on account of the feeble state of my health and also on account of the air, which was rather chilly because of the early hour and very much like autumn, though it was mid-summer, I made my toilet and performed my devotions. I next got into my carriage and made the round of the race-course several times, my team moving along as gently and comfortably as possible. After that I took a stroll and then rested a bit. Next, after a rub-down and bath and a light breakfast, I fell to reading certain tragedies.
[52.2] These tragedies were the work of topmost artists, I may say, Aeschylus and Sophocles and Euripides, all dealing with the same theme, which was the theft — or should I say the seizure? — of the bow of Philoctetes. However that may be, Philoctetes was portrayed as being deprived of his weapons by Odysseus and as being carried off to Troy along with them, for the most part willingly, though in some measure also yielding to the persuasion of necessity, since he had been deprived of the weapons which furnished him with not only a living on his island, but courage in his sore affliction, and at the same time fame.
[52.3] So I was feasting my eyes on the spectacle portrayed by these dramas and figuring to myself that, even if I had been in Athens in those days, I could not have witnessed such a contest as this of those distinguished poets. On the contrary, while there were some who did witness contests between the youthful Sophocles and the aged Aeschylus and some who saw the older Sophocles compete with Euripides, his junior, yet the career of Euripides fell quite outside the period of Aeschylus; and besides, probably the tragic poets seldom or never competed against one another with plays on the same theme. And so I was evidently having a rare treat and a novel solace for my illness. [4] Accordingly, I played choregus for myself in very brilliant style and tried to pay close attention, as if I were a judge passing judgement on the premier tragic choruses.
[52.5] Yet I could not on oath have produced a single reason why any one of those great poets could have been defeated. For both the nobility of character and the antique flavour of Aeschylus, as well as the ruggedness of his thought and diction, seemed suited to tragedy and to the old-time manners of the heroes, nor was there aught of premeditation or prating or humility in their bearing. [5] For example, even his Odysseus he brought upon the scene as a shrewd and crafty person, as men were in those days, yet far removed from the rascality of to‑day, in consequence of which he might seem truly ancient as compared with those who to‑day lay claim to simplicity and nobility of character. And again, Aeschylus had no need to add Athena for the purpose of transforming Odysseus so as not to be recognized by Philoctetes for the man he was, as Homer has handled the problem, and also Euripides in imitation of Homer. So possibly one of those who do not like Aeschylus might complain that he was not at all concerned to make his Odysseus convincing in the scene where he is not recognized by Philoctetes. [6] But in my opinion the poet would have a defence against such a criticism; for while the lapse of time was perhaps not sufficient to explain his not recalling the lineaments of Odysseus since only ten years had passed, yet the affliction and distress of Philoctetes and the lonely life he had led in the interval made this lapse of memory not impossible. For many in the past, either from illness or from misfortune, have had that experience.
[52.7] Furthermore, the chorus of Aeschylus had no need for special pleading, as did that of Euripides. [7] For both poets made their choruses to consist of Lemnians; yet, while Euripides has represented them as immediately apologizing for their former neglect, admitting that during so many years they had neither come near Philoctetes nor rendered him any aid, Aeschylus simply brought his chorus on the scene, a course which is altogether more in keeping with a tragedy and more natural, whereas the other course is more courteous and more strictly correct. Of course, if poets, were able to avoid all violations of logic in their tragedies, perhaps there might be reason for refusing to gloss over even this instance; but as the truth is, the poets often cause their heralds to complete in a single day a journey which calls for several days. [8] Again, it was quite impossible to conceive that not a single Lemnian had come near Philoctetes or given him any attention at all, for in my opinion he could not even have survived those ten years without receiving some aid; no, it is reasonable to suppose that he did get some aid, though but rarely and of no great importance, and, furthermore, that no one chose to take him into his house and give him medical attention because of the disgusting nature of his ailment. At any rate Euripides himself does bring upon the scene one Lemnian, Actor, who approaches Philoctetes as being already known to him and as having often met him.
[52.9] Furthermore, I do not feel that one could justly find fault with Aeschylus for this either — that his hero narrates to the chorus, as if they were in ignorance, the details concerning his desertion by the Achaeans and his experiences in general. The reason is that the victims of misfortune are wont to recall their trials repeatedly, and by their constant rehearsing of details they bore those who know every detail already and have no need to be told. Then again, the deception which Odysseus practised upon Philoctetes and the arguments by which he won him over are not merely more becoming and suited to a hero — though not the words of a Eurybates or a Pataecion — but in my opinion they are even more plausible. [10] For what need was there for subtle craft and scheming in dealing with a sick man and, what is more, an archer, whose means of defence had lost its power the moment you merely got close to him? Besides, the device of having Odysseus report that the Achaeans had met with disaster, that Agamemnon had died, that Odysseus had been charged with an act that was utterly disgraceful, and that in general the expedition had gone to rack and ruin, was not merely serviceable toward cheering Philoctetes and making the discourse of Odysseus more acceptable; no, in a way it was not without plausibility even, because of the length of the campaign and because of what had happened not so long before in consequence of the wrath of Achilles, at the time when Hector barely missed burning the naval station.
[52.11] Again, the sagacity of Euripides and his careful attention to every detail, as a result of which not only does he not tolerate anything which lacks plausibility or is marred by carelessness, but also he handles the action, not in artless style, but with entire mastery in the telling — all this forms, as it were, an antithesis to the nature of Aeschylus, being to a high degree characteristic of the citizen and the orator and capable of proving most useful to those who read him. At the very outset of Euripides’ play, for instance, Odysseus is introduced as speaker of the prologue and as not only inwardly debating questions of civic nature in general, but first and foremost expressing embarrassment on his own account, lest, while generally reputed to be wise and distinguished for sagacity, he may really be the opposite. [12] For, though he might live free from care and trouble, he is ever being involved in troubles and perils of his own volition. But the cause of this, he claims, is the ambition which actuates gifted men of noble birth. For, in aiming at a fine reputation and general acclaim, they voluntarily undertake very great and difficult labours.
[52.11b] For nothing quite so proud as man exists.
[52.13] Odysseus then reveals clearly and precisely the plot of the drama and why he has come to Lemnos. [13] And he says he has been disguised by Athena, so that when he meets Philoctetes he may not be recognized by him, Euripides having imitated Homer in this detail. For Homer has represented Odysseus, in his sundry encounters with Eumaeus and Penelopê and the others, as having been disguised by Athena. Odysseus goes on to say that an embassy from the Trojans will soon visit Philoctetes for the purpose of entreating him to place at their disposal both himself and their weapons, offering the throne of Troy as his reward; thus he complicates the plot and invents occasions for debate, in the course of which he shows himself most resourceful and most proficient in combating the opposing arguments, no matter with whom he is compared. [14] Again, Euripides causes Odysseus to arrive not unattended but in company with Diomedes, another Homeric touch. Thus all in all, as I was saying, throughout the whole play he displays the greatest dexterity and plausibility in the action; an irresistible, yes, amazing, power of language; a dialogue that is clear and natural and urbane; and lyrics that not only are delightful but also contain a strong incentive toward virtue.
[52.15] As for Sophocles, he seems to stand midway between the two others, since he has neither the ruggedness and simplicity of Aeschylus nor the precision and shrewdness and urbanity of Euripides, yet he produces a poetry that is august and majestic, highly tragic and euphonious in its phrasing, so that there is the fullest pleasure coupled with sublimity and stateliness. In his management of the action he is most excellent and convincing; for instance, he causes Odysseus to arrive in company with Neoptolemus — since it was ordained that Troy should be taken by Neoptolemus and Philoctetes together, Philoctetes wielding the bow of Heracles — and he makes Odysseus conceal himself but send Neoptolemus to Philoctetes, suggesting to him what he must do. Furthermore, he has composed his chorus not of the natives of Lemnos, as Aeschylus and Euripides do, but of those who sailed in the ship along with Odysseus and Neoptolemus.
[52.16] Again, as Sophocles portrays them, the characters in the drama are wonderfully dignified and noble, his Odysseus being much more gentle and frank than Euripides has depicted him, and his Neoptolemus surpassing all in artlessness and good breeding — at first he aims to get the better of Philoctetes, not by craft and deception, but by strength and without disguise; then, after he has been prevailed upon by Odysseus and has tricked Philoctetes and gained possession of the bow, when Philoctetes becomes aware of what had happened, is indignant at the deception which has been practised upon him, and demands the return of his weapons, Neoptolemus does not try to retain possession of them but is prepared to return them — though Odysseus appears on the scene and tries to prevent this — and he finally does return them; yet after he has handed them over he tries by argument to persuade Philoctetes to accompany him voluntarily to Troy. [17] But when Philoctetes will by no means yield or be persuaded, but entreats Neoptolemus to take him back to Greece, as he had promised to do, Neoptolemus once more gives his promise, and he is prepared to keep his word, until Heracles comes upon the scene and persuades Philoctetes to sail to Troy of his own free will.
[52.16b] The lyrics of Sophocles do not contain the didactic element to any great extent, nor any incentive to virtue such as we find in the lyrics of Euripides, but a marvellous sweetness and magnificence, such that Aristophanes could say of him not without reason words like these:
[52.16c] But he in turn the lips of Sophocles,
With honey smeared, did lick as if as a jar.

## THE FIFTY-THIRD DISCOURSE: ON HOMER

THIS DISCOURSE, LIKE the one preceding, lies mainly in the field of literary criticism. However, it contains less suggestion of independent judgement, being in the main a cursory survey of what various philosophers have thought and said about Homer. The fundamental importance of Homer in the scheme of Greek education is too well known to require documentation. If we may trust the words of the Greeks of the classic period, they gave little thought to the beauty of his language, prizing him rather than as a teacher par excellence. Dio, on the other hand, shows a consciousness of the beauty of his work. That he should have stressed in his appraisal of the poet the views of the philosophers, and above all Plato, was only to be expected. His familiarity with those views points to a relatively late period in his career as the time of composition of our Discourse.
The occasion to which we owe the speech is unknown. In style and theme it would be appropriate as an introduction to some public recitation from Homer. Though we hardly need additional testimony to the enduring fame of Homer, Dio’s tribute affords striking testimony to the surprising range of the influence exerted by the poet (§§ 6‑8). Somewhat similar testimony is afforded by Or. .‑.
The Fifty-third Discourse: On Homer
[53.1] Democritus expresses his opinion of Homer in these words: “Homer, having been blessed with a divinely inspired genius, fashioned an ‘ornament of verses’ of every kind,” thus indicating his belief that without a divine and superhuman nature it is impossible to produce verses of such beauty and wisdom. Many others too have written on this subject, some expressly lauding the poet and at the same time pointing out some of his wise sayings, while others have busied themselves with interpreting the thought itself, this group including not merely Aristarchus and Crates and several others of those who later were called grammarians but formerly critics. In fact Aristotle himself, with whom they say that literary interpretation and criticism began, treats of the poet in many dialogues, admiring him in general and paying him honour, as does also Heracleides of Pontus.
[53.2] Prior to these, however, Plato mentions Homer at every opportunity, marvelling at the charm and grace of his poesy, though often censuring him in respect of his myths and tales about the gods, holding that he has told what was not at all beneficial to mankind when he narrates in detail about the gods instances of greed, of scheming against one another, and of adultery and wrangling and contentiousness. And finally he reaches the point of refusing to admit Homer to partnership in his own state and constitution, which, as he himself believed, was to be founded upon wisdom, his purpose being, not only that those whom he appoints as guardians and leaders of the state should not as boys hear such tales about gods, but also that no melancholy account of conditions in the lower world should cause them to be more faint-hearted in the face of battle and death or, like colts which have been badly broken in, suspicious from the start about things which are not really terrifying.
[53.3] Regarding these matters there is indeed another theory, which is fuller, longer, and not easy to expound, dealing with the question whether Homer erred in these particulars, or whether he was merely transmitting to mankind certain doctrines about natural phenomena embodied in the myths after the fashion then in vogue. Indeed it is not easy to arbitrate a question like that, just as, in my opinion, it is not easy to decide against one of two men who are your friends, both being worthy of respect, when each makes charges against the other.
[53.4] But to continue, Zeno the philosopher also has written on both the Iliad and the Odyssey, and, in fact, on the Margites too; he believes that this poem also was composed by Homer at the time when he was rather young and was testing his poetic genius. [5] However, Zeno finds fault with none of the work of Homer, undertaking to interpret it and at the same time to show that the poet has written some things in accord with fancy and some things in accord with reality, Zeno’s purpose being to save Homer from appearing to be at war with himself in certain matters which are held to be inconsistent with each other as narrated by Homer. But Antisthenes anticipated Zeno in this theory, namely, that some things have been spoken by the poet in accord with fancy and some in accord with reality; however, Antisthenes did not elaborate the theory, whereas Zeno made it plain in each of its details. Moreover, Persaeus, the pupil of Zeno, also has followed the same plan in his writings, as have several others as well.
[53.6] But to return to Plato, while finding fault with Homer, as I have said, he at the same time declares his poetic power to be something amazing, his idea being that Homer is capable of everything and reproduces literally every voice, even of rivers, winds, and waves; moreover, he very jestingly gives instructions to bind the poet’s brows with a fillet of wool, pour perfume on him, and — send him somewhere else.
[53.7] Furthermore, Plato himself in praising Homer’s poesy for its charm admires the man exceedingly. Indeed, without divine favour, without inspiration of the Muses and Apollo, it is simply impossible for poetry to be created which is so lofty and magnificent, and withal so sweet, as to enthral for so many years, not merely men who have the same tongue and language as the poet, but even many of alien race, yes, so that not only men who speak two languages and are of mixed stock, though unacquainted with much else that is Greek, are very familiar with Homer’s verses, but even some who live very far away. For example, it is said that Homer’s poetry is sung even in India, where they have translated it into their own speech and tongue. [7] The result is that, while the people of India have no chance to behold many of the stars in our part of the world — for example, it is said that the Bears are not visible in their country — still they are not unacquainted with the sufferings of Priam, the laments and wailings of Andromachê and Hecuba, and the valour of both Achilles and Hector: so remarkable has been the spell of one man’s poetry! It even seems to me that by this power of his he has surpassed both the Sirens and Orpheus. [8] For in what respect is it a greater feat to cast a spell upon stones and trees and wild beasts and to make them follow than to have mastered so completely men of alien race who do not understand the Hellenic speech, men who have acquaintance with neither the poet’s tongue nor the deeds of which his poem tells, but are, as I believe, simply enchanted by a lyre? Moreover, I believe that many barbarians who are still more ignorant than those men of India have heard of the name of Homer, if nothing more, though they have no clear notion what it signifies, whether animal or vegetable or something else still.
[53.9] However that may be, Homer’s life deserves praise much more than his verse. For example, his having lived in poverty, a wanderer, and making from his poems only enough to sustain life is evidence of remarkable fortitude and nobility of soul; and besides, his never having written his name anywhere, yes, never having even referred to himself anywhere in his poetry, though all other writers with any reputation for skill in composing either verse or prose write their names both at the beginning and at the end, and many even in the body of their works, both prose and verse. Take, for example, Hecataeus and Herodotus and Thucydides, [10] Thucydides, in fact, solemnly affirming, not merely once at the beginning of his history, but many times, in connexion with each winter and summer, “Thucydides composed this.” Homer, on the contrary, was so liberal and magnanimous that nowhere in his poetry will he be found to refer to himself, but in fact, like the prophets of the gods, he speaks, as it were, from the invisible, from somewhere in the inmost sanctuary.
[53.11] Again, since everything Homer wrote is both beneficial and practically serviceable, if one were to review all he has said on the subject of virtue and vice, it would be a vast undertaking; however, on the subject of kings a brief statement must be made as to what he says they should be like. Whenever, for instance, he praises any king, he calls him “the peer of Zeus in wisdom”; and all the good kings are “Zeus-nurtured”; and Minos, who has the highest reputation among the Greeks for justice, he says is both the associate and pupil of Zeus, his idea being that Minos was the first and greatest king of all, and the only one who himself understood and handed down the art of kingship, and also that good kings should shape their course with an eye to Minos, patterning their own conduct after a god, so far as humanly possible. [12] Moreover, the poet makes manifest the character of Zeus and the nature of his kingship in a multitude of ways, but, to put it briefly and succinctly, he frequently indicates his power and disposition by the constant epithet, “father of gods and of men,” the notion being that the care exercised by kings should be that of a solicitous father, accompanied by kindness and affection, and that he should never lead and govern men in any other way than with love and protective care, since Zeus does not disdain being called men’s father.

## THE FIFTY-FOURTH DISCOURSE: ON SOCRATES

THIS LITTLE TRIBUTE to Socrates is presumably the prelude to some longer discussion. It affords no clue as to either the occasion or the place where the speech was delivered, but the speaker’s rather scornful treatment of the sophists, who occupy fully one-third of the piece, and his affectionate regard for Socrates point clearly to some date subsequent to Dio’s exile.
Hippias of Elis, Gorgias of Leontini, Polus, and Prodicus are all familiar figures among the sophists who made such a stir in Greece toward the close of the fifth century B.C. All make their appearance in the pages of Plato, Hippias and Gorgias having provided the titles for three of his dialogues. One might wonder why Dio refrains from naming “the man from Abdera” (§ 2). Abdera’s fame may be said to rest upon that of two of her native sons, Democritus, the famous philosopher, and Protagoras, no less famous as a sophist. In spite of the verb φιλοσοφῶν in § 2, we infer that it is the latter whom Dio has in mind, and also he would naturally take his place beside the four sophists already named. Like them, he figures prominently in Plato’s dialogues, and one of them bears his name.
The Fifty-fourth Discourse: On Socrates
[54.1] The sophists, Hippias of Elis and Gorgias of Leontini and Polus and Prodicus, flourished in Greece for some time and won marvellous acclaim, not alone in the cities at large, but even in Sparta and Athens, and they amassed much wealth, each according to his ability, both by public grant from the several states and also from certain princes and kings and men in private life. But though they made many speeches, their speeches were devoid of sense, even the slightest — the kind of speech from which, no doubt, it is possible to make money and to please simpletons! [2] But there was another, a native of Abdera, who, far from acquiring money from others, not only was steadily ruining his own estate, which was a large one, but finally lost it by pursuing philosophy, foolishly, it is plain to see, and seeking after what was of no material advantage to him.
[54.3] And there was also Socrates, a poor man at Athens and a man of the people, who also was not driven by his poverty to accept anything; and yet he had a wife who had no hatred for money, and also sons who required support, and, besides, he is said to have associated with the wealthiest among the young men, some of whom are reported to have begrudged him literally nothing. However, he was in general sociable in his nature and a lover of his kind, and in particular he made himself accessible to all who wished to approach and converse with him, not only spending his time for the most part about the market-place, but visiting the palaestra and sitting down near the tables of the money-changers — quite like the people who display their petty wares in the market or peddle them from door to door — on the chance that some one, whether young or old, might wish to ask some question and hear his answer. Now then, most of the influential persons and professional speakers pretended not even to see him; but whoever of that description did approach him, like those who have struck something with their foot, got hurt and speedily departed.
[54.4] However, while the words of those sophists, who won such admiration, have perished and nothing remains but their names alone, the words of Socrates, for some strange reason, still endure and will endure for all time, though he himself did not write or leave behind him either a treatise or a will. In fact, Socrates died intestate as to both his wisdom and his estate. Yet though he had no estate that could be made public property through confiscation — as is commonly done in the case of men who have been condemned as criminals — his words in reality have been made public property, not by foes, God knows, but by his friends; nevertheless, though they are even now not only accessible for all but also held in high esteem, few understand them and partake of their wisdom.

## THE FIFTY-FIFTH DISCOURSE: ON HOMER AND SOCRATES

IN HIS THIRTEENTH discourse (§ 31) Dio speaks of having given instruction during his exile to groups of two and three. The document before us, if not actually a stenographic report of such a proceeding, at least portrays the method employed by Dio. Similar examples have been met already in Or. , , , and. In these, and in others like them to be met later, just as in some dialogues of Plato, there is at first a lively debate between teacher and pupil, after which the teacher takes possession of the field and expounds his doctrine with little or no interruption from the pupil. The text of Dio, however, does not reveal the identity of speakers other than the master himself. This may be regarded as a token that the dialogue is an authentic transcript of an actual experience, the reporter having been concerned to preserve a record of what was said and the pupil involved in the discussion being considered of too little consequence to deserve to have his name recorded. Dio certainly understood the psychological advantage that Plato derived from using real persons as the participants in his dialogues and calling them by name (cf. § 12), and it is hard to believe that if Dio’s dialogues were mere literary fictions he would have failed to avail himself of that advantage.
The theme of the present Discourse is that Socrates acquired his art as a teacher from Homer. The anonymous interlocutor is sceptical on that point, objecting that Socrates never met Homer, and also calling attention to the wide difference between the function of the poet and that of the philosopher. After successfully demolishing these objections, Dio proceeds to note certain points of resemblance between Homer and Socrates — their modesty, their scorn of wealth, their interest in ethical problems, their use of parables or similes as vehicles of instruction, and their method of employing specific human beings to illustrate virtues and vices. To this last-named point Dio devotes fully a third of his dialogue. His arguments seem to have silenced his pupil, for there is no rejoinder.
The Fifty-fifth Discourse: On Homer and Socrates
[55.1] Interlocutor. Since you make it evident that on general grounds you are an admirer of Socrates and also that you are filled with wonder at the man as revealed in his words, you can tell me of which among the sages he was a pupil; just as, for example, Pheidias the sculptor was a pupil of Hegias, and Polygnotus the painter and his brother were both pupils of their father Aglaophon, and Pherecydes is said to have been a teacher of Pythagoras, and Pythagoras in turn a teacher of Empedocles and Sophocles. And indeed we are able to name the teachers of most other famous men — and to tell through association with whom each became noteworthy — with the exception of Heracleitus of Ephesus and Hesiod of Ascra. For, to spare us the trouble of seeking for his teacher, Hesiod says he received his poetic gift from the Muses in a branch of laurel as he was tending his flocks on Helicon, [2] while Heracleitus with even more graciousness says that he himself discovered what the nature of the universe really is without anybody’s teaching him, and that he became wise by his own efforts. As for Homer, this point, like everything else connected with him, is obscure to the Greeks. But while we have heard that Socrates as a boy studied the calling of his father, be so good as to tell us clearly who was his teacher in the wisdom which has proved so helpful and noble.
[55.3] Dio. Why, this is plain, I imagine, to many people, provided they are familiar with both men, namely, that Socrates is in truth a pupil of Homer, and not of Archelaüs, as some say.
[55.3b] Int. And how can it possibly be said that the man who neither met Homer nor ever saw him, but lived so many years later, was a pupil of Homer?
[55.3c] Dio. What of it? Supposing a man lived in Homer’s day but had heard none of the poetry of Homer, or, if he had heard, had given none of it his attention, shall we be able to say he was a pupil of Homer?
[55.4] Int. By no means.
Dio. Then it is not absurd that the man who neither met nor saw Homer and yet understood his poetry and became familiar with all his thought should be called a pupil of Homer; or will you go so far as to maintain that no one can be a zealous follower of anyone with whom he has never been associated?
[55.4b] Int. Not I.
[55.5] Dio. Then, if a follower, he would also be a pupil. For whoever really follows any one surely knows what that person was like, and by imitating his acts and words he tries as best he can to make himself like him. [5] But that is precisely, it seems, what the pupil does — by imitating his teacher and paying heed to him he tries to acquire his art. On the other hand, seeing people and associating with them has nothing to do with the process of learning. For instance, many persons not only see pipers but associate with and hear them every day, and yet they could not even blow on the pipes unless they associate with the pipers for professional ends and pay strict heed. However, if you shrink from calling Socrates a pupil of Homer, but would prefer to call him just a follower, it will make no difference to me.
[55.6] Int. Why, to my way of thinking, the one seems no less surprising than the other. For Homer has proved to be a poet without a peer, whereas Socrates is a philosopher.
[55.6b] Dio. Very well; on that principle you would not call even Archilochus a follower of Homer, because he has not used the same metre as Homer’s for all his poetry but has used any metres for the most part; nor would you call Stesichorus his follower either, because, while Homer composed epic poetry, Stesichorus was a melic poet.
[55.7] Int. Yes I would; all the Greeks agree on this, that Stesichorus was a follower of Homer, and indeed is very like him in his poetic art. But wherein does Socrates seem to you to resemble Homer?
[55.8] Dio. First and foremost, he resembles him in his character; for neither of the two was boastful or brazen, as the most ignorant of the sophists are. For instance, Homer did not even deign to tell whence he came, or who were his parents, or what he himself was called. On the contrary, so far as he was concerned we should not even know the name of the man who wrote the Iliad and the Odyssey. [8] As for Socrates, while he could not make a secret of his fatherland because of its greatness and because Athens was exceedingly famous and dominated the Greeks at that period, yet he never said anything boastful about himself nor laid claim to any wisdom, and yet Apollo had solemnly declared that he was wisest among Greeks and barbarians. And finally, Socrates did not even put his words into writing and himself bequeath them to posterity, and in this he outdid Homer. For just as we know the name of Homer by hearing it from others, so too we know the words of Socrates because others have left them to us. Thus both were exceedingly self-restrained and modest.
[55.9] Again, both Socrates and Homer alike scorned the acquisition of wealth. Besides, they both were devoted to the same ends and spoke about the same things, the one through the medium of his verse, the other in prose — human virtue and vice, actions wrong and actions right, truth and deceit, and how the masses have only opinions, while the wise have true knowledge.
[55.9b] Furthermore, they were most effective at making similes and comparisons.
[55.9c] Int. This is indeed surprising if with Homer’s comparisons of fire and winds and sea and eagles and bulls and lions and so forth, figures with which he adorned his poetry, you shall see fit to compare the potters and cobblers of Socrates.
[55.10] Dio. I shall, my dear fellow, since indeed we compare the fox of Archilochus with the lions and leopards of Homer and declare it to be not at all, or not much, inferior. However, perhaps you disapprove also of such Homeric similes as those in which he refers to starlings or daws or locusts or a firebrand or ashes or beans and chickpeas, or the one in which he has depicted men winnowing — [11] perhaps these seem to they to be the most inferior portions of Homer’s work, while you admire only his lions and eagles and Scyllas and Cyclopes, with which he was wont to beguile stupid people, just as nurses beguile children with tales of the Lamia. Indeed, just as Homer through myths and history undertook to instruct human beings, who are very troublesome to instruct, so also Socrates often used this sort of device, sometimes admitting that he was in earnest and sometimes pretending to be joking, with the aim of benefiting mankind — though in so doing he perhaps came into conflict with mythologists and historians.
[55.12] Again, it was not without conscious purpose that he represented Gorgias or Polus or Thrasymachus or Prodicus or Meno or Euthyphro or Anytus or Alcibiades or Laches as speaking, when he might have omitted their names; on the contrary, he knew that by this device most of all he would benefit his hearers, if perchance they grasped the point; for to comprehend human beings from their words, or their words from human beings, is not an easy task for any but philosophers and educated persons. On the other hand, most men suppose that such items are purposeless, and they regard them as mere vexation and nonsense. [13] But Socrates held that, every time he introduces a boastful man, he is speaking of boastfulness; every time he introduces a shameless, loathsome man, he is speaking of shamelessness and loathsomeness; every time he introduces an unreasonable, irascible man, he is turning his hearers against unreason and anger. Moreover, in all other cases similarly he revealed the true nature of the passions and maladies of men in the persons of the very ones who were afflicted by the passions or the maladies more distinctly than if he were using the words by themselves.
[55.14] But it appears to me that he took this too from Homer. For example, when Homer tells about Dolon, how he conceived a longing for the horses of Achilles, and how, when he might have fled from the enemy, he halted with his lance planted close beside him and obtained no benefit from his fleetness, and how his teeth chattered and struck together from terror, and how he talked to the enemy, not only when they asked him a question, but even on topics about which no one was inquiring — for instance, he gave information about the Thracian horses and about Rhesus, of whose arrival no one knew — by telling all this so very plainly does Homer not seem to you to be discoursing on cowardice and love of notoriety?
[55.15] And again, when he tells about Pandarus, how he violated the truce in the hope of rewards from Alexander son of Priam, and how he not only failed to slay Menelaüs by his shot, although reputed but an able bowman, but also by violating the truce made the Trojans more discouraged as to the war through their constant recollection of their broken oaths — as witness these lines:
[55.15b] But now we fight as traitors to our oaths;
On that account ’tis not so well for us —
[55.16] and how not much later his tongue was cut off and he died before ever Alexander could even put into words his gratitude to him — in recounting these things with such scrupulous attention to detail, does Homer appear to you to be talking of anything else than of bribe-taking and impiety and in general of folly? Why, Pandarus even cursed his arrows and threatened to smash and burn them, as if the arrows were in fear of him!
[55.17] Take another example. When Homer says of Asius son of Hyrtacus that, after his commander had given orders to leave the horses outside the trench, he alone did not obey,
But with them neared the speedy ships, the fool!
[55.18] Nor was he fated, dodging the spirits dire,
To come again, exulting in team and car,
Back from the ships to wind-swept Ilium,
driving into such difficult terrain amid trench and wall and ships, where even the men on foot found it not to their advantage when caught by the foe, but most of them were slaughtered when a small rescue party issued from within the gate; yet Asius, elated as he was by his horses and the beauty of his chariot, though thinking to drive past the wall, was prepared to plunge into the sea and to fight from his chariot — think you not that Homer then is speaking of disobedience and boastfulness?
[55.19] On the other hand, when he contrasts with these Polydamas giving orders to be cautious and not to cross the trench, pointing now to the enterprise as a risky venture and now to the omen they had had — for he felt that, while no one would listen to his words in any other way, perhaps by the omen he might persuade Hector; or, to take another illustration, when, as Agamemnon and Achilles are reviling one another, Homer depicts Nestor as trying to make them cease their rage, and foretelling plainly what will befall them in consequence of their strife, and later upbraiding Agamemnon as being in the wrong and forcing him to entreat Achilles; or again, Odysseus setting right the blunder of Agamemnon through which, while wishing to test the army to see how it stood the war’s delay, he almost brought about its flight — is it not likely that by scenes like these Homer is trying to give advice regarding prudence and generalship and prophecy, and more than this, regarding tact and tactlessness?
[55.20] As for the Odyssey, while I shall omit all else, I shall recall just one character, Antinoüs. For Homer has portrayed him as the most braggart of the suitors and the most dissolute. For example, in the first place he scorned Odysseus because he was in rags, while Antinoüs himself in costly raiment was drinking from golden goblets — and those not his own — and was dining sumptuously, not on his father’s viands, but rather playing the parasite in a house that lacked a master; moreover, while he professed to be enamoured of Penelopê, he was seducing the maidservants of Odysseus and behaving licentiously in general; [21] and he ended by attempting to draw the bow, though he was unacquainted with archery and his hands were so spoiled by dainty living as not to be able to grasp the bow-string unless some smeared it with tallow; and what is more, he did this in the sight of Odysseus and in the presence of the object of his wooing, in the midst of such a crowd of men, not even being able to bend the bow, nor understanding how Telemachus was going to set up the axes. But for all that, Homer caused this man also to meet his death by a telling blow through the throat, instead of in some chance spot, just as, you remember, he caused Pandarus to be smitten through the tongue. For indeed if such things do take place by some chance, still in many instances it is possible to say that this man ought to die from a blow through the belly and that man through the genitals and another man through the mouth.
[55.22] Well, then, Homer does not seem to you to say anything without a purpose, does he? No more, then, did Socrates employ his words or illustrations at random; on the contrary, when conversing with Anytus he would refer to tanners and cobblers; but if he conversed with Lysicles, it would be lambs and fleeces; if with Lycon, law-suits and blackmail; if with Meno the Thessalian, lovers and boy friends.

## THE FIFTY-SIXTH DISCOURSE: AGAMEMNON OR ON KINGSHIP

THIS DOCUMENT, LIKE the one preceding, appears to be a transcript of a conversation between Dio and an unnamed pupil. In his opening sentence Dio proposes Agamemnon as a topic likely to improve the mind. Having secured the pupil’s acceptance of that theme, he proceeds, in true Platonic fashion, to elicit a definition of the word king; “he who exercises general supervision of human beings and gives them orders without being accountable to them.” That definition having been obtained, he demolishes it by calling attention, first to the restraint imposed upon the kings at Sparta by the ephors, and then to Agamemnon’s dependence upon Nestor and his council of elders. Having seemingly induced the pupil to concede the point, Dio suddenly suggests that they drop the question, as having been dealt with adequately the day before, and turn to something else. The pupil protests that he is just beginning to understand what Dio has in mind and is eager for a full discussion, but our document goes no farther. Either the reporter decided for some unknown reason to stop at that point or Dio’s literary executor felt that this much was sufficient to illustrate this particular theme. The various aspects of kingship are considered by Dio not only in the first four orations in our collection — assigned by Arnim to the opening years of Trajan’s reign — but, at least incidentally, in several others.
The Fifty-sixth Discourse: Agamemnon or On Kingship
[56.1] Dio. Do you wish to hear words of practical wisdom on the subject of Agamemnon, words by which the mind can be improved, or does it annoy you to have Agamemnon son of Atreus named in my discussions?
[56.1b] Interlocutor. Not even if you should speak of Adrastus son of Talaüs or of Tantalus or of Pelops, should I be annoyed, provided I am likely to be improved.
[56.1c] Dio. Very well, I have just called to mind certain words which I might speak, if you would consent to answer when I question you.
[56.2] Proceed, for I will answer.
Dio. Are there certain persons who are rulers of men, just as there are some who are rulers of goats, others of swine, others of horses, others of cattle, these one and all having in common the title herders; or have you not read this verse of Cratinus?
[56.2b] My post is herder; goats and kine I tend.
[56.2c] Int. I could not tell you whether it is better to call all who tend animals herders or not.
[56.2d] Dio. Not merely those who tend brute beasts, my good fellow, but human beings too, if one should put any faith in Homer regarding these matters. But why did you not answer the original question?
[56.2e] Int. What question?
[56.3] Dio. Whether there are indeed certain rulers of men.
[56.3b] Int. Why, of course there are.
[56.4] Dio. Who are these? What do you call them? I am not speaking of those who rule soldiers in war, for those who are leaders of the army as a whole we are wont to call generals; just as also, considered unit by unit, the ruler of a company is called captain; of a regiment, colonel; of the fleet, admiral; and of a single trireme, trierarch; moreover, there are several others similarly named who in warfare exercise rule over small units, because at that time men need fullest care and leadership. [4] Nor, as it happens, am I asking what the leaders of the choruses are called, who give orders to the singers and set the tune, nor am I asking about the leaders of symposia, nor about any others who for a single act or for a set time assume a certain oversight and control over a group of men; on the contrary, I mean rather those who at any time rule human beings in their activities as citizens, or in their farming, it may be, or simply in their living, as Cyrus, for example, ruled the Persians, Deïoces the Medes, Hellen those named for him, Aeolus the Aeolians, Dorus the Dorians, Numa the Romans, and Dardanus the Phrygians.
[56.5] Int. Why, your question is not a hard one; for all these whom you now name were called kings, and kings they were; and this rule of which you speak, whereby a man exercises general control over human beings and gives them orders without being account able to them, is called kingship.
[56.6] Dio. Then you do not regard as kingship the rule of the Heracleidae, who were kings in Lacedaemon for so long a time? For they did not do everything according to their own pleasure, [6] but in many matters they were subject to the ephors, who, once this office had been established in Sparta in the reign of Theopompus, from their year of office had no less authority than the kings, insomuch that they wished to throw into prison even Pausanias son of Cleombrotus, the victor at Plataea, and when he had fled for refuge to the shrine of Athena, they killed him there, and it profited him nothing that he was of the line of the Heracleidae, or that he was guardian of a boy, or that he had been leader of all Hellas and not of Sparta alone. [7] And later on, when Agesilaüs was at war with the Great King and had been victorious in battle in the neighbourhood of Sardis and had gained control over all lower Asia, the ephors sent a subordinate to summon him home; and Agesilaüs did not delay a single day, although he had gained authority over so many Greeks and so many barbarians. Was Agesilaüs, then, not king of Sparta, since he was subject to other rulers?
[56.6b] Int. Why, how could these be kings in the strict sense of kingship?
[56.8] Dio. Will you, then, hold that not even Agamemnon was king of both Argives and Achaeans at Ilium, since he had an older man as supervisor of his rule, Nestor of Pylus? Moreover, it was at that man’s bidding that the wall about the ships was built and the trench dug about it as protection for the naval station, and at his direction too Agamemnon divided the army into detachments, though previously, as it would seem, it had fought without organization, both infantry and cavalry, all being mixed together in confusion, both Pylians and Argives and Arcadians and Boeotians. However, Nestor later bade him divide the army by tribes,
[56.8b] That phratry may aid phratry and tribe aid tribe.
[56.9] “Moreover,” said he, “in this way wilt thou recognize both the valorous and the cowardly among thy leaders” — but if among the leaders, obviously among the common soldiers too — and at the same time he explained the magnitude of the advantage that would result.
[56.9b] Int. And with what purpose did Nestor do this?
[56.9c] Dio. In order that even after Nestor’s death Agamemnon might understand the art of generalship. But Agamemnon was so wholly obedient to Nestor that he not only did eagerly anything Nestor commanded in person, but even if in a dream he imagined that Nestor was saying something, he would not disregard that either. For instance, the dream about the battle deceived him in this way, because of its resemblance to Nestor.
[56.10] However, he was not only obedient to Nestor, who was deemed the wisest of the Achaeans, but also he would not attempt anything without the elders. For instance, when he was about to lead forth his army in obedience to the dream, he did not do so until the council of the elders had held a session by the ship of Nestor. Moreover, with regard to the test which he wished to make of the army, to see if it was willing to remain longer and fight it out despite the wrath of Achilles, he did not make the test in any other way before first consulting the council. On the other hand, most demagogues do not hesitate to bring before the popular assembly measures which have not been passed upon by the council. Yet Agamemnon conferred with the elders, and only then reported to the soldiery on the state of the war.
[56.11] Int. This is nothing strange, that, king though he was, he gave the others a chance to be heard and had an advisor who was trusted because of his years, though he himself had full authority in all matters. Else why did he act as he did in the matter of Briseïs instead of obeying the most noble Nestor?
[56.11b] Dio. Why, it is just like the case of many men in private station who, not obeying their rulers or the laws, commit many unlawful acts, acts for which they even have to submit to an accounting; so when they are brought before the court they are subjected to whatever penalty they severally are thought to merit.
[56.12] Int. Certainly.
Dio. Well then, does it not seem to you that Agamemnon, because he disobeyed on that occasion, was later called to account by Nestor? I refer to the passage in which Nestor accuses him of that act in the presence of the wisest of the allies, the leaders themselves, adding what he was to suffer or to pay by way of penalty, a most grievous assignment — for he was an able speaker — wherein he says he has long been troubled by Agamemnon’s conduct:
[56.13] E’er since that day, oh son of Zeus, when thou
Didst go and snatch Briseïs from the tent,
Despite Achilles’ rage, and not at all
As I was minded. Many words I spake
Against it; yet to thy proud heart thou didst
Submit, dishonouring the bravest man,
Whom e’en the gods had honoured; for his prize
Thou hast by seizure; still let us plan e’en now.
[56.14] And, by the gods, he not only called him to account by his words but even laid upon him the heaviest penalty of all for his misconduct. For he bids him entreat Achilles and go to all lengths to persuade him. And Agamemnon, like men convicted in the courts, first makes a counter proposal of a fine, such as he says he is able to pay, as compensation for his insult; then, among other things, he undertakes to offer sacrifice and to swear an oath regarding Briseïs, that he has not even touched her since the day he took her from Achilles; [15] and in payment for merely having removed her from one tent to another, he offers to give much gold, horses, tripods, cauldron, women, and cities; and finally, thinking this not enough, he offers Achilles whichever of his three daughters he may desire to have as wife. Such a penalty no man had ever been condemned to undergo — in payment for a maidservant, and her a captive woman, although she had suffered no harm, to be forced to give his own daughter in marriage, together with a huge dower, and without any presents from the groom! In truth we know of no suit involving a man in private station that has received a more bitter decision than this one.
[56.16] Does it seem to you, in Heaven’s name, that Agamemnon ruled the Greeks without being subject to an accounting, and that he did not give very strict account for all he did? Very well, let us drop our discussion of these matters just here, since they were dealt with adequately yesterday, and let us turn to some other topic.
[56.16b] Int. Nay, by Heaven, rather try to say all you can upon the same topic, since I am now at last just beginning to understand the drift of your argument. For I imagine you wish to discuss government or kingship or some such thing.

## THE FIFTY-SEVENTH DISCOURSE: NESTOR

THIS LITTLE DISCOURSE has as its immediate aim a defence of Nestor’s behaviour in the famous passage in the first book of the Iliad, in which he seems to boast of his former prowess and importance. Dio maintains with some skill, not only that Homer intended the old man to speak as he did, but also that he did not mean to depict him as a braggart — the self-praise of Nestor was to serve the useful purpose of checking the quarrel between Agamemnon and Achilles.
Having made his point, Dio (§ 10) lets his audience into the secret that his sermon on Nestor was really designed to forestall possible criticism of himself when he should presently deliver an address which he had previously delivered before the Emperor. The emperor in question was doubtless Trajan, and the speech to which our Discourse was to serve as prelude may well have been one of Dio’s four discourses On Kingship; see Vol. I of the Loeb Library edition and the Introductions. Such is the view of Arnim, who dates our Discourse in Dio’s latest period and finds in it evidence of what he takes to have been the speaker’s frequent practice, the repetition of speeches previously delivered somewhere else. If one may hazard a guess as to which of the four speeches just mentioned Dio was about to repeat, Or. seems a natural choice, for it is full of Homeric quotations and illustrations selected for their edifying quality, attention is called to Homer’s admiration for oratory, and Nestor himself is twice mentioned in that connexion (§§ 18‑24).
The Fifty-seventh Discourse: Nestor
[57.1] Why in the world do you suppose Homer caused Nestor to speak the following verses to Agamemnon and Achilles when he was trying to pacify them and teach them not to quarrel with one another?
[57.1b] For once in bygone days I dealt with men
Still braver than ye are, yet they did ne’er
Make light of me. Such men I had not seen,
Nor ever shall, as were Peirithoüs
And Dryas, shepherd of the soldiery,
And Caeneus and Exadius, Polypheme
Divine and Theseus son of Aegeus, like
The deathless gods. Aye, they were reared most strong
Of earthly men; most strong were they and with
The strongest strove, wild creatures of the hills,
And slew them ruthlessly. They understood
My counsels and they hearkened to my word.
[57.1c] And so should ye, since hearkening is best.
[57.2] Can it be that Homer has made a braggart of Nestor when he says of Peirithoüs and Dryas and the others that, though they were not only marvellous by nature, but also far superior to Agamemnon and Achilles, still they wanted his opinion too, going on to say that he had come from Pylus to Thessaly by invitation, since they wanted to enjoy his company and to converse with him? For why, after having said that they were the strongest of men, does Nestor seem to offer as a weighty testimonial in their favour, that they understood his mind and hearkened to his words? Or do we say his purpose was virtually this — that no man of understanding ever disobeys those whose words are right; nay, disobedience is tantamount to lack of understanding?
[57.3] Come then, let us examine also the other aspects of the case, to see if Nestor has spoken rightly or as a braggart. Certainly foolish persons universally scorn men of no reputation and pay no heed to them, even though they may chance to be giving most excellent advice; but, on the other hand, when they see men being honoured by the multitude or by persons of greatest power, they do not disdain to be guided by them. This is one count, therefore, on which Nestor commends himself, namely, that in days gone by he has been able to persuade many men of influence, and that Agamemnon and Achilles will refuse to obey, if they do refuse, because of their own folly and lack of perception, and not because Nestor is incompetent to give advice about things of highest importance. [4] Accordingly, just as Nestor would not have hesitated to disparage himself, if by disparaging and saying that no one ever deigned to consult him about anything he were likely to move Agamemnon and Achilles to obey his words, so, if he thought his self-praise would move them to this, it was reasonable for him to resort to praise. [5] Or is it not the mark of a foolish person to be ashamed to praise himself when by praise he is likely to confer the greatest benefits; just as it is also, I fancy, to do the opposite — put on airs and talk about oneself a great deal, in case some risk or loss should be involved? Therefore, just as when a physician who wants a patient to submit to surgery or cautery or to the drinking of some unpleasant drug, knowing the patient to be cowardly and foolish, mentions others who have been saved by him because they willingly submitted to his treatment, no one says the man who makes these statements is bragging, [6] so it seems to me that Nestor could not justly be accused of bragging either.
[57.6] This, then, was one benefit resulting from his words. And here is another — Nestor knew that both Agamemnon and Achilles were misbehaving for no other reason than because of insolence; and he believed that men are insolent most of all, one might say, when they despise the others and deem them far inferior to themselves, being puffed up through reputation or power, and he perceived that this was why Achilles and Agamemnon were puffed up and wrangling, each of them because of arrogance. For the one, as he saw, being a son of Peleus and Thetis and pre-eminent among the men of his day in fighting, believed that it befitted his dignity not to listen to anyone at all or to regard anyone as superior to himself; [7] but in Agamemnon’s case the cause of his arrogance was the power attached to his kingship and his being sole ruler of all the Greeks. Seeing, therefore, that they had been spoiled by these things and could not live at peace with one another, but that they were swollen in spirit — as later Achilles declares,
[57.7] My heart with wrath does swell —
[57.8] Nestor wished to humble them and, if possible, reduce their pride, just as persons reduce swellings by pricking or squeezing. This explains why he mentioned men of fame and power, and besides, I fancy, men of former times, knowing as he did that fame attaches rather to such men. [8] Moreover, he did not leave to his hearers to determine what opinion they should hold about the men, but instead he himself expressly declares that they were far superior to Agamemnon and Achilles, in the hope that they might abate somewhat their folly and madness.
[57.9] Do you think, I ask you, that Homer put these words into Nestor’s mouth at random, the Nestor whom he declares to be most eloquent of men and whose power of eloquence he likens to the sweetness of honey, which is most pleasant and sweetest of all to those who are well, though to those who are ill and suffering from fever, so I hear, it is most unpleasant and has the natural power of cleansing and causing to smart parts which are festered and diseased? [9] For instance, the speech of Nestor, though it appeared sweet to the others, seemed bitter to Achilles and Agamemnon, diseased as they were and corrupted by their rage, and as a result they did not obey him because of their folly. Therefore Homer did not say this at random either or, as some imagine, by chance.
[57.10] Well then, let us say no more on these topics. However, there is one matter which calls for consideration in the light of what has been said. Suppose that some one in addressing ordinary men tells them that on a previous occasion, having addressed others who were far superior — popular assemblies or kings or tyrants — he did not fail of his purpose with them but secured their attention and compliance, is it just that such a man should be thought a braggart, on the assumption that he had mentioned those words of his for the purpose of being admired and deemed a genius, or was it rather for the purpose of having the compliance of his hearers, imitating the teaching of Nestor? [11] For indeed it is odd if, while Socrates was accustomed to walk but a short distance and then report to those in the Academy the words he had spoken in the Lyceum and, vice versa, had no reluctance to go to the Lyceum and use the words he had spoken in the Academy, and while it has now been so long a time since they began to bring out the same tragedies and comedies year after year, we, on the other hand, shall be thought to be acting strangely in case, when you wish to listen to speeches, we now report the words we have spoken in the presence of the Emperor, as if it were a matter of no consequence to know whether those words are beneficial and serviceable, both for you and for the rest of mankind as well, or trivial and useless. [12] For rest assured that, while words addressed to private persons pertain to those men themselves and to few others, words addressed to kings are like public prayers or imprecations. For that reason I believe the Persian king was especially unwise in being accustomed to dispatch in all directions ordinary persons, King’s Ears as they were called, and to entrust them with the responsibility of listening to everything, it being necessary to protect the real ears of the king much more carefully than the golden plane-tree, to prevent their hearing anything disagreeable and harmful.

## THE FIFTY-EIGHTH DISCOURSE: ACHILLES

THIS LIVELY LITTLE sketch, whose spirit resembles strongly that of many of the dialogues of Lucian, is regarded by Arnim as a paraphrase of some dramatic composition, either a satyr play or some Cynic tragedy. The space devoted to a discussion of the relative merits of hoplite and archer reminds him of a similar discussion in the Heracles of Euripides (157‑164 and 188‑203), a play supposed to have been composed about the year 420 B.C., and he therefore suspects Dio’s original to have come from about that period, a period when, for some unknown reason, that topic was of live interest at Athens. Sophocles wrote a satyr play called Achilles’ Lovers, which might have been the play here used by Dio.
The tradition according to which Cheiron the Centaur was tutor to Achilles is as old as Homer (Il. 11.830‑832). According to Apollodorus, Bibliotheca ..‑, Thetis, detected by Peleus in the act of making Achilles immortal by passing him through the fire, abandoned her baby and her home and rejoined the Nereids. Thereupon Peleus entrusted the babe to Cheiron. But when Achilles was nine years of age, Thetis, having heard of the prophecy of Calchas, that Troy could not be taken without the aid of Achilles, and knowing that if he took part in the expedition he would meet his death, took him and dressed him as a girl and placed him in the care of Lycomedes on the island of Scyros. We must, therefore, suppose the lad to be not older than nine at the time of our Discourse.
The Fifty-eighth Discourse: Achilles
[58.1] Achilles questioned Cheiron and said, “Why are you teaching me to use the bow?” “Because,” said he, “this too is one of the warlike accomplishments.” “The accomplishment of cowards,” retorted Achilles, “directed against cowards!” “How so?” returned Cheiron. “It does not allow the foe to come near,” said Achilles. “It does not allow the foe to get far away,” replied Cheiron. “The weapon belongs to men who flee.” “Nay; instead it is directed at men who flee.” “With his own hands a man should overpower those who flee.” “More slowly or more quickly?” “As quickly as possible.” “Then,” said Cheiron, “could a man overpower more quickly by running or by flying?” “You don’t mean overpower with his own hands, do you?” “Who does it then?” “The missile.” [2] “But if you hurl a javelin,” said Cheiron, “who overpowers?” “I don’t know.” “Well, when do you yourself overpower and slay? When you lay hold of your victim and tear him to pieces, as wild beasts do? Do you perhaps,” said Cheiron, “regard the women as more manly, because they fight at very close quarters, hurling themselves at each other?” But Achilles, as he heard these words, was filled at one and the same time with rage and tears, and he abused Cheiron and said he was not going to stay with him any longer, but was going back to his father in Phthia to be educated at his court; for Peleus, he claimed, was much better than Cheiron and not a sophist like Cheiron. Now Achilles was then still a lad, not yet nearing the age of puberty.
[58.3] “Why then,” said Cheiron, “if he is better than I am, does he not educate you himself?” “Because,” retorted Achilles, “he has no time for it.” “Because of what?” “Because of his kingship.” “Is being king, then, in any way more important than being a teacher?” “Much! But you — you offer me a bit of horn, a piece of sinew, and some tiny bits of iron attached to slender little reeds, as if I were going to hunt birds instead of giving battle to heroes or wild beasts. But any one would find out how wretched the weapons are if ever he came to close quarters and had to use them in hand-to‑hand conflict. Nay, with them a man must fight as he runs away, in constant terror, guarding against even being seen, like a cowardly slave; indeed, even if one should make a kill, he could not despoil his victim of his armour, nor will he ever be seen bespattered with his foeman’s blood. That is the sort of stuff you are trying to teach me — how to use the bow and to strum the lyre; yes, and only the other day even to grub roots, as the witches do!”
[58.4] “Don’t you like riding a horse either?” Cheiron asked him. “No, and I don’t like you either,” said he, “horsey creature that you are! For you seem to me to be better equipped for running away than for standing your ground.” And Cheiron, flying into a rage at him, his mane bristling with anger, darting a terrible glance of menace like a flash of lightning, but with difficulty refraining from striking him, for he was disposed to be fond of him, cried out, [5] “You bad, bold brat of a briny mother, who has spoiled you vilely, puffing you up with pride of birth! yes, and your father has spoiled you still more than she has, with his tale of how the gods sang at his wedding; but the fact is, you have no connexion with either sea or sky! But let me tell you, a warrior you will never be, though you will have that reputation with the unthinking, nor even a leader of men, no matter where you may engage in warfare, for all that you are the son of Peleus and Thetis. Yet because of your audacity and fleetness of foot and physical strength men in flattery will call you most valiant of men. However, they will prefer to be ruled by other princes, while as for you, they will compel you by gifts and empty praises to do battle and risk your life for them until you finally meet your death. [6] But I fancy you will not even keep your hands off the dead; on the contrary, you will even stab the corpses and trail them in the dust, as if, in sooth, you were doing something grand, just as foolish youngsters drag round and round whatever they kill. But for all your arrogance, you will meet your death, not at the hands of some man of nobility, as you imagine; on the contrary, while you will find it easy to slay those who are like you, brave but stupid, you will be slain by a man of sagacity and military science, and, what is more, without ever having seen him.”

## THE FIFTY-NINTH DISCOURSE: PHILOCTETES

THIS DISCOURSE, AS possibly also the one preceding, paraphrases a drama, the prologue of Euripides’ Philoctetes. Dio has furnished a synopsis of practically the same material in Or. 52, by comparison with which we are enabled to identify the original drama. The synopsis, however, contains two details not found in the paraphrase, namely, that Diomedes arrived in company with Odysseus (§ 14) and the nature of the chorus and its behaviour toward Philoctetes. Arnim believes that these omissions, and the abortive reference to the Trojan mission, indicate either that Dio failed to complete our Discourse or else that his editor, for some unknown reason, chose to eliminate certain portions of the work.
Such a conclusion seems not inevitable. As Lemarchand observes (Dion de Pruse, ), Dio himself, when recommending that the student of oratory should memorize for recitation speeches from Xenophon, prescribes that he should not make a slavish copy of the original but that he should rather select such passages as seemed most pertinent (Or. 18.19). Whether our Discourse be viewed as a school exercise or as intended for Dio’s own delivery, it has undeniable unity as it stands. The rôle of Diomedes was undoubtedly minor. As handled by Euripides, after his initial entry with Odysseus Diomedes may well have temporarily withdrawn, leaving his companion to deliver the soliloquy with which our paraphrase begins. Furthermore the dialogue between Odysseus and Philoctetes took place prior to the entry of the chorus, as is obviously true of the entry of the Trojan envoys. Indeed, the concluding words of Philoctetes give the impression that at this point in the play both he and Odysseus went indoors, thus paving the way for the entry of the chorus.
Though unpretentious in style and marked by frequent hiatus, our paraphrase is so like Greek tragedy in spirit that more than one have been tempted to try to recover from Dio’s version the original lines of Euripides. Nauck, Trag. Graec. Frag., , prints six such lines, which, with very little change, have been recreated with some degree of probability. These six lines are given below, preceded in each instance by the prose wording from which they were evolved:
1. (§ 6):
πολλὴν ἔοικας φράζειν ἀλογίαν τῆς δεῦρο ὁδοῦ
πολλὴν γ’ ἔοικας ἀλογίαν φράζειν ὁδοῦ.
2. (§ 7):
πόθεν δή; τοῦτο γὰρ πρῶτον εἰκός με εἰδέναι.
πόθεν δέ; πρῶτον γὰρ τοδ’ εἰδέναι θέλω.
3. ibid.:
πόθεν; εἰπὲ πάλιν, ὡς εἰδῶ σαφέστερον.
πόθεν; λεγ’ αὗθις, ἵνα μάθω σαφέστερον.
4. ibid.:
οὐ δυνατόν, εἴπερ Ἕλλην ὢν τυγχάνεις, τὸ μὴ ἀπολωλέναι σε ἐν τῇδε τῇ ἡμέρᾳ.
οὐ δυνατόν, εἴπερ τυγχάνεις Ἕλλην γεγώς, τὸ μὴ οὐκ ὀλωλέναι σε τῇδ’ ἐν ἡμέρᾳ.
5. (§ 8):
πότερον ἐκ τοῦ φανεροῦ μάχῃ κρατήσας ἢ μετὰ δόλου τινός;
μάχῃ κρατήσας ἢ δόλου τινός μετά;
By good fortune, four of the seventeen fragments of the play now extant find their parallel in Dio’s version and will be reported in the notes, each in its appropriate place.
The Fifty-ninth Discourse: Philoctetes
[59.1] Odysseus. I fear ‘twill prove that my allies were rash when they conceived of me the thought that I, in sooth, am best and wisest of the Greeks. And yet what kind of wisdom and prudence may this be which makes a man to toil beyond the others to gain the salvation and the victory of the group, seeing that, were he deemed to be but one among the throng, ‘twere his to share these blessings with the best? Ah well, no doubt ’tis difficult to find a thing so proud, so jealous of honour, as man is born to be. For ’tis the prominent, those who dare to undertake more labours than the rest, I dare say, whom we all do view with wonder and regard as truly men.
[59.2] This thirst for glory is what leads even me to bear unnumbered woes and live a life of toil beyond all other men, accepting ever fresh peril, fearing to mar the glory won by earlier achievements. So now a task most hazardous and hard brings me to Lemnos here, that Philoctetes and the bow of Heracles I may bear off for my allies. For the one most gifted in prophecy of all the Phrygians, Helenus Priam’s son, when by good fortune taken captive, disclosed that without these the city never could be seized.
[59.3] Now to the princes I did not agree to undertake the venture, knowing well the malice of that man, since ’twas I myself caused him to be marooned, that day when by ill fortune he was stung by a fierce and deadly viper. Thus I could not hope to find persuasion such that he should ever feel a kindly feeling toward me; nay, I thought he’d slay me out of hand. But after, Athena urging me in dreams, as is her wont, boldly to go and fetch the man — for she herself would change my form and voice, that I might meet him safe from detection — so did I pluck up courage, and am here.
[59.4] But word has come that envoys from the Phrygians too have secretly been sent, if haply they may win Philoctetes by means of bribes, and through his hatred of us Greeks as well, and so take back to Troy him and his bow. With such a prize before him, why should not any man grow keen? For, should one fail in this endeavour, all previous achievements, it seems, have been but labour lost.
[59.5] (Aside) Hah! the man draws nigh. ’Tis he himself, the son of Poeas, as is plain from his affliction, toiling along with labour and in pain. Oh what a grievous, awful spectacle! Aye, his person is frightful, thanks to his disease, his garb unwonted too — skins of wild beasts cover his nakedness. Come, Mistress Athena, be thou mine aid, nor show thyself to have promised me safety all in vain!
[59.6] Philoctetes. What is thy purpose, whoe’er thou art, by what audacity inspired hast thou come to this my poor retreat — to pillage, or to spy upon my evil fortune?
[59.6b] Od. Believe me, no man of violence dost thou see.
[59.6c] Phil. Yet surely not of thy former wont hast thou come here.
[59.6d] Od. Aye, not former wont; yet may it prove that coming even now is opportune.
[59.6e] Phil. Methinks thou dost betray much lack of reason in thy coming here.
[59.6f] Od. Then rest assured, not lacking reason have I come, and to thee at least no stranger shall I prove.
[59.7] Phil. How so? This first of all ’tis fair that I should know.
[59.7b] Od. Well, I’m an Argive, one of those who sailed for Troy.
[59.7c] Phil. How can that be? Repeat thy words, that I may more clearly know.
[59.7d] Od. Then dost thou hear it yet a second time: of those Achaeans who advanced on Troy I claim to be.
[59.7e] Phil. Faith, thou didst well in claiming to be friend of mine, seeing thou art revealed among my bitterest foes, the Argives! So for their injustice shalt thou this very instant pay the penalty.
[59.7f] Od. Nay, by the gods, forbear to loose thy shaft!
[59.7g] Phil. It cannot be, if haply thou art Greek in truth, that thou shouldst fail to die this very day.
[59.8] Od. Nay, I have suffered at their hands such things that I should rightly be a friend to thee, to them a foe.
[59.8b] Phil. And what is this thou hast suffered so terrible?
[59.8c] Od. Odysseus drove me an exile from the camp.
[59.8d] Phil. What hadst thou done to meet with such a doom?
[59.8e] Od. Methinks thou knowest Palamedes son of Nauplius.
[59.8f] Phil. In truth no common man was he who sailed with us, nor little worth to men and generals.
[59.8g] Od. Aye, such the man the common spoiler of the Greeks destroyed.
[59.8h] Phil. O’ercoming him in open fight, or with some guile?
[59.8i] Od. Charging betrayal of the camp to Priam’s sons.
[59.8j] Phil. But was it so in fact, or has he met with calumny?
[59.8k] Od. Could aught at all that scoundrel did be just?
[59.9] Phil. Oh thou who hast refrained from naught most cruel, thou utter villain both word and deed, Odysseus, once more how fine the man thou hast destroyed, of no less value to the allied host than thou, methinks, inventing and devising the best and sagest plans! Just so in fact didst thou make me a castaway, when for the salvation and the victory of us all I met with this disaster, because I showed them Chrysê’s altar, where they must first make sacrifice if they would overcome the foe; else, I declared, our expedition was being made in vain. Yet what hast thou to do with Palamedes’ lot?
[59.10] Od. Know well, the cursed feud was visited on all his friends, and all have perished, save such as could take to flight. Thus I too during the night just sped, sailing across alone, found refuge here. So I myself am placed in much the same necessity as thyself. If, then, thou hast some scheme, by adding thy eagerness to mine touching my voyage home, thou wilt have done a kindly deed toward me and wilt besides send home to thy own friends him who will bear the story of thy present ills.
[59.11] Phil. Nay, wretched creature, thou art come for aid to such another as thou art, helpless himself and lacking friends besides, an outcast on this shore, in niggard fashion and with toil providing with this bow both food and clothing, as thou dost see. For what raiment I had before time hath consumed. But if thou wilt share with me here this life of mine until some second chance of safety falls thy way, I’d grudge it not. Distressing, truly, what thou wilt see indoors, my friend — wrappings polluted with an ulcer’s filth and other tokens of my malady — and I myself am far from being pleasant company when the pain comes on me. And yet the worst of my disease time hath assuaged, though at the start it was in no wise bearable.

## THE SIXTIETH DISCOURSE: NESSUS OR DEÏANEIRA

DIO’S PURPOSE IN this little dialogue is apparently to display his dexterity in reconstructing Greek myth rather than to impart ethical instruction. A somewhat similar tour de force presents itself in the Trojan Discourse (Or. 11). Such exercises constituted a well-known feature of sophistic training and are not to be confused with the effort to rid ancient mythology of its grosser elements, an effort at least as old as Pindar.
In the present instance the myth in question seems not to have been popular. Though it may have figured in the cyclic epic, The Taking of Oechalia, there is no proof that it did. The only ancient Greek writers known to have dealt with the tale of Nessus and Deïaneira are the two named in the opening paragraph of our dialogue — Archilochus and Sophocles. All that is known of the version of Archilochus is contained in this brief reference and in two meagre scholia on Apollonius Rhodius and the Iliad respectively. The Sophoclean version is contained in his Trachiniae. There the murdered Nessus wreaks a posthumous vengeance upon his murderer in the manner here outlined by Dio. The dramatist puts into the mouth of Deïaneira herself the account of the attempt upon her honour (Trachiniae 555‑577).
The anonymous interlocutor in Dio’s dialogue is a colourless individual, whose function seems to be, first of all, to afford Dio an opportunity to display his dexterity, and finally to pay “certain philosophers” the doubtful compliment of comparison with coroplasts. The natural inference from that comparison is that Dio himself has attained the standing of a philosopher; but the interlocutor does not say so in plain terms and there is little in the Discourse that smacks of philosophy. In general it seems more suited to Dio’s sophistic period.
The Sixtieth Discourse: Nessus or Deïaneira
[60.1] Interlocutor. Can you solve me this problem — whether or not people are warranted in finding fault now with Archilochus and now with Sophocles in their treatment of the story of Nessus and Deïaneira? For some say Archilochus makes nonsense when he represents Deïaneira as chanting a long story to Heracles while an attack upon her honour is being made by the Centaur, thereby reminding him of the love-making of Acheloüs — and of the events which took place on that occasion — in consequence of which Nessus would have ample time to accomplish his purpose; others charge that Sophocles has introduced the shooting of the arrow too soon, while they were still crossing the river; for in those circumstances, they claim, Deïaneira too would have perished, since the dying Centaur would have dropped her in the river. However, do not, as you usually do, speak quite counter to the general belief and give any version rather than what a man would naturally believe.
[60.2] Dio. Then do you bid me tell you those things which a man would believe who believes correctly, or what a man would believe even though not correctly?
[60.2b] Int. I prefer what one would believe who believes correctly.
[60.2c] Dio. Then what about beliefs which the masses hold? Must he who desires to interpret correctly speak counter to the belief of the masses?
[60.2d] Int. He must.
Dio. Then do not be irritated as you follow the argument, if what is said is of that nature, but rather consider whether it is not suitably expressed.
[60.2e] Int. Very well, speak and proceed with your exposition as seems good to you.
[60.2f] Dio. Very good; I tell you that the whole misconception connected with the myth is the matter of the Centaur’s attempt to violate Deïaneira.
[60.2g] Int. What, did he not attempt it?
[60.3] Dio. No. Or does it seem to you plausible that in full view of Heracles, who was carrying his bow, and after having previously had experience of Heracles’ valour — the time when he alone of the Centaurs escaped from the cave of Pholus, though they had done no such injury as that to Heracles — Nessus should attempt to violate the hero’s wife?
[60.3b] Int. Yes, there is a certain difficulty in a matter of that sort; however, if we raise this question, perhaps we may destroy the myth altogether.
[60.3c] Dio. By no means, provided we consider first how the affair occurred, and how it was likely to have occurred.
[60.3d] Int. Very good; I wish you would tell me.
[60.4] Dio. Nessus attempted to corrupt Deïaneira the moment he began to carry her across the stream, as well as in the crossing, as I shall explain — not through violence, as men say, but by speaking to her words suited to his purpose and showing how she might obtain mastery over Heracles, saying: “Now he is fierce and stern and will stay with you only a short while, and that too in fretful temper, because of his labours and his expeditions abroad and the life he has chosen. But if,” said he, “you win him over, partly by solicitude for his welfare and partly by argument, urging him to give up this life of hardship and his labours and to live a life of ease and pleasure, he will not only be far kinder toward you, but will also live a better life and remain at home and keep you company from then on.”
[60.5] Now the Centaur went into these details with designs on Heracles, in the hope that he might somehow turn him in the direction of indulgence and indolence, for he knew that as soon as he changed his mode of living and his occupation he would be easy to manage and weak. But Deïaneira, as she heard him, paid no casual attention to his words, but rather considered that the Centaur was correct in what he said, as indeed might have been expected, since she wished to have her husband under her control. Heracles, on the other hand, suspecting that the Centaur was saying nothing honourable, judging from the earnestness with which he was talking to Deïaneira, and because she gave him her attention, therefore shot him with his bow. [6] But, though dying, nevertheless the Centaur bade Deïaneira to remember what he had said and to act as he had advised.
[60.7] Later on, when Deïaneira recalled the words of the Centaur, and when also Heracles did not relax at all but made an even lengthier journey away from home — his final journey, during which he captured Oechalia — and when in fact he was reported to have become enamoured of Iolê, thinking it better that what the Centaur had advised should be accomplished, she set to work upon Heracles and — [7] such is the nature of female wile and cunning — she did not desist until, partly by coaxing and saying that she was anxious about him, lest he come to grief by persisting winter and summer alike in going unclothed, wearing only his lion’s skin, she at last persuaded him to doff the skin and put on dress like that of other men. And this, of course, was what is called the shirt of Deïaneira, which Heracles put on.
[60.8] But along with his dress, she made him change his mode of living in general, now sleeping on bedding and not camping in the open for the most part, as was his former custom, nor labouring with his own hands, nor using the same food as formerly, but rather eating grain most carefully prepared and fish and sweet wine and in fact whatever goes with these things. But as an outcome of this change, as was inevitable methinks, falling into weakness and flabbiness of body, and thinking that, having once adopted self-indulgence, it was no longer easy to lay it aside, he therefore set himself on fire, not only because he believed it better to be freed from such a life as that, but also because he was distressed that he had allowed himself to take up a life of luxury.
[60.8b] So there you have my reasoning, such as I have been able to express it, regarding the myth.
[60.9] Int. And, by Heaven, it seems to me not at all a bad one or unconvincing either. And somehow or other I have the feeling that the method of some philosophers in dealing with their arguments resembles in a way that of the makers of figurines. For those craftsmen produce a mould, and whatever clay they put into this they render like to the mould in form; and some of the philosophers ere now have proved like that, with the result that, whatever myth or story they take in hand, by tearing it to pieces and moulding it to suit their fancy they render it beneficial and suited to philosophy, the sort of philosopher in fact that Socrates in particular proved to be, as we are told. [10] For Socrates indeed entered the lists in all kinds of arguments and all sorts of lectures — against orators, sophists, geometricians, musicians, athletic trainers, and all the other craftsmen — and, whether in palaestra or symposium or market-place, he was not prevented in any way at all from plying his calling as philosopher or from impelling toward virtue those who were with him, not by introducing any topic of his own or any preconceived problem, but rather by consistently employing the topic at hand and applying it to philosophy.

## THE SIXTY-FIRST DISCOURSE: CHRYSEÏS

IN THIS LITTLE dialogue it would seem that Dio had chosen for discussion the most unpromising of topics. Little as is known about Briseïs, Homer at least tells us that when Agamemnon’s messengers came to fetch her she followed them unwillingly, but Chryseïs, the involuntary cause of the quarrel out of which grew the Iliad, is restored to the arms of her father without giving the slightest clue to her emotions or desires. Apart from the epithet “fair-cheeked” which she shares with Briseïs, our only testimony regarding her personality is the tribute paid her by Agamemnon when he compares her with Clytemnestra to the disadvantage of the latter, a tribute, it may be, inspired as much by arrogant pride as by passion.
So far as is known, none of the Greek playwrights found in her story material suitable for dramatic treatment; yet Dio here undertakes the task of endowing this lay figure with life. His partner in the discussion is not a colourless individual, as is often the case, merely providing the cues for further argumentation and meekly assenting to the conclusions reached, but a woman with a mind of her own, repeatedly raising logical objections and asking pertinent questions. Her final utterance shows that, despite the dexterity of Dio, she has some lingering doubts about the true character of Chryseïs. It is of course peculiarly fitting that in treating such a topic as Chryseïs the interlocutor should be a woman, but that Dio should have cast a woman for such a rôle is of itself noteworthy, and there is such an atmosphere of verisimilitude surrounding the dialogue as to suggest that it may actually have taken place.
The Sixty-first Discourse: Chryseïs
[61.1] Dio. Since, as it happens, you praise Homer in no ordinary manner and you do not, like most persons, merely pretend to admire him, trusting to his reputation, but instead have discerned that quality in the poet in which he is most effective, his acquaintance with the passions of mankind, let us, if you please, pass by all else for the moment, the fortunes of kings and generals, and turn our attention to discover how the poet has depicted the daughter of the priest whom he has mentioned at the very beginning of his poem. For Agamemnon seems to praise not only the beauty but also the character of the young woman, for he says that she is in no wise inferior in mind to his own wife — clearly believing that Clytemnestra has intelligence.
[61.2] Interlocutor. What of it? Has he not said this thoughtlessly, beguiled by his infatuation?
[61.2b] Dio. That is worth looking into; and yet it is very difficult to convince men who are in love, for most of them are suspicious and easily angered, and they never admit that they are loved as they deserve by their beloved, especially when they are so superior in station to the objects of their passion and associate with them by virtue of authority.
[61.2c] Int. That kind of thing, in my opinion, happens with lovers of the low sort.
[61.2d] Dio. Well then, if Agamemnon was of the superior kind, he was right in his appraisal of the girl; but if he was no better than most men, it is not easy for a woman of low degree to please a man like him to the point of taking her to be noble. Well now, let us examine also the other points.
[61.3] Int. Why, what additional proof have you in Homer of the character of the woman? At any rate he has not depicted her as doing or saying anything, but rather as being silently handed over to her father.
[61.3b] Dio. What! Could one not deduce her faculties of mind from what took place in connexion with her, provided one were to consider the matter in a manner not wholly superficial and foolish?
[61.4] Int. Perhaps.
Dio. Are we, then, to suppose that against the wishes of his daughter Chryses came into the camp, bearing the fillets of the god along with the ransom, and besought the assembly and the kings to release her, or, on the contrary, was it because she kept begging her father to aid her if he could? [4] For if Chryseïs was content with her situation and wished to live with Agamemnon, Chryses would never have chosen at one and the same time to grieve his daughter and to incur the malice of the king, not being unaware of the king’s feelings toward her. For it was no less to the interest of Chryses that Chryseïs should live with the king, so long as he was fond of her, since the priest’s country, his sanctuary, and he himself had come under the sway of the Achaeans, and Agamemnon was their sovereign. [5] And, besides, how is it that immediately after her capture, at a time when she might be expected to be in greater distress, Chryses neither came nor made any mention of ransom, but rather some time later, at a time when her grief had diminished and her intimacy with Agamemnon had increased? For the poet says these things took place in the tenth year of the siege — I mean the coming of the priest and the bringing of the ransom — while it is reasonable to suppose that the cities in the neighbourhood of Troy, and especially the smaller ones, would have been taken in the very beginning of the war, and it is to this group that Chrysa and its sanctuary belonged.
[61.4b] Int. Then this reasoning of yours attributes to Chryseïs very singular conduct, in that formerly she endured her lot as a captive, though newly robbed of her father and her country, but after ten years had passed she took it hard.
[61.6] Dio. Yes, at least if you listen to what else I have to say; for it is not pleasant for free women to abandon even an ordinary man, once he has become their lover, to say nothing of the most illustrious and wealthy man, king of all the Greeks, a man who held the greatest power of all among the men of that day, who had authority over not merely Chryseïs but her father and her country too, and who expected in a short time to become lord of Asia as well — for Ilium had long been in a bad way and its people were having difficulty in defending the city itself and no one went out for battle. And observe also that the king had no casual regard for her, but even openly admitted that he preferred her to his own wife. That she should spurn such numerous and exceptional advantages, and in particular a lover who was not only a great king and had few who vied with him in valour, but was also young and handsome, as Homer says in comparing him to Zeus, and that she should then go to her native land, now a prize of war, and live as the wife of one of Agamemnon’s slaves — that is, assuming that she would wed one of the men of the district — is not that singular? [7] For that she was a prisoner of war and for that reason did not care for the man who got her is not enough to explain her conduct. At any rate Briseïs apparently loved Achilles, and that although, as she declares, it was he who slew her husband and her brothers. But as for Agamemnon, nothing like that had been done regarding Chryseïs.
[61.6b] Int. Very good. Then from this line of reasoning it follows that Chryseïs did not wish to be parted from Agamemnon, but that Chryses was conducting these negotiations independently; or else, if indeed she did wish it, she would be rather foolish and the case you have made out it contrary to what you promised.
[61.8] Dio. Well now, as the saying goes, do not judge a case before you hear both sides. Of course you speak of Homer as being a man of wisdom?
[61.9] Int. Possibly.
Dio. Then you should assume that he tells some things but leaves others to the perception of his readers. But this is not one of the very obscure instances. For Chryseïs at the outset apparently was content to remain with Agamemnon for the reasons I have named, and she was grateful to the gods that she had not been given to any of the less illustrious persons, but rather to the king of all, and also that he was not indifferent toward her; and so she made no move regarding ransom. [9] But when she heard what conditions were like in the house of Agamemnon, how disagreeable they were, and what she heard also about the cruelty of Clytemnestra and about her boldness, then she looked with dread to her arrival in Argos. Moreover, although she had hitherto remained with Agamemnon, possibly for love of him, still when the war was near its close and a report was current that the Trojans no longer would be able to hold out, she did not wait for the capture of Ilium. For she knew that in general men who are victorious grow arrogant, and that the time when religious scruples are more potent is when men are at war.
[61.10] For these reasons at that juncture she summoned her father and bade him entreat the Achaeans; for she learned, it would appear, that the Atreidae were dominated by their wives and that the wives felt themselves superior to these men, not alone because of their beauty, but also because they believed that the right to rule belonged rather to themselves. For the Atreidae were descendants of Pelops and newcomers in Greece, whereas they themselves were women of Achaia, daughters of Tyndareüs and Leda. Now Tyndareüs had been illustrious and king of Sparta, and so not only had Helen on this account been courted by the noblest among the Greeks, but they had sworn to render aid in case of need. [11] Besides, these women were sisters of Castor and Polydeuces, who had come to be regarded as sons of Zeus, and who to this day are deemed gods by all men because of the power they acquired at that time. For not only were they pre-eminent among the dwellers in the Peloponnese, but among those outside the Peloponnese the greatest power was that of Athens, and Castor and Polydeuces had overwhelmed that city in a campaign which they made in the reign of Theseus. Furthermore, Meleager, the noblest among the Greeks, had been a cousin of theirs.
[61.12] Now though Chryseïs did not know these things, she did hear of the proud spirit of the women, and she learned how far above her husband Helen stood — so far that, when Helen heard of the great advantages of Asia, due alike to excellence of soil and size of population and abundance of riches, she came to scorn, not only Menelaüs, but Agamemnon too and Greece as a whole and she chose the one in preference to the other. [12] Now Menelaüs had been accustomed to yield to Helen in everything before her elopement, and also, when later he took her captive, he was kind to her in spite of all; but Agamemnon, puffed up because of his position as commander, had disparaged Clytemnestra, and so it was clear that they were not going to get along well together, but that instead there would be just about such actions as came to pass. Nor was Chryseïs pleased when Agamemnon said what he did, moreover publicly in the assembly of the Achaeans, namely, that he prized her more than his own wife and thought her not inferior to her, for Chryseïs knew that such talk breeds envy and jealousy. [13] Then too, she observed Agamemnon’s character and saw that he was not stable but arrogant and overbearing, and she calculated what he would do to her, a captive, when he ceased to desire her, seeing that he referred to his wife, queen though she was and the mother of his children, in such disparaging terms. For though foolish women delight in their lovers when they are seen to disparage all other women, those who are sensible discern the true nature of the man who acts or talks that way.
[61.14] And at the same time Chryseïs was aware that he was insolent too in his treatment of herself, and that too at a time when he was most in love with her. For example, that he should so roughly have driven off the father of his beloved, instead of sparing him on her account, to say nothing of his not having soothed the old man by saying that his daughter had nothing to fear from him, but, on the contrary, not only threatening him but also speaking slightingly of Chryseïs by saying,
[61.15] But I’ll not free her ere old age o’ertakes
Her far from home, at Argos, in our house,
Plying the loom and visiting my couch.
What overweening insolence! Why, what would he have done later on, seeing that while still in love he talks of her in such a fashion? Therefore, to guard again these things and to forecast them is the mark of a woman by no means ordinary. [15] However, to my way of thinking, what happened in Argos both to Cassandra and to Agamemnon himself revealed that Chryseïs was a sensible woman to have saved herself from these disasters. Accordingly, that neither passion nor kingly station nor those things which are deemed glorious and good turned her head, young though she was, and that she did not plunge into perilous ventures and a disordered house and envy and jealousy — these are the marks of a prudent woman, one truly worthy of being daughter of a priest, nurtured in the house of a god.
[61.15b] Int. How so? Do you mean that these are the reasons why Agamemnon thought her wise?
[61.16] Dio. By no means, for it is not likely that she said any such thing to him; rather that he formed his judgement on the basis of her conduct in general.
[61.16b] Int. Why, then, does not the poet say that she departed in gladness, just as he says that Briseïs departed in sorrow?
[61.16c] Dio. Because in this too she was showing her prudence, her aim being not to exasperate Agamemnon or drive him to contentiousness. However, the poet makes the situation plain in the passage in which he says she was restored by Odysseus to her father beside the altar:
[61.16d] Thus having said, he placed her in his arms,
And he rejoicing took his darling child.
[61.16e] For, methinks, if she were sorrowing, her father would not be receiving her “rejoicing”; nor, perchance, would the poet have called her “darling” unless she loved her father dearly for what had taken place.
[61.17] Int. Very well; yet why did Chryseïs reason thus rather than Chryses on his own account?
[61.17b] Dio. Because it was to be expected that what concerned Clytemnestra would hold greater interest for Chryseïs; but even if it was her father who reasoned thus and she agreed with him and followed his advice, that was no trifling feat either. At any rate most women in their folly are more devoted to their lovers than to their parents.
[61.17c] Int. Why, then, if she really was sensible, did she not try to prevent Chryses from appealing to Agamemnon publicly, in order that he might be less angry?
[61.18] Dio. Because she knew that, though in private lovers desire in every matter to gratify their passion, they are sometimes embarrassed in the presence of the crowd, and she believed that the fillets of the god had a certain power with the people, as proved to be the case.
[61.18b] Int. Still here is something that troubles me. How did it happen that Agamemnon not only fell in love with the priest’s daughter at the time in question, but afterwards with Cassandra too, a divinely inspired and holy maid?
[61.18c] Dio. Because this too is a sign of pride and wantonness — to desire the forbidden and rare rather than the easily obtainable.
[61.18d] Int. I do not gainsay that Chryseïs was prudent, if these things took place as you claim.
[61.18e] Dio. Would you rather hear how they assuredly did take place, or how it would be well for them to have taken place?

## THE SIXTY-SECOND DISCOURSE: ON KINGSHIP AND TYRANNY

THE COMPLIMENTARY ADDRESS contained in §§ 1 and 3 of our Discourse could hardly have been intended for any one but Trajan. Yet the document is so abrupt in both beginning and ending and so brief when compared with the four treatises on kingship supposed to have been addressed to Trajan (Or. 1‑4) that it is difficult to imagine that it ever was delivered as a distinct entity in the form in which we have it. It is of course conceivable that we are dealing with a fragment of a fifth speech on kingship addressed to the much-enduring Trajan, but it is more likely that we have before us a variant version of a portion of one of the addresses just mentioned. Dio himself makes it plain (Or. 57.10‑12) that on occasion he took the liberty of repeating to other hearers speeches previously delivered before “the Emperor.” On such an occasion he doubtless felt free to modify the original wording, and such a procedure would explain the existence of certain doublets in his text. We may conjecture that his editor, finding the substance of Or. 62 imbedded in such a variant version of one of the four speeches to which we have referred and not wishing to discard it, gave it independent existence here. Finally, it may be noted that, though the second element in the title, tyranny, is not specifically mentioned in our document, it is dealt with in Or. , and also that there is a notable similarity between Or. . and Or. ..
The Sixty-second Discourse: On Kingship and Tyranny
[62.1] And indeed, if a person is not competent to govern a single man, and that too a man who is very close to him, in fact his constant companion, and if, again, he cannot guide a single soul, and that his own, how could he be king, as you are, over unnumbered thousands scattered everywhere, many even dwelling at the ends of the earth, most of whom he has not even seen and never could see, and whose speech he will not understand? Why, it is as if one were to say of the man with vision so impaired that he cannot see even what lies at his feet but needs some one to lead him by the hand, that he can reach with his eyes the most distant objects, like those who at sea behold from afar both the mountains and the islands; or as if one were to say of the man who cannot make himself heard even by those who stand beside him, that he is able to speak so as to be heard by whole communities and armies. [2] In fact, the intellect has something comparable to vision — as vision, when it is ruined, can see nothing even of what is very near, although when in health it can reach sky and stars, just so the mind of the prudent man shows itself competent to direct all men whatsoever, whereas the mind of the fool cannot protect a single body, his own, or a single household.
[62.3] Take, for example, most men who hold unbridled power — because they have the power to obtain every thing, they crave everything; because justice is lodged in their hands, for this reason they are unjust; because they do not fear the laws, they do not even believe in their existence; because they are not compelled to labour, they never cease their luxurious living; because no one defends himself when maltreated, they never cease maltreating; because they lack no pleasure, they never get their fill of it; because no one censures them openly, they miss no occasion for unjust criticism; because no one wishes to hurt their feelings, for this reason they display ill-temper toward everyone; because they have it in their power to do anything when enraged, for this reason they are continually in a rage. [3] On the other hand, the good ruler, such as you are, practises the opposite conduct — he covets nothing for the reason that he feels he has everything; he is sparing in his pleasures for the reason that he would lack for no pleasure he might crave; he is more just than any other man inasmuch as he provides justice for all; he delights in labour because he labours of his own accord; he cherishes the laws because he does not fear them.
[62.4] Moreover, he is right in reasoning so. For who needs ampler wisdom than he who deliberates on so many matters? Who needs stricter justice than he who is superior to the laws? Who needs more steadfast self-control than he to whom anything is permissible? [4] Who needs greater courage than he who is the preserver of all? Furthermore, he who is to govern many others needs, not only very great outlay of wealth, but also armies, both infantry and cavalry, and in addition fortifications, ships, and engines of war, if he is to control his subjects, defend himself against the foe, and, should some one try to revolt from his authority, reduce him to subjection. However, to control one’s self is of all things least costly, least difficult, least dangerous; for neither costly nor laborious nor precarious is the life of the man of self-control; yet for all that, though so desirable, it is naturally the most difficult thing of all.
[62.5] For instance, the famous Sardanapallus, whose name is a by‑word, held Nineveh and Babylon as well, the greatest cities that had yet existed, and all the nations which occupy the second continent, as far as what are called the uninhabited parts of the earth, were subject to him; but to kingship he could lay no claim, no more than could some rotting corpse. For the fact is, he neither would nor could take counsel or give judgement or lead troops. [6] On the contrary, it was his custom to slip away into the women’s quarters in his palace and there sit with legs drawn up on a golden couch, sheltered by purple bed-hangings, just like the Adonis who is lamented by the women, his voice shriller than that of eunuchs, his neck lolling to one side, his face pale and twitching from indolence and living in the shade, his body livid, his eyes upturned as if he were being throttled — in short, one whom it would be impossible to distinguish from his concubines. And yet for a time, as it seemed, he maintained his empire, though it was drifting aimlessly, just as, for instance, a ship without a helmsman, roving on the sea, with no one in control, as fate directs, so long as fair weather holds; then, should a little sea arise, even a single wave easily swamps it. [7] Yes, and one may also see a chariot, with no one holding the reins, wobbling crazily in a race, a chariot which, while it could never win a victory, nevertheless throws into confusion and even works destruction in the mob of spectators near the course.
[62.5b] Nay, there will never be a foolish king any more than there could be a blind guide for a traveller; nor an unjust king any more than a crooked, uneven measuring-rod needing a second rod to set it straight; nor a timid king any more than a lion with the spirit of a deer, or than iron softer than wax or lead. On the contrary, to whom appropriately belongs a sterner self-control than to him who lives surrounded by the greatest number of pleasures, who administers the greatest number of affairs, who has the least leisure, and who is concerned over the greatest and most numerous problems?

## THE SIXTY-THIRD DISCOURSE: ON FORTUNE (I)

THE AUTHENTICITY OF this encomium on Fortune was denied long ago by Emperius, and his judgement has been reaffirmed by Arnim. The criteria are stylistic: there is a notable disregard of hiatus, a phenomenon not to be expected of an able sophist in a composition such as this — Arnim cites the particularly objectionable passage in § 5: πολλὰ δὲ αὕτη ἔχουσα χρώματα ἐοικότα ἀφρῷ ἡμαγμένῳ ἐφήρμοσε τῇ γραφῇ — and the subject matter is treated in a dull and uninspired fashion. The one redeeming feature of the document is the anecdote, elsewhere recorded only by Sextus Empiricus, of Apelles and his sponge.
Although Tychê appears in Hesiod’s Theogony among the progeny of Tethys and Oceanus and is occasionally named by poets of later date, notably Pindar, the personification seems not to have taken firm hold upon Greek imagination. With the Romans, however, the case was different, and Tychê in her Latinized form, Fortuna, received ample honours as a deity in many parts of the Empire, being intimately associated with the ruling house.
The Sixty-third Discourse: On Fortune (I)
[63.1] Mankind seems to feel toward Fortune as sailors do toward the winds that waft them on their way; for sailors gladly and with vigour apply themselves to their course, and those who have the breeze reach the port for which they aimed, while those who are abandoned by it in the midst of the open sea lament to no avail; so too when men have Fortune with them they rejoice and are glad, but when she is absent they are grieved and distressed. Yes, everything is the work of this goddess, for indeed when she is present the difficult appears easy, the weak strong, the ugly beautiful, and poverty turns to wealth.
[63.2] For instance, when Fortune comes at sea a ship has fair sailing, and when she shows herself in the atmosphere a farmer prospers. Moreover, a man’s spirit rejoices when uplifted by Fortune, yet should Fortune fail, it goes about in its body as in a tomb. For neither does a man win approval if he speaks, nor does he succeed if he acts, nor is it any advantage to have been born a man of genius when Fortune fails. For when she is not present learning is not forthcoming, nor any other good thing. Why, even valour gains recognition for its achievements only when Fortune is present; on the other hand, if valour should be left to itself it is just a word, productive of no noble action. In time of war Fortune means victory; in time of peace, concord; at a marriage, goodwill; with lovers, enjoyment — in short, success in each and every undertaking.
[63.3] When Fortune deserts a land, then that land is shaken and trembles and tosses the lovely things upon it in all directions — this too a disease of the earth, Fortune not being present. Again, as a ship moves aimlessly and founders quickly when deprived of a pilot, or as fortifications crumble when foundations are damaged, so a city goes to utter ruin for lack of Fortune. Athens once suffered wrong to its orators and Demosthenes was haled to prison, all because Fortune no longer was watching over Athens. But, methinks, even the sky has Fortune, when it has clear weather instead of darkness.
[63.4] But one should consider also the resourcefulness of the goddess. For example, there have been times when a man who had fallen overboard from a ship at sea was able to save his life because Fortune came to his aid. Moreover, what happened to Apelles the painter because of Fortune deserves recounting. For, as the story goes, he was painting a horse — not a work-horse but a war-horse. Its neck was high arched, its ears erect, its eyes fierce, like one come not from work but from war, with the spirit of the charge in theirº glance, and its feet were rising in the air, touching the ground lightly one after the other. Moreover, the driver had a firm grip on the reins, throttling the martial gallop of the horse in mid-career. [5] But though the picture had everything true to life, there was lacking a colour wherewith to depict froth such as there would be when blood and saliva have mixed in constant intermingling, the panting breath driving before it the moisture of the lips and forming froth because of laboured breathing, while the cruel bit spattered blood upon the froth. So, then, Apelles knew not how to represent froth of a horse wearied in action. But as he was more and more perplexed, finally in a fit of desperation he hurled his sponge at the painting, striking it near the bit. But the sponge, containing as it did many colours, which when taken together resembled bloody froth, fitted its colour to the painting. And at the sight Apelles was delighted by what Fortune had accomplished in his moment of despair and finished his painting, not through his art, but through the aid of Fortune.
[63.6] Again, what else was it that made Heracles most mighty? Why, he not only throttled and choked to death a lion, pursued winged creatures of the air, ejected the Hydra from the swamp, crushing its heads, and refused to be frightened by the boar which haunted Erymanthus; he even journeyed to the West and bore away the fruit of the tree which grew there. Moreover, he carried off the cattle of Geryones, fine animals that they were, admonished Diomedes the Thracian to give his horses grain, not men, to eat, and proved the Amazons to be mere women. But all these exploits he was able to accomplish because Fortune attended him.
[63.7] Moreover, the riddles of the ancients in their representations of Fortune are not without merit. For instance, some have placed her on a razor’s edge, others on a sphere, others have given her a rudder to wield, while those who depict her most effectively have given her the horn of Amaltheia, full to overflowing with the fruits of the seasons, the horn which Heracles in battle broke off from Acheloüs. Now the razor’s edge betokens the abruptness with which good fortune changes; the sphere, that change of fortune is easy, for the divine power is, in fact, ever in motion; the rudder indicates that Fortune directs the life of men; and the horn of Amaltheia calls attention to the giving of good things and prosperity. Let us not, then, call any fortune evil; for one does not say that virtue is evil, or that goodness is evil.

## THE SIXTY-FOURTH DISCOURSE: ON FORTUNE (II)

THIS LAUDATIO OF the goddess Fortune, though longer than the foregoing, is hardly on a higher level. Arnim was doubtless correct in denying it a place among the genuine works of Dio. There is a monotony in its phrasing which one would be reluctant to associate with him, and also a certain indifference toward hiatus. But more objectionable still is a tedious parade of erudition, ranging all the way from the commonplaces of myth and history to points so obscure that one is tempted to ascribe them to the fertile imagination of the author. Was it his purpose to overawe with his learning a less erudite company?
Where was his address delivered? In §§ 12‑17 he traces the ancestry of his hearers to Athens via Euboea. His account sounds a bit fanciful and the twofold migration from Athens is not found elsewhere in Greek tradition, so that it is impossible to identify with certainty the people to whom he is speaking. However, Strabo (5.246) reports that, after the original settlement of Naples by citizens of Cumae, additional settlers later came from Athens. Furthermore, a Neapolitan coin of about the middle of the fifth century B.C. depicts Pallas wearing an olive crown, and at some time or other the name Phaleron came to be associated with Naples. Finally, the complimentary remarks regarding the city in which the address was being delivered seem to fit Naples better than any other likely possibility. It might seem surprising, however, that the Naples of the first century of our era should still cherish the memory of Athenian contributions to its parent stock. Possibly our Discourse was addressed to a select group of Neapolitans, who, however unintelligently, strove to keep alive traditions of ancient days.
The Sixty-fourth Discourse: On Fortune (II)
[64.1] The charges which men lay to the account of Fortune I would consider to be highest encomia in her favour. For example, the inscrutable vicissitudes in their affairs they ascribe to her, and whenever they unwisely set their hands to certain projects and meet with failure they imagine they have been robbed of their purposes by her, since, in their opinion, she could do any and every thing if she only would. Again, you may hear farmers, shippers, and men of wealth blaming her for their loss of money, dandies for their persons, Pantheia for her husband, Croesus for his son, Astyages for his defeat, and Polycrates for his capture. Moreover, the Persians blamed Fortune after the slaying of Cyrus, as did the Macedonians after Alexander’s death.
[64.2] Furthermore, men even reproach Fortune for some of their own emotional weaknesses — Medea for her passion, Midas for his prayer, Phaedra for her false accusation, Alcmaeon for his wandering, Orestes for his madness. But I will tell you also a certain Cyprian tale if you wish. The days of old produced women of distinction as well as men — Rhodogunê the warrior, Semiramis the queen, Sappho the poetess, Timandra the beauty; just so Cyprus too had its Demonassa, a woman gifted in both statesmanship and law-giving. [3] She gave the people of Cyprus the following three laws: a woman guilty of adultery shall have her hair cut off and be a harlot — her daughter became an adulteress, had her hair cut off according to the law, and practised harlotry; whoever commits suicide shall be cast out without a burial — this was the second law of Demonassa; third, a law forbidding the slaughter of a plough-ox. Of the two sons which she had, the one met his death for having slain an ox, while the other, who slew himself, she refrained from burying. [4] Now for a time she not only bore with fortitude the loss of her children but also persevered in her regulations; but having observed a cow lowing in sorrow over a calf which was dying, and having recognized her own misfortune in the case of another, Demonassa melted bronze and leaped into the molten mass. And there used to be at that place an ancient tower holding a bronze image, an image embedded in bronze, both in order to insure the stability of the statue and also as a representation of the story; and near‑by on a tablet there was an inscription:
[64.2b] Wise was I, yet in everything ill-starred.
[64.5] Well then, let not Fortune be condemned unheard, and let us not fear the clamour of those who accuse her. For perhaps even she herself might aid us somewhat in speaking well of her. In the first place, the artists are believed to have revealed her power by the way they have equipped her. For, to begin with, she stands ready for her tasks; secondly, in her right hand she holds a rudder and, as one might say, she is sailing a ship. But why, then was this? Was it in the belief that sailors more than others need Fortune, or was it because she steers our lives like some great ship and preserves all on board — the Assyrians until the wanton luxury of Sardanapalus; the Medes until the rearing of Cyrus; the Persians until they crossed the sea; the Athenians until their capture; Croesus until the visit of Solon?
[64.6] At first a fortunate man was Oedipus.
[64.6b] Yes, for Fortune, trying to provide freedom from suffering, granted him ignorance, which was tantamount to freedom from suffering. Then at one and the same time he reached the end of his good fortune and began to understand. For my part I call even his blindness good fortune. For let Tellus behold his children, and Cydippê, and Aeolus, and whoever else may have been fortunate as a parent; yet by his blindness Oedipus
[64.6c] Will gain escape from shameful sights.
[64.7] And, to resume, in her other hand the goddess holds fruits plucked and ready for use, indicating the multitude of good things she herself provides — this, you see, would be both Golden Age and Isles of the Blest, as it were, with foods for the taking, and Horn of Heracles, and life of the Cyclopes all in one, since to those who have toiled for their living an abundance of good things comes thereafter spontaneously. But Tantalus, you know, was idle in old age; on that account, therefore, he was prosperous only as far as his lips, fortunate only with his eyes, while all those things he longed for — lake, fruits, food, and drink — vanished, snatched away by Fortune as by a blast of wind.
[64.8] Again, Fortune has been given many names among men. Her impartiality has been named Nemesis or Retributive Justice; her obscurity, Elpis or Hope; her inevitability, Moira or Fate; her righteousness, Themis or Law — truly a deity of many names and many ways. Farmers have given her the name Demeter; shepherds Pan; sailors Leucothea, pilots Dioscuri.
[64.8b] With ease the eminent he curbs, the meek
Exalts, makes straight the crooked, blasts the proud.
[64.9] This refers, of course, to Zeus, holding in his right hand his weapon and in his left his sceptre, for the reason that to martial men he gives kingship too.
[64.9b] Furthermore, Euripides censures the sailor
Untimely seeking to cross the broad sea’s waves;
he also utters reproof in the following, when he says
To slender hopes do they entrust themselves.
[64.10] O son of Mnesarchides, you were a poet, to be sure, yet not at all wise! For they entrust this lives to neither pitch nor ropes, nor is it a two-inch plank of pine that keeps them safe; nay, they entrust them to a sure and mighty thing, Fortune. A weak thing is wealth unless accompanied by Fortune; an uncertain thing is friendship unless Fortune bears a hand. She preserves alike the sick man in his extremity, the swimmer amidst the waves, Agamemnon sailing with his thousand ships, and Odysseus drifting on his raft. [11] What dost thou fear, thou craven? Dost fear the vastness of the sea? Poseidon, indeed, will spy thee, summon his winds, seize his trident, and stir up all the blasts; yet he will not slay thee, for Fortune wills it not.
[64.10b] Thus do thou wander now upon the deep,
With many an evil mischance, till the day
When thou dost meet with men beloved of Zeus.
[64.12] An utterance of a god vanquished by Fortune!
[64.13] What is more, the ancient stock of your ancestors, those autochthonous and earliest Athenians who boasted the soil as mother, Demeter as nurse, and Athena as namesake and ally, Fortune first led forth from Athens to Euboea; but since if they remained there the sea could not please them nor the land support, and since also they could not endure the disgrace of what had happened, their having turned islanders instead of occupants of the mainland, Fortune made a second and better plan. [13] For though Euboea is truly a venerable island, still who among you ever was able to endure dwelling in a rugged land, or being neighbour to narrow waters and subjected to many shifts of condition, more numerous than the shifts of current in the strait? At one moment you must needs endure the Boeotians and the stupidity of the Thebans, and the next it was the Athenians, who treated you no longer as sons, but rather as slaves. So it came to pass that the goddess took and established you here, with one of her hands contriving and directing the voyage, and with the other abundantly providing and bestowing her fruits.
[64.14] Now the idea in what yet remains to say it is difficult to portray. [14] But as for me, O Mistress Fortune — for to thee, no doubt, my words would justly be addressed — if some one should raise me aloft and transport me through the sky, either, as it were, on the back of some Pegasus or in some winged car of Pelops, offering me the whole earth and its cities, neither would I choose the luxury of Lydia or the thrift of Attica or the meagre living of Laconia, nor would I choose Croton or Sybaris, because they do not toil, or the Scythians, because they do not farm, or the Egyptians, because they farm for others,
[64.15] And Libya, where the lambs have horns at birth —
a shepherd’s haven! No, I would not choose Egyptian Thebes,
Which hath a hundred gates, and at each one
Two hundred men go forth with chariots and steeds —
a life for grooms and gate-keepers!
[64.15b] In Delos such a tree I once did see
Beside Apollo’s altar —
[64.15c] an altar does not satisfy my wants, since I have naught to sacrifice thereon; no more do trees, if they afford no food.
[64.15d] ’tis rugged, yet a goodly nurse of youth —
This land not only is not rugged but a nurse of youth besides.
[64.16] O Athens, august mistress of them all!
[64.16b] Say not so, fellow: those Athenians no more are masters.
[64.16c] How beauteous too thy shipyard is to view.
[64.16d] Nay, rather say ugly, after the Hellespont and Lysander.
[64.16e] Peiraeus is a lovely sight.
[64.16f] Yes, for your mind’s eye still sees it with its walls.
What other city yet obtained such groves!
[64.16g] It did have, yes, but it was ravaged and, like a woman in her mourning, it had its tresses shorn.
[64.16h] For climate, so they say, ’tis nobly set.
[64.16i] Indeed! how so, since they are subject to plague and sickness, and more of them are slain by their climate than by the foe?
[64.17] Now let no one be vexed that I speak thus of his forebears. We could not attain first rank in any other way than by competing with those who are first. Why, not only did a certain warrior of old take pride in having proved superior to his sire, but even for the Athenians it is no disgrace, ancestors of ours though they be, to be outstript by their sons. For they will share your merit while being surpassed in their own. How, then, could you help being grateful to Fortune for all this — both for parentage, in that you are Greek, and for your changed condition, in that, though once poor, you now are prosperous? Socrates, at any rate, counted himself fortunate for many reasons — not only because he was a rational being, but also because he was an Athenian. [18] Diogenes the Cynic, on the other hand, with boorishness and downright discourtesy was wont to rail at Fortune, claiming that, though she shot many shafts with him as her target, she could not hit him. I cannot endure a philosopher’s behaving so brazenly. Do not lie about Fortune, Diogenes, for the reason why she does not shoot you is that she has no wish to do so; on the contrary, if Fortune did wish it, she could easily hit you wherever you might be. While I do not use those “pithy laconic expressions” — slaves to the Persians, Dionysius at Corinth, Socrates’ condemnation, Xenophon’s exile, Pherecydes’ death, luck of Anaxarchus — still, let me ask you, with how many shafts has she hit this difficult mark itself? She made you an exile; she brought you to Athens; she introduced you to Antisthenes; she sold you into Crete. But if staff and wallet and a meagre, simple mode of living serve you as a cloak of affectation, you have Fortune to thank even for these things, for it is by grace of Fortune that you practise philosophy.
[64.19] Again, there was once an Athenian general, Timotheüs, who was fortunate in everything and could not stand being made the butt of jokes; and one day he committed some act of effrontery against Fortune, and in turn he began to be unfortunate. Who would ever have expected that a barber would become ruler of the Indians; that a shepherd would become king of the Lydians; that a woman would become leader of Asia; that a tunic and a woman would cause the death of Heracles; that a slave and a goblet would cause the death of Alexander? The explanation is that Fortune has within herself the essence of royalty ever in fullest measure, and she destroys those who exalt themselves unduly. For instance, Alexander did many daring things — [20] he could not stand being called the son of Philip; he lied about Zeus; he scorned the Dioscuri; he abused Dionysus, though indulging so lavishly in that god’s gifts. Moreover, he slew his saviour Cleitus, the handsome Philotas, the aged Parmenion, his teacher Callisthenes; he aimed to slay Aristotle and had planned the death of Antipater. Therefore Fortune made him while yet alive admit that he was a human being. [21] At any rate when he had been wounded he said to his friends, “Why, this fluid which I behold is not ichor but real blood!” But by his dying he admitted fully that Fortune is a mighty being and truly invincible. At any rate after escaping from the Theban hoplites, the Thessalian cavalry, the Aetolian javelin-throwers, the Thracians with their daggers, the martial Persians, the tribe of irresistible Medes, from lofty mountains, impassable rivers, unscalable cliffs, from Darius, Porus, and many other tribes and kings I might name, yet in Babylon, remote from battle and from wounds, our warrior died!
[64.22] But what should one say of those who took over his empire, or of those who followed after them, with their braggart titles — Thunderbolts, Takers-of‑cities, Eagles, Gods? One of the lot death proved mistaken; another found Fortune to be a loftier being than himself, though he had considered her pedestrian; our Taker-of‑cities, Demetrius, was taken captive and died a shameful death from wine and drunkenness, beleaguered as he was by Fortune! Why, then, are tyrants proud of their ramparts? Why does Amphion sing, Deïoces toil, Semiramis build, Apollo work for hire, Meles encompass the wall with his lion? For Cyrus will master the Medes, Zopyrus the Babylonians, a Mardian Sardis, and the horse Troy!
[64.23] Yes, as some one has put it, Fortune is a great weight in the scales, or rather the whole thing. She found the infant Pindar lying exposed in Boeotia, Telephus in Arcadia, the kings of Rome in Italy; and to Pindar she sent honey-bees, to the kings of Rome shepherds, to Telephus a deer, and to Cyrus either a dog or a woman. Eumenes was a wagoner’s son, but for all that he became king; Heracles was Alexander’s son, yet he did not become king; in fact, his body, denied the rites of burial, was brought to Olympias, and after mourning for him she too died, a god’s mother, forsooth! [24] Moreover the mother of Darius made obeisance, not merely to Alexander, but, what is more disgraceful, to Hephaestion. What about the king of the Libyans? Did he not sack five hundred cities of the Romans? Did he not lift up his tunic and display it to his fellow townsmen filled with Roman finger rings, each of which he had as loot from foes he had slaughtered? yet after he had done all this he met an ignominious death, having contended much with Fortune all in vain.
[64.25] This, it seems to me, is why men entrust all their important matters to Fortune, making their public offices and generalships subject to allotment; brothers also divide their patrimony in that way. And so Polyneices too, if indeed he had been well advised, ought to have drawn lots with his brother for the throne; but as it was, not only was he himself slain, he destroyed his brother as well, all because he referred the matter to priority of birth and not to Fortune.
[64.26] Now shake the lot in turn and see who draws;
For the well-greaved Achaeans he will aid —
[64.26b] and, having drawn, aid he did; however, Hector was defeated because he trusted to judgement and not to Fortune.
[64.26c] For on his threshold Zeus has set two jars.
[64.27] These are storage jars for mankind in the keeping of the gods; however, it is Fortune who administers them with regard to what is allotted — to orator or to general, to rich or poor, to old or young. [27] To Croesus she gives gold, to Candaules a wife, to Peleus a sword, to Nestor a shield, to Pterelas golden locks, to Nisus a purple tress, to Alcibiades beauty, to Socrates wisdom, to Aristeides uprightness, to Spartans land, to Athenians a sea. Then in turn she takes from these and gives to others. And it seems to me that the life of man in its daily vicissitudes is in no wise different from a procession.

## THE SIXTY-FIFTH DISCOURSE: ON FORTUNE (III)

THIS ESSAY DEALS with the injustice of human behaviour with respect to Fortune. Unlike the two essays on Fortune which precede it, there seems to be no good reason to doubt its authenticity; yet there are signs which suggest that its present form is not that in which it was composed. The author seems to repeat himself to an extent not to be expected in so brief a composition. Besides, one misses from time to time those particles and formulas commonly employed by Dio and other Greek writers to indicate transition and to knit together the argument, e.g., at the beginning of the new paragraph in § 7. On the other hand, the γὰρ which is found in the beginning of the new paragraph in § 4 seems so unwarranted in that setting that Wilamowitz proposed to strike it out. In view of these phenomena it is not unlikely that we have before us, not one unified composition, but rather a collection of passages drawn from various contexts and here put together because of their common theme. It is possible that Dio’s editor desired thus to preserve passages in writings now lost to us which he deemed noteworthy; though Dio himself may for his own convenience have grouped together paragraphs on related topics. It is worth noticing that the passages that have been cited as marked by asyndeton have the earmarks of prooemia. For a fuller discussion of the general problem see von Arnim, Dio von Prusa 268‑271.
The Sixty-fifth Discourse: On Fortune (III)
[65.1] Those who have relied greatly on Fortune and are elated by her presence are, it seems to me, her most effective advocates and insure that, whenever she does shift, no one shall blame her for it. For, on the contrary, all men, being disgusted at the offensiveness of those who enjoy good fortune and having come to hate their insolence, as soon as Fortune abandons any of these, applaud and declare that the change of fortune they have experienced is deserved. Nay, men of intelligence should so employ the blessings which so come to them unearned that, while they last, no one may censure them and, if some day they come to an end, no one may rejoice thereat. [2] For it is altogether better that one should be in straitened circumstances but well liked, and that he should be thought by all to be getting less than his deserts, than, on the contrary, that he should be prosperous but hated, and, besides, become the occasion for blasphemous railing at Fortune as preferring to benefit the wicked rather than the good. Now though most men say that those who are obnoxious in their use of the gifts of Fortune are wicked and unworthy of their blessings, they assuredly do not as a rule call them unfortunate; yet to me, on the contrary, such persons seem to have become the most unfortunate of all. [3] For when from what commonly are deemed blessings one reaps nothing that is good, but rather vilification and hatred, besides making his own wickedness more notorious for all the world, how can that be anything but a great and conspicuous misfortune? And so, in my opinion, for those who lack intelligence it is in every way more profitable to be in needy circumstances and to acquire neither power nor riches nor any such thing at all. For as long as they were in lowly station most persons would fail to perceive their true character, whereas if they are exalted by Fortune their villainy is made conspicuous. [4] Accordingly, just as with those whose bodies are in bad condition it is better that they undress in private and never in public, in order that they may have no witness of their shame in that respect, in the same way, I fancy, those whose misfortune it has been to possess a soul which is ignoble and corrupt would surely find it to their interest to remain inconspicuous as to their lives and obscure as to their fortunes.
[65.5] It seems to me unfair that most men arraign Fortune on the ground that she has no stability or trustworthiness but all too speedily deserts those whom she visits and shifts to others. [5] For if we could observe that the recipients of her blessings were for the most part making an honourable use of them and not, on the contrary, becoming filled immediately with arrogance and malevolence and effrontery, Fortune would not be acting right if she did not remain with the same people; but as it is, I imagine, she chooses in each instance to benefit a person because she supposes him to be a good man and worthy of her gifts, but when she finds him to be mean and base, bringing shame upon her benevolence, with good reason she leaves him and seeks somebody else in turn, hoping to find some one who is more honourable. [6] But since most men are evil and human nature rarely produces anybody fitted to enjoy prosperity, Fortune must needs shift continuously, and much rather because of our nature than because of her own. Yet it is strange that one who cannot himself endure some who enjoy the favours of Fortune, but who after a brief association leaves them and prefers to bear his own poverty as best he can rather than put up with cheap and senseless manners, nevertheless expects Fortune, goddess though she be, to live with these same persons for ever and, though frequently subjected to outrageous insults, to remain with an utterly worthless slave! [7] For the fact is that the insolence shown by the rich toward the human beings with whom they live consists of abusive language, contumely, ridicule, and often a blow, but toward Fortune herself it is arrogance, harshness, captiousness.
[65.5b] Most unfair, it seems to me, are the charges most men bring against Fortune. For as it is they find fault with her as being untrustworthy and having no constancy at all. Yet if she always stayed with the same persons she would inevitably incur an altogether more serious and justifiable accusation. For when you now see that the prosperous are so base and disagreeable, even though what is in store for them is uncertain, with what arrogance and boorishness do you suppose they would be filled if they were not at all apprehensive of a change?
[65.8] Many charge that Fortune lacks discrimination and stays with bad persons but neglects the good, when they observe that those who have been deemed worthy of her favours are disagreeable and hard to deal with and ignoble. But it seems to me that Fortune might justly say to them that, being naturally benevolent, she is always helping some among us, without selecting the deserving or the base either, but that invariably the character they have when she comes to them is that which they show when the moral test is applied; and that therefore they should blame their own nature, not hers, [9] as being so constituted that he who is faring somewhat badly immediately seems worthy of better fortune, while he who receives her favours turns out to be a knave. Aye, it is very much as if, given a number of vessels and not one of them sound, one were to find fault with the person pouring liquid into them, on seeing that whatever vessel was being filled leaked. For the man might say, “Why, they all are like that: however, so long as they are empty it is unnoticed.”
[65.10] I wonder why in the world most persons say that Fortune is precarious and that none of her gifts is to be relied upon. For whenever she gives any one her good things — wealth, power, fame, honours — she never prevents him from using these in a proper way or, by Heaven, from storing them away in safety for himself; and I do not mean indoors in the house, or in the storehouse, or putting them under lock and key — for none of her gifts is protected by these things — but rather storing them away in goodwill toward mankind, in service to one’s country, in aid to friends. [11] Assuredly, Fortune never takes away from those who have once acquired them any of the things thus stored away. For these are dependable repositories and visible to all wherein to store the windfalls of Fortune. However, if after having got them a man squanders them or even, by Heaven, puts them in the wrong place, trusting to doors and seals and locks, no longer, I fancy, is their loss ascribable to her.
[65.12] And here is something else which is very strange; besides the many verbal blasphemies against Fortune, sculptors and painters alike also traduce her, some representing her as mad and tossing her gifts recklessly about, some as standing on a sphere, as if to say that she has no safe or secure support, whereas it is ourselves that we ought to mould or paint like that, since we treat everything in a mad and evil fashion — and not, by Heaven, standing on a sphere but rather on folly — in place of idly finding fault with Fortune.
[65.13] While on virtually every topic most men make incorrect assumptions, the opinion they hold regarding Fortune is particularly false and erroneous. For they say that, though she gives mankind their good things, she lightly takes them away again; and for that reason they malign her as being untrustworthy and jealous. But I claim that Fortune does not really give any of these things, as most men think she does. [14] For that which gives each man control over his possessions and through which alone it is possible to have secure possession of one’s goods she does not bestow upon them along with their wealth and fame and power. No, that thing it is without which it is not possible to possess any of the other things but only to imagine that one does and to be the victim of delusion. For example, just as when we bring some one into our house or our farm or when we provide certain equipment, we ourselves do not forthwith appoint him master over those things, unless there is included in the transaction some written guarantee, so also Fortune does not make any one master of the things offered by her, unless there is attached to the grant the stipulation that they are accepted with intelligence and good judgement.
[65.15] Most men, of course, are wont immediately to congratulate those whom they see supplied with the gifts of Fortune, just as people rejoice with men at sea when they observe they have a breeze, although they know neither whether this breeze is favourable to them nor whether they have a helmsman with experience. But as for myself, I believe the time to judge fortunate those who are surrounded in abundance with the gifts of Fortune is when they have prudence too. For manifestly these gifts of themselves, should they become the property of fools, might be a source of danger and disaster.

## THE SIXTY-SIXTH DISCOURSE: ON REPUTATION

THE THEME OF this Discourse is the fickleness of the crowd and the folly of those who seek to win and hold its favour. Dio regards those who yield to that ambition as victims of delusion. The public honours for which they strive have no real utility and are purchased at too high a price sometimes reducing to beggary those who aim to reach them. What is more, the aspirant for popular acclaim sacrifices his independence. He is followed to order his life to suit the whims of those whose favour he is courting — in itself an impossible task — and he cringes before the hostile criticism of citizen and alien alike. No matter what scheme of life a man adopts, he is sure to be maligned. The sane policy is, therefore, to steel oneself against criticism, in other words, to adopt the attitude of the philosopher.
Arnim argues that the Discourse originally ended in the midst of § 26, and that what follows has been appended by Dio’s editor, who, coming upon three passages of similar purport, chose to preserve them through inclusion in the Discourse. He is led to this belief by the presence in the section referred to of the sentence beginning τί δεῖ δόξης ἐπιθυμεῖν, which is thought to form a logical close. He might have found additional support for his belief in the fact that the beginning of each of the succeeding passages is marked by asyndeton. All three resemble introductory paragraphs of exordia. The extant work of Dio reveals other instances of the existence of variant versions of a common theme, apparently testifying to his practice of delivering a given speech on more than one occasion.
Peculiar interest attaches to the present Discourse because of an allusion in § 6: ἔτι δὲ ἰδεῖν ἔστιν οἰκίαν συντριβεῖσαν πλουσιωτέραν ἐκείνης διὰ γλῶτταν καὶ νὴ Δία ἑτέραν κινδυνεύουσαν. The two “houses” there referred to are thought by Arnim to have been respectively that of Nero, whose pretensions as a singer (διὰ γλῶτταν) are being credited with his downfall, and that of Domitian, whose assassination is here predicted. Arnim observes that toward the close of Domitian’s career such predictions were current, even being known by the emperor himself, and he points out that Apollonius of Tyana was able to announce in Ephesus the murder of Domitian at the very moment when it was taking place in Rome! If Arnim’s reasoning is correct, our Discourse can with confidence be dated shortly before Domitian’s death, while Dio was still in exile.
The Sixty-sixth Discourse: On Reputation
[66.1] There are some who brand as dissolute and ill-starred such men as have a craving for money or for dainties or for wine or who are inflamed with lust for women or boys, and they regard each of these vices as the greatest disgrace, yet those who crave distinction and reputation, on the contrary, they applaud, thinking them illustrious; and therefore, while each one of his own accord, if a gourmet or a tippler or a lover of somebody, feels ashamed and tries to cloak his incontinence, yet when seeking reputation and distinction he does not want to escape the eye of any man on earth, but rather he carries on his quest in the open.
[66.2] And no wonder, for among men in general each speaks well of this type of malady, deeming it advantageous for himself. Furthermore, by official act virtually all the states have devised lures of every kind for the simpletons — crowns and front seats and public proclamations. Accordingly, in some instances men who craved these things have actually been made wretched and reduced to beggary, although the states held before them nothing great or wonderful at all, but in some cases led their victims about with a sprig of green, as men lead cattle, or clapped upon their heads a crown or a ribbon. Therefore, while a fool like that, if he so desired, might have for the asking any number of crowns, not merely of olive or of oak, but even of ivy or of myrtle, often he sells his house and his lands and thereafter goes about hungry and clad in a shabby little cloak. Ah but, says he, his name is publicly proclaimed by his fellow citizens — just as is that of a runaway slave! [3] With good reason, therefore, men use in connexion with the votes passed in Assembly the branch of the olive, because of its native bitterness! For the notoriety-seekers are driven out of their fields by the democracies with shouting and clamour, just as, methinks, the starlings are driven out by the farmers. Moreover, though the starlings withdraw for a little while, the notoriety-seekers can never again return to anything that once was theirs, nay, a short while later they go about as beggars and no longer would any one of all who formerly were fain to burst their lungs with shouting greet them if he saw them.
[66.4] However, such is the spell of this infatuation that, though you will buy from the dyers for two or three minas a handsome purple mantle, should you wish one by public award it would cost you very many talents. Again, though you will buy the ribbons of the market-place for a few drachmas, those of the Assembly will often cost you all your fortune. Furthermore, while persons who are cried for sale in the market-place all deem wretched, those cried in the theatre they deem fortunate; besides, they claim that the latter are cried, the former decried, a single syllable evidently constituting the sole difference!
[66.5] Yes, so completely did the men of old despise mankind, and so clearly did they see their fatuity, that as a reward for the greatest hardships and buffetings they offered leaves! Yet there are some who to gain those leaves elect to die. But no nanny-goat would hurl herself over a cliff for the sake of a sprig of wild olive, especially when other pasturage is handy. And yet, though goats do not find the wild olive distasteful, a human being could not eat it. Again, take the Isthmian pine; while it is no greener than the other varieties, with much toil and hardship men strive to gain it, often paying much money for it — and that too, although the tree has no utility at all, for it can neither provide shade nor bear fruit, and, besides, the leaf is acrid and smoky; on the other hand, no one turns his head to look at the pine from Megara. Moreover, if any one else has his head bound — unless he has suffered a fracture — he is the object of ridicule; yet for kings the headband is thought becoming and untold thousands have given their lives for the sake of this scrap of cloth.
[66.6] Why, because of a golden lamb it came to pass that a mighty house like that of Pelops was overturned, as we learn from the tragic poets. And not only were the children of Thyestes cut in pieces, but Pelopia’s father lay with her and begot Aegistheus; and Aegistheus with Clytemnestra’s aid slew Agamemnon, “the shepherd of the Achaeans”; and then Clytemnestra’s son Orestes slew her, and, having done so, he straightway went mad. One should not disbelieve these things, for they have been recorded by no ordinary men — Euripides and Sophocles — and also are recited in the midst of the theatres. Furthermore, one may behold another house, more affluent than that of Pelops, which has been ruined because of a tongue, and, in sooth, another house which is now in jeopardy.
[66.7] But such being the accompaniments of notoriety, yes, and countless others even more absurd, why is not he who gapes hungrily in that direction altogether more disgusting than the person who is distraught with passion for anything else at all? The gourmet is satisfied with a single fish and none of his enemies would interfere with his enjoyment of it; similarly he who is a pitiable victim of lust for boys, if he comes upon a handsome lad, devotes himself to this one only and often prevails upon him at a small cost. A single jar of Thasian wine is all the drunkard can hold, and when he has swallowed it he sleeps more sweetly than Endymion; yet your notoriety-seeker would not be satisfied with the praise of just one person, nay, not even with that of a thousand on many instances.
[66.8] Who would not agree that it is easier to handle the most difficult youth than the most moderate community? And yet the farther the craze for notoriety progresses, so much the more impossible it is to get any sleep; instead, like the victims of delirium, your seeker after fame is always up in the air both night and day. “Right, by Heaven,” somebody may say, “but you can see those other chaps busy with their wine and their mistresses and their kitchens.” Yes, but does not the seeker after fame find it necessary to buy a lot of food and wine? And he must collect flute-players and mimes and harpists and jugglers and, more than that, pugilists and pancratiasts and wrestlers and runners and all that tribe — at least unless he intends to entertain the mob in a cheap and beggarly manner.
[66.9] For though there has never been a gourmet so voracious as to crave a savage lion or a hundred bulls, those who wish to please the masses crave not merely the things just listed but things too numerous to mention. For “not with a few nets,” as the saying goes, or with two or three harlots, or even with ten Lesbian girls, is popularity hunted and a whole community rendered obedient and friendly, since thousands are competing for it; nay, he who courts popular favour must have a whole city’s licentiousness and be a devotee of singing, of dancing, of drinking, of eating, and, indeed, of all such things, not as one single individual, but rather as ten thousand or twenty thousand or a hundred thousand, in keeping with the size of the city whose favour he is courting. [10] At such a person’s house you will always find
[66.10] The shrill of flute and pipes, the din of men.
[66.10b] And at his house tables are laden with bread and meat, and from mixing-bowls cupbearers bear drink.
[66.10c] By day the hall with fatty savour reeks
And makes the court to echo with its din,
While in the night, beside their wives revered —
they never sleep, not though they spread beneath them very many rugs.
[66.11] Thus the boy-lovers, I fancy, count themselves extremely fortunate as they compare themselves with the popularity-seekers, seeing that they themselves seek only quails or a cock or a tiny nightingale, while those others, they observe, must needs seek some Amoebeus or Polus or hire some Olympic victor for a fee of five talents. Moreover, while they themselves have filled the belly of one man, the tutor or the attendant of the lad, the others, unless they provide a sumptuous banquet for at least a hundred daily, derive no advantage at all.
[66.12] Again, when men are ill, their attendants provide quiet for them so that they may sleep; but with the popularity-seekers, whenever they do obtain a bit of quiet, that is the time above all when sleep will not come. [12] Now those who have been blessed with riches or ancestry or the like or with physical or mental excellence or who, at any rate, have acquired a glib tongue, these, as if endowed with wings, are all but carried to the stars, being called leaders of the people and condottieri and sophists, courting communities and satraps and pupils; but of the others, who have no adventitious backing but are victims of the same malady, each goes about living his life with his eye on somebody else and concerned about what people are saying of him, and if people speak well of him, as he imagines, he is a happy man, cheerful of countenance, but otherwise he is depressed and downcast and considers himself but the sort of man they say he is. Again, if he is involved in litigation with any one before an arbitrator or a judge, he does not expect the arbitrator or the judge to heed chance witnesses, and yet he himself in matters which concern himself regards all and sundry as worthy of credence.
[66.13] What, then, is more ill-starred than human beings who are at the mercy of others and in the power of any one who meets them, always compelled to keep their eye on him and to watch his countenance, just as slaves must watch the countenance of their masters? Now any servitude is hard, but those whom fate has doomed to servitude in a house in which there are two or three masters, and masters, too, who differ in both age and disposition — for example, a niggardly old man and that man’s youthful sons, bent on drinking and extravagance — who would not agree that slaves so placed are more wretched than the others, seeing that they must serve so many masters, each of whom desires and orders something different?
[66.14] But suppose a person were to be slave of a community consisting of old and young, of poor and rich, of wastrels and misers, what would the condition of such a person be? Again, methinks, if a man of wealth were forced to live in the kind of city in which all were free to plunder the possessions of their neighbours and there were no allow to prevent it, he would renounce his wealth forthwith, no matter if he had surpassed all the world in avarice. This, in fact, is the case with popularity to‑day. [14] For in that respect licence has been granted to any one who so desires, whether citizen or alien or foreign resident, to injure any one.
[66.15] To the disfranchised life seems with good reason not worth living, and many choose death rather than life after losing their citizenship, for whoever so desires is free to strike them and there exists no private means of punishing him who treats them with contumely. Well then, all are free to give the popularity-seeker blows altogether more grievous than those which are dealt the body. Yet the disfranchised, one would find, are not lightly subjected to this treatment by any one; for most men are on their guard against righteous indignation and ill will, and, finally, the disfranchised have naught to fear from any who are weaker than they. When it comes to vituperation, however, especially vituperation of those who are thought to enjoy esteem, no one forbears, and no one is so powerless as not to be able to utter some telling phrase. [16] For that very reason a certain mild-tempered man of olden days, when somebody kept bringing him reports of that kind of language, was moved to say, “If you do not stop listening to bad words about me, I too shall listen to bad words about you.” But perhaps it would be better, in case some one starts using abusive language, not even to notice whether the man is speaking at all.
[66.17] The slave who is unrestrained and given to jesting, if his master catches him at it, is often made to smart for it; but the person who is subservient to public opinion is humbled by any one at all with a single word. If one were acquainted with spells learned from Medea or the Thessalians which were so potent that by uttering them he could make any one he pleased weep and suffer pain though confronted by no misfortune, would not his power be regarded as tyranny? While, in dealing with one who has become puffed up by reputation there is none who does not have this power; [17] for by speaking two or three words you have plunged him into misery and anguish. Again, if because of some supernatural influence one’s body were to be so constituted that, if any one should curse him, he would immediately have a fever or a headache, that man would be more wretched than the thrice wretched; and if one were to be so feeble-minded that, in case some one should revile him, he would immediately become deranged, why would not life for such a man be a thing to shun?
[66.18] Or let us put it this way. Suppose one were to be put on trial every day concerning anything whatever, whether his life or his property, would it not be altogether preferable to renounce that thing and to cease being in jeopardy for the future — if it be property, then the property; if it be life, then his life? [18] How then? Is not the trial concerning reputation always in progress wherever there are men — that is, foolish men — not merely once a day but many times, and not before a definite panel of judges but before all men without distinction, and, moreover, men not bound by oath, men without regard for either witnesses or evidence? For they sit in judgement without either having knowledge of the case or listening to testimony or having been chosen by lot, and it makes no difference to them if they cast their vote at a drinking bout or at the bath and, most outrageous of all, he who to‑day is acquitted to‑morrow is condemned. [19] Accordingly, whoever is the victim of this malady of courting popularity is bound to be subject to criticism as he walks about, to pay heed to everyone, and to fear lest wittingly or unwittingly he give offence to somebody, but particularly to one of those who are bold and of ready wit. For if he should have the misfortune to have offended somebody never so little, as often happens, straightway the offended person lets fly a harsh word; and if with that word he perhaps misses his mark, nevertheless he causes dismay, while if he should hit the vital spot he has destroyed his victim forthwith. For the fact is, many are so constituted that they are overwhelmed and made to waste away by anything.
[66.20] Not only so, but also sometimes one set of things is more potent with one kind of person and another with another; just as, I believe, each youngster fears some bogey peculiar to himself and is wont to be terrified by this — of course lads who are naturally timid cry out no matter what you produce to scare them — however, at least with these more important fellows, certain things are a source of shame with reference to certain persons. The beggar who is a braggart and seeks to appear a Croesus is confounded by Irus; and he does not even read the Odyssey because of the lines which say
[66.20b] In came a public beggar, who through the town
Of Ithaca was wont to beg his way.
[66.21] Just so Cecrops confounds the man of servile parentage, and likewise Thersites confounds the man of shabby appearance but with ambition to be a beauty. The fact is, if by calling him a glutton or a miser or a catamite or a general blackguard you jeer at the man who plumes himself on his temperance and who has enrolled under the banner of virtue, you have ruined him completely. By carrying around the Gorgon’s head and displaying it to his foes Perseus turned them to stone; but most men have been turned to stone by just one word, if it is applied to them; besides, there is no need to carry this around, guarding it in a wallet.
[66.22] And yet let me add this: if we understood also the cries of birds — for example, of the ravens or the jackdaws — and of the other creatures such as frogs or cicadae, of course we should pay heed to the cries of these as well, eager to learn what the jackdaw flying by is saying about us, or what the jay is saying and what he thinks about us. It is a lucky thing, then, that we do not understand. But how many human beings are more empty-headed than the frogs and the jackdaw! Yet for all that, the words they speak excite us and make us utterly wretched.
[66.23] However, he who has asserted his independence pays no heed to the foolish talk of the crowd; rather he mocks at their loquacity, having indeed long since said in answer to them all,
[66.23b] I care not; ’tis as if a woman threw
At me, or else some witless lad; for blunt
The missile of a feeble good-for‑naught.
[66.23c] Take Heracles, son of Zeus; how many, think you, were wont to disparage him, some dubbing him thief, some ruffian, some even adulterer or slayer of children? Yet he was not at all disturbed by these taunts, though perhaps there was none who spoke them openly, since he would promptly have suffered for it.
[66.24] Unless you bring yourself to look with scorn upon all others, you will never end your state of wretchedness; instead, you will always lead a pitiable, yes, a painful existence, being at the mercy of all who wish to hurt you and, as the saying goes, living a hare’s life. Nay, hares fear the dogs and the nets and the eagles, but you will go about cowering and quaking before what people say, being utterly unable to provide yourself with any defence, no matter what you may be doing or if you spend your time in any way you please. [25] If you are always rushing into the market-place you will hear yourself called a market idler and a shyster, whereas if, on the contrary, you are wary of that sort of thing and keep more at home and attend to your own affairs you will be called timid and an ignoramus and a nonentity; if you give thought to learning you will be called simple-minded and effeminate; if you are in some business, vulgar; if you stroll about at your leisure, lazy; if you don rather soft apparel, ostentatious and dandified; if you go barefoot and wear a ragged little coat they will say you are crazy. [26] Socrates, they said, corrupted the young men, was irreverent toward religion; moreover, they did not merely say these things — for that would have been less shocking — no, they even killed him, exacting a penalty for his lack of shoes! Aristeides was ostracized by the Athenians, although they were clearly persuaded that he was just. Why should one crave popularity, a thing from which, even if attained, one often derives no profit?
[66.27] Bion believes it impossible for one to please the crowd except by turning into a cake or a jar of Thasian wine — foolishly so believing, in my opinion. For often even at a dinner of only ten guests the cake does not please everybody, but, on the contrary, one calls it stale, another hot, and another too sweet — unless, by Heaven, Bion means that one must turn into a cake which is both hot and stale and cold! Nay, on the whole the case is not so simple as that; of course not. [27] On the contrary, one must also turn into perfume and a flute-girl and a lovely lad and a Philip the jester. However, one thing possibly still remains which he who wants to please the mob will have to turn into — silver. Nay, even if one turns into silver one does not immediately satisfy; instead, one must also be struck and bitten. Why, then, you luckless creature, do you persist in pursuing a thing unattainable? For you could never become either perfume or a crown or wine or yet silver. [28] Besides, even if one should become silver, gold is more precious; and if gold, it will have to be refined. Indeed, each rich man resembles money, as far as any excellence is concerned. For while no one praises money, each one who gets it uses it then it is worn out by those who use it and at last is found among the coins which do not pass current. So the rich man too comes to be reckoned among the poor and those who do not pass current and no one any longer receives a man like that of all who once were filled with admiration for him; instead, they do not even turn him over before casting him aside.
[66.29] Again, reputation is like the Furies of the tragic poets — its seeming splendour is like their torch, while one might, I fancy, liken their whip to the clapping and the shouting of the crowd, and those who sometimes hiss might be likened to the Furies’ snakes. Therefore, often when one is enjoying peace and quiet and is confronted by no evil, reputation lays violent hands on him, and, cracking her whip, drives him forth to some festal gathering or to the theatre.

## THE SIXTY-SEVENTH DISCOURSE: ON POPULAR OPINION

ALTHOUGH ITS GREEK title is the same as that of the preceding Discourse, Or. 67 gives to the word a different meaning, that of opinion. It is argued that opinion is a poor guide and that, it discover the truth about external things, one must first obey the famous motto inscribed on Apollo’s temple at Delphi — Know Thyself — the motto which formed the basic principle of the philosophy of Socrates. Proceeding from this fundamental concept, the author demonstrates the futility of being swayed by the opinions of others.
Here again we have what professes to be the report of a conversation between Dio and one of his followers. The abruptness with which it begins and ends has led Arnim to conclude that Dio did not intend it to be published, at least not in its present form. He regards it as what might be termed a stenographic record, which in some way or other found its way into the hands of Dio’s editor.
The Sixty-seventh Discourse: On Popular Opinion
[67.1] Interlocutor. Well, in what particular does it seem to you that the man of self-control, the philosopher, most especially is superior to us who constitute the majority of mankind and are moved by random impulse?
[67.1b] Dio. It seems to me, if one should express an opinion in such plain and unadorned terms, that he is superior in respect to truth and knowledge, not merely to the majority of mankind, but also to the very few, those who are regarded as favoured by fortune — the philosopher is, I mean.
[67.1c] Int. Indeed your statement is truly plain and unadorned.
[67.1d] Dio. Well, by Heaven, tell me this. You mean, do you not, that the philosopher is superior to all others in truth and in his examining each thing in the light of truth and not in accordance with opinion?
[67.2] Int. Why, my good sir, he would be using a poor straight-edge with which to gauge his problems, one altogether crooked, a straight-edge, by Zeus, with not just one bend but thousands, and all running counter to one another, if he tried to set things straight by means of opinion.
[67.2b] Dio. Well then, suppose that he views all else in the light of truth, never applying opinion as a gauge, because he believes this to be, in fact, a false and untrustworthy measuring-line, a straight-edge such as you have just described it, yet if he should measure himself with that kind of straight-edge and that kind of measuring-line, would he be acclaimed as worthy?
[67.2c] Int. No, by Heaven, not by any means.
Dio. Yes, it is plain that he could never come to know himself if he examined himself in that fashion.
[67.2d] Int. Why, of course he could not.
[67.3] Dio. Consequently he would no longer be obeying the Delphic injunction, which has prescribed that, above all, a man must know himself.
[67.3b] Int. Why, of course he would not be obeying it.
Dio. Then he will not know any of the other things either, since he does not know himself, nor will he be able to examine things in the light of truth, since he has failed with himself to begin with?
[67.3c] Int. Why, certainly.
Dio. Then he will bid farewell to honours and dishonours and to words of censure and of praise uttered by foolish persons, whether they chance to be many or whether they be few but powerful and wealthy. Instead, what is called popular opinion he will regard as no better than a shadow, seeing that sometimes the popular view makes much of small matters and little of great ones, and often concerning the same matters it is at one time greater and at another smaller.
[67.4] Int. You seem to me to have made a very excellent comparison.
[67.4b] Dio. Suppose, then, there should be a person so constituted as to live with an eye to his own shadow, with the result that as it grew he would become elated and boastful and not only offer a sacrifice of thanksgiving to the gods himself but also bid his friends to do so, while as his shadow diminished he would be grieved and show himself more humble, and the more so the smaller his shadow became, just as if he himself were wasting away, methinks he would afford wondrous amusement.
[67.4c] Int. Yes, he would be a much bigger booby than Margites, who did not know how to treat his wife once he had married her.
[67.5] Dio. Yes, for on the same day sometimes he would be sad and sometimes happy. For instance, early in the day, when he saw his shadow at dawn very long, almost larger than the cypresses or the towers on the city walls, manifestly he would be happy, supposing himself to have suddenly grown to the size of the sons of Aloeus, and he would go striding into the market-place and the theatres and everywhere in the city to be observed by one and all. However, about the middle of the morning he would begin to grow more sad of countenance than he had been and would go back home. Then at noon he would be ashamed to be seen by anybody and would stay indoors, locking himself up, when he saw his shadow at his feet; yet again, toward afternoon, he would begin to recover and would show himself ever more and more exultant toward evening.
[67.6] Int. You certainly seem to me to be fashioning a strange disposition and a foolish kind of man.
[67.7] Dio. Well then, he who pays heed to popular opinion is not a bit better, but rather far more pathetic. For often he would undergo several changes on one and the same day, yet not, like the man I have imagined, at certain definite times, but, alike in the afternoon or in the early morning, nothing will keep him from being the most unfortunate of mortals, now being swept along and flying higher than the clouds, if it so happen that any have sent him forth under full sail and have praised him, now taking in his sails and abasing himself, his spirit experiencing, methinks, far more waxings and wanings than the moon. [7] Has he not, then, drawn a more wretched fate and a far more luckless lot than they say fell to Meleager, son of Althaea and Oeneus, whose span of life, men say, was in the keeping of a mere firebrand? So long as the brand blazed and the fire remained in it, just so long Meleager lived and throve, but as the brand lost its strength, he too wasted from grief and despondency, and when the fire went out he died and was gone.

## THE SIXTY-EIGHTH DISCOURSE: ON OPINION

IN THIS DISCOURSE Dio once more approaches the subject of opinion as contrasted with knowledge. Here, however, he is stressing the practical utility of knowledge in one’s daily life and business pursuits, in other words, the impossibility of achieving success in any walk of life when led by mere opinion rather than by a clear understanding of the things to be avoided or attempted and of the reasons on which one’s choice should be based. Although some attention is paid to the unwisdom of following the opinion of one’s neighbours, the principal emphasis is laid upon the necessity in each instance of substituting knowledge for one’s own untutored opinions.
The Sixty-eighth Discourse: On Opinion
[68.1] Most men in all their pursuits and interests follow them in utter ignorance of what the nature of each is or even what practical value each has; instead, they are drawn to them by opinion or pleasure or habit. Nor, on the other hand, in the case of those pursuits and interests from which they abstain and which they avoid engaging in, do they abstain because they know which are harmful or what is the nature of the harm which they entail; instead, in these matters too, whatever they observe that their neighbours avoid or things which it has become their custom to avoid or which they suppose will be unpleasant for themselves and are reputed to be accompanied by some pain, these things they generally view with misgiving.
[68.2] Moreover, while the sensations of pleasure and of pain are common to all men — though some are enslaved by them to a smaller and some to a greater degree — the matter of opinion varies and is not the same for all. Thus it happens that some praise or blame this and some that, frequently acting at variance in this regard. For example, pain is experienced by both the Indian and the Spartan when they are wounded or burnt, as well as by the Phrygian and the Lydian; yet while the Indian and the Spartan refuse to flinch because they have been hardened to it, the Phrygian and the Lydian do flinch, because they are weak and not hardened. Again, while pleasure inevitably is experienced in sexual relations and in food and drink which are pleasurable, not only by the Ionian but also by the Thessalian, the Italian Greek, the Getan, the Indian, and the Spartan, yet some give no thought at all to such gratifications and do not seek to know any of them in the least, while the others would accept death as the price of obtaining a little more pleasure.
[68.3] Now apparently the matter of opinion is of every conceivable kind and the differences to be found in this matter are very numerous and very great. And it is because of this fact that in no breed of animals would one find so great dissension, nor would one find any breed so at variance with itself — take, for example, horses or dogs or lions or cattle or deer; on the contrary, animals that are alike behave alike in feeding, in begetting, and in rearing their young, and they have the same appetites and the same aversions. The reason is that in general they follow only what is pleasant and shun what is painful. [4] But the human race, which by nature partakes of wisdom, though it falls short of it through bad judgement and indifference, is inwardly full of opinion and self-deception. Moreover, men differ with one another in everything — in dress and apparel, in food and sexual pleasures, in honour and dishonour — according to nations and cities. And similarly also with the city, each one has his own individual ambition — one to obtain as much land as possible, another silver, another slaves, another all these things together, another to be admired for his eloquence and by this means to have greater power than his fellows, another strives merely to be clever and to achieve experience in politics, another to have influence for some other reason, another to indulge in luxury to the fullest extent.
[68.5] Now, as I was saying, in no one of these pursuits, in all likelihood, would even those who are reputed to be best in their line carry it on successfully. For, not knowing what is better or what is worse or what is advantageous, they exercise no choice at all. But he who has desired wisdom and has given thought to how he should look after himself and what education he should receive in order to become a good man and superior to the masses, he, I say, has been blest with a good character and with a corresponding fortune besides. For there is hope that, if he investigates and receives instruction, he will discover what is required and with what aim and purpose he should carry on and regulate all else.
[68.6] But he who understands this would from that moment be successful in all things, both those which are thought to be more important and those which are thought to be less; and whether he were to follow horse-racing or to devote himself to music or to agriculture, or if he should wish to be a general or to hold the other offices or to conduct the other public business in his city, he will do everything well and would make no mistakes in anything. However, without this understanding, while in each of his labours he might sometimes seem both to himself and to his neighbours to be successful — for instance, if as a farmer he were to be fortunate with his crops, or if he were to have more than ordinary acquaintance with the handling of horses, or if he were to have fairly good knowledge of music, or if in athletic contests he could overcome his competitors — still on the whole he would fail, since he would be working at these things to no good end nor in such a way as to derive benefit.
[68.7] Therefore he is incapable of being prosperous, just as one cannot make a successful voyage if one does not know whither he is sailing, being carried along aimlessly on the sea, his ship at one moment sailing a straight course, should fortune so decree, but the next moment yawing, at one moment with the wind astern, the next with it dead ahead. Nay, just as with the lyre musicians first set the middle string and then tune the others to harmonize with that — otherwise they will never achieve any harmony at all — so with life, men should first come to understand best and then, having made this their goal, they should do everything else with reference to this; otherwise their life will be out of harmony and out of tune in all likelihood.

## THE SIXTY-NINTH DISCOURSE: ON VIRTUE

THE THEME OF this Discourse is the doctrine that the virtuous life is the happy life. Dio bemoans the fact that most men give their whole attention to the so‑called practical pursuits to the neglect of their spiritual well-being and development. Striving to attain success in any number of material enterprises, they miss true happiness through their failure to see that character is its sure foundation. Without good character laws are of little avail, and happiness is the gift of the gods, who are not inclined to favour ignorance and inattention to the needs of the soul. It is interesting to find Dio here expressing the belief that those who would commit a crime but are prevented from so doing through fear are as guilty as those who actually yield to the temptation.
The Sixty-ninth Discourse: On Virtue
[69.1] It seems to me a fact hard to explain, that people praise and admire one set of things yet aim at and have seriously pursued a different set. For instance, virtually all praise and refer to as “divine” and “august” such things as valour and righteousness and wisdom and, in short, every virtue. Moreover, whomever they believe to be, or to have been, characterized by such virtues, or nearly so, him they admire and celebrate in song; and certain ones they represent as gods and others as heroes — for example, Heracles, the Dioscuri, Theseus, Achilles, and all the demigods, as they are called. And whomever they suppose to be like those beings they one and all are ready to obey and to serve, no matter what orders he may give, and they are ready to appoint as their king and ruler and to make the guardian of their possessions any man whom they suppose to be really prudent and righteous and wise and, in a word, a good man.
[69.2] Therefore in this respect no one could censure them as not perceiving that virtue is something august and precious and all-important; yet they really desire any and every thing in preference to becoming good, and they busy themselves with everything in preference to the problem of becoming self-controlled and wise and righteous and men of merit, competent to govern themselves well, to manage a household well, to rule a city well, to endure well either wealth or poverty, to behave well toward friends and kinsmen, to care for parents with equity, and to serve gods with piety. [3] But some busy themselves with farming, some with trading, some are devoted to military affairs, some to the medical profession, some acquire a thorough knowledge of carpentry or of shipbuilding, some of playing the lyre or the flute or of shoemaking or wrestling, some devote their whole attention to gaining a reputation as clever speakers in Assembly or in law-court, some to becoming strong in body. And yet the traders, farmers, soldiers, physicians, builders, lyre-players, flautists, athletic trainers, yes, and the orators, as they are called, and those who have great strength of body — all these one would find to be pitiable and unfortunate in many, or indeed in almost all, instances.
[69.4] On the other hand, if their soul becomes rational and their mind really good, and if they are able to manage successfully their own affairs and those of their neighbours too, these men will necessarily also lead happy lives, having shown themselves to be law-abiding, having obtained a good genius to guard them, and being dear to the gods. For it does not stand to reason that one set of men are wise and another set versed in human affairs, nor yet that some are conversant with human affairs and some with affairs divine, nor that some men have knowledge of divine things and others are pious, nor that some are pious and others dear to the gods; nor will a separate group be dear to the gods and another group be favoured by fortune. Nor is there one class of men who are fools but another class ignorant of their own affairs; nor are those who are ignorant of their own affairs informed about things divine; nor are those who have formed mistaken opinions about things divine free from impiety. And surely those who are impious cannot be dear to the gods nor those who are not dear to the gods be other than unfortunate.
[69.5] Why in the world, then, do not those who aim to attain a happy life do their best to make themselves happy instead of devoting their entire attention to things which do not at all prevent their leading a bad, yes wretched, existence? [5] Yet without flute-players and lyre-players and shoemakers and athletic trainers and orators and physicians it is not impossible for men to live very good and ordered lives, and, I fancy, even without farmers and builders. [6] At any rate the Scythians who are nomads, though they neither have houses nor sow seed nor plant trees and vines, are by no means prevented from playing their part as citizens with justice and in accordance with law; yet without law and justice men cannot avoid living badly and in much more savage fashion than the wild beasts. Moreover, where shoemakers and farmers and builders are of inferior quality, no serious harm results on that account; it is merely that the shoes are inferior and the wheat and barley scarcer. On the other hand, where rulers and judges and laws are inferior, the affairs of those people are in worse condition and their life is more unfortunate, and factions, injustices, deeds of arrogance, and impiety flourish in abundance with them.
[69.7] Furthermore, though when one is not himself a shoemaker it is profitable to purchase shoes from another person, and when one does not understand building, to hire another person for that work, and when one is not a farmer, to purchase grain and pulse; on the other hand, when one is himself unjust, it is not profitable to get his justice from another, nor, when one lacks wisdom and does not know what he ought to do and what he ought to refrain from doing, to be constantly regretting every single act and resorting for knowledge to another person. For, in addition to all the other considerations, he who needs money or clothing or house or anything else not only knows that fact but also seeks to get these things from those who have them; whereas he who has no sense does not even know just this very fact, that he has no sense; instead, he himself claims to be competent and obstinately persists in his folly, everything he does or says being witless, and he denies that he is unjust or foolish or lawless but insists that is ever so competent in these matters, though he has never paid any attention to them or learned anything as far as those things are concerned.
[69.8] In fact, these men do not even believe in the existence of a knowledge in accordance with which they will know what they ought to do or what they ought not to do and how they will live correctly; nay, they believe that the laws are sufficient for them for that purpose, the laws on the statute books; but how they are to obey the laws and voluntarily do what those laws prescribe is a matter to which they give no serious thought. And yet how is he any less a thief who refrains from thieving out of fear, if he approves but does not loath and condemn the business, than those who actually commit theft — unless also he who does not do his thieving by day, not only after nightfall, is to be called no thief in daytime, but rather a man of probity? Besides, such persons require the presence of many to threaten and restrain them, since they are not able of themselves to refrain from their misdeeds, but even when at home are men of thievish disposition. However, though they are of such character, they choose the law-givers and punish the lawless, just as if persons who are unmusical were to choose the musicians, or as if those who know nothing of surveying were to choose the surveyors!
[69.9] And here is an indication of the depravity of mankind. If men were to do away with the laws and licence were to be granted to strike one another, to commit murder, to steal the property of one’s neighbours, to commit adultery, to be a footpad, then who must we suppose would be the persons who will refrain from these deeds and not, without the slightest scruple or hesitation, be willing to commit all manner of crimes? For even under present conditions we none the less are living unwittingly with thieves and kidnappers and adulterers and joining with them in the activities of citizenship, and in this respect we are no better than the wild beasts; for they too, if they take fright at men or dogs set to guard against them, refrain from thieving.

## THE SEVENTIETH DISCOURSE: ON PHILOSOPHY

THIS BRIEF DIALOGUE, like others in our collection, both begins and ends abruptly. It has the appearance of being an excerpt from a lengthier discussion, probably selected for publication because it contained a noteworthy tribute to the essential nature of philosophy. The rôle of the student in this document — if it was a student — is decidedly minor, consisting chiefly in assenting to the statements made by the principal speaker. Dio is emphasizing the crucial difference between pseudo-philosophers and those who are philosophers in deed as well as in word. In Truly Socratic fashion he leads up to his main thesis by citing examples of pretence in fields such as farming, trading, hunting, and the like, showing in each instance that no one is misled by profession of interest unaccompanied by fitting conduct.
The Seventieth Discourse: On Philosophy
[70.1] Dio. Come now, suppose you should hear some one say that he wants to be a farmer, but should observe that he is doing nothing toward that end, neither buying or raising cattle nor preparing ploughs or the other equipment needed in farming, nor even living on a farm himself, either as owner or as tenant of another, but rather in town, spending his time principally about the market-place and the gymnasium and occupied with drinking parties and courtesans and that sort of frivolity — in such a case will you treat seriously what he says rather than what he does? And will you say the fellow is a farmer and a producer, or one of the lazy and frivolous set?
[70.2] Interlocutor. One of the lazy set, of course.
[70.2b] Dio. Very good. But suppose a man were to say that he is a huntsman, and that he surpasses Hippolytus himself or Meleager in both his valour and his diligence, but it should be obvious that he is engaged in no activity of that nature, since he has acquired neither dogs nor hunting-nets nor a horse and never goes out after game at all but, on the contrary, neither has been tanned by the sun nor is able to endure cold, but has been reared in the shade and is soft and very like the women, could you possibly believe that this man is telling the truth and that he has anything to do with hunting?
[70.2c] Int. Not I.
[70.3] Dio. Correct; for it is absurd that we should know and pass upon every man’s life on the strength of what he says rather than of what he does. Again, if some one should offer his services as an expert in music and as one who devotes his time to this, and yet no one should ever hear him either playing the cithara, nay, even see him holding a cithara or a lyre, or descanting on any subject related to music — that is, apart from his offering his services and saying that he has a better knowledge of music than Orpheus and Thamyras — but if one should see him training and rearing game-cocks or quails and spending his time for the most part in company with those of like interests, ought one to conclude that he is a musician, or, on the contrary, one of the set with which he associates and whose pursuits are the same as his?
[70.3b] Int. Evidently one of that set.
[70.4] Dio. Again, if one were to profess that he is an astronomer and that he knows most accurately how the orbits and courses and the intervening distances stand with relation to one another in the case of sun and moon and similar heavenly bodies, and also celestial phenomena, and yet the man has shown no predilection of this sort and has no serious interest in these matters, but rather prefers to associate with gamblers, lives his life in their company, and is seen with them day after day, will you call this man an astronomer or a gambler?
[70.4b] Int. Nay, by heaven, I would not consider that he had anything at all to do with astronomy, but much rather with gambling.
[70.5] Dio. Again, given two persons, one of whom says he intends to sail immediately and will gain much profit from trading, although he has not provided himself with either ship or sailors, has no cargo whatever, but, in fact, never goes near the harbour at all, or even the sea; whereas the other occupies himself constantly with these matters, examining thoroughly a boat and putting on board a pilot and a cargo — which of the two will you say is seriously interested in trading? The one who says he is, or the one who works at it and provides himself with all that the voyage and the business of trading demand?
[70.6] Int. I should say the latter.
Dio. In every matter, then, will you consider that the word alone, unaccompanied by any act, is invalid and untrustworthy, but that the act alone is both trustworthy and true, even if no word precedes it?
[70.6b] Int. Just so.
[70.6c] Dio. Well then, if there are certain functions and articles of equipment peculiar to farming or to seafaring and different ones appropriate to the hunter, the astronomer, and all other professions as well, then has philosophy no function peculiar to itself, no activity, no equipment?
[70.6d] Int. Most assuredly it has.
[70.7] Dio. Well, are those things obscure which belong to the philosopher and to philosophy, while those which belong to the traders and farmers and musicians and astronomers and those whom I have just named are conspicuous and manifest?
[70.7b] Int. No, I think not obscure.
Dio. But surely there are certain words which one who goes in for philosophy must hear, and studies which he must pursue, and a regimen to which he must adhere, and, in a word, one kind of life belongs to the philosopher and another to the majority of mankind: the one tends toward truth and wisdom and toward care and cultivation of the gods, and, as regards one’s own soul, far from false pretence and deceit and luxury, toward frugality and sobriety.
[70.8] And, in fact, there is one kind of dress for the philosopher and another for the layman, and the same holds good as to table manners and gymnasia and baths and the mode of living generally, and he who is guided by and employs these distinctions must be thought to be devoted to philosophy; whereas he who does not differ in any of these matters and is not at all unlike the world in general must not be classified as a philosopher, not even if he says he is a thousand times and makes public profession of philosophy before the popular assembly of Athens or of Megara or in the presence of the kings of Sparta; instead, we must banish this man to the company of impostors and fools and voluptuaries.
[70.9] And yet it is not impossible to be musical without engaging in musical activities; for the art of music does not compel one to devote his attention to it and to regard nothing else of greater moment. Again, if one is an astronomer, possibly nothing prevents his keeping game-cocks or throwing dice; for in no wise does astronomy prevent his doing what is not right! Furthermore, by Heaven, if one has become an expert horseman, or a good pilot, or a surveyor, or a literary critic, it is nothing surprising that he should be seen in the apartments of either the courtesans or the flute-girls. For the knowledge of those skills does not make the human soul one whit better or turn it aside from its errors; [10] but if one is devoted to philosophy and partakes of this study, one could never desert the highest things, nor, neglecting these things, could he prefer to engage in anything which is shameful and low, or to be lazy and gluttonous and drunken. For to refuse to admire these things and to banish the desire for them from the soul and on the other hand, to lead the soul to hate and condemn them, is the essence of philosophy. However, possibly there is nothing to prevent one’s claiming to be a philosopher and at the same time playing the impostor and deceiving himself and everybody else.

## THE SEVENTY-FIRST DISCOURSE: ON THE PHILOSOPHER

IN THIS DISCOURSE Dio examines the statement that “the philosopher should be remarkable in everything.” As examples of versatility he considers Hippias of Elis, the well-known sophist, and Odysseus, each of whom exhibited a high degree of skill in both intellectual and manual pursuits. While admitting their claim to excellence, Dio maintains that the philosopher should be able to excel all men above all in “acting, or not acting, advantageously, and in knowing when to act and where and the right moment better than the craftsman, and also in knowing what is possible of achievement.” This dictum (§ 6) is illustrated by reference to Daedalus and other skilled artificers, who failed of real excellence because they were ignorant in just those respects. The Discourse concludes with a sarcastic allusion to Nero’s varied ambitions.
The Seventy-first Discourse: On the Philosopher
[71.1] There are those who say that the philosopher should be remarkable in everything in any surroundings; moreover, they say that he should be very able in conversation with men and never keep silent or be at a loss before those in his company for lack of such language as will be capable of pleasing them; otherwise, they say, he who is not thus equipped is an ignoramus and worth but little. But I say that, though some of their statements are just and truthful, some are not. [2] For that the philosopher should in every situation be superior to all others, it seems to me they are right in demanding — unless they mean that he must not only know all the crafts but also, in accordance with the rules of the craft, produce everything better than the craftsmen, both building houses and making boats and working as a smith and weaving and farming. For example, Hippias of Elis claimed to be the wisest of the Greeks, for both at the Olympic Games and at the other national gatherings of the Greeks he produced poems of every style and speeches which he had composed of divers kinds, but he also displayed other products of his — his ring, his oil-flask and strigil, his mantle, and his girdle — boasting that he had made them all himself, displaying them to the Greeks as a kind of firstfruits of his wisdom.
[71.3] And Homer too, I venture to remark, has represented Odysseus, not merely as pre-eminent and judgement and in his ability to plan concerning practical matters, not merely as a most able speaker, whether in a crowd or before a few or before only one person — yes, by Heaven, both in assembly and over the wine-cups and on occasions when walking with somebody on a journey — whether in the presence of king or of commoner, freeman or slave, no matter whether he was himself held in honour and recognized as king or, on the other hand, unknown and a beggar, and, moreover, alike when addressing either man or woman or maiden; but he also makes him pre-eminent for his knowledge of the art of combat, and he has even represented him as skilled in all such crafts as those of the joiner, the carpenter, and the shipwright. [4] For instance, how could Odysseus have constructed his bed by cutting off the trunk of an olive tree if he were not acquainted with the joiner’s art? How could he have enclosed his bed-chamber if he had not been acquainted with the builder’s art? How could he have built his raft if he had not understood ship-building? As for the operations connected with planting and husbandry, he obviously had shown a serious interest in all that from his very boyhood, since he begged his father for trees and vines; and especially, since his father was a very careful and experienced farmer, it was to be expected that Odysseus would not be ignorant of these matters, yes, he even challenges Eurymachus to a contest in both reaping and ploughing. Why, Odysseus claims to be acquainted also with such matters as cookery and wine-serving and all other departments of domestic service, matters wherein he says that those of lower rank serve the nobles.
[71.3b] Very well, in these respects no doubt Hippias and Odysseus were a clever pair; but I say that the philosopher, while unable to know every one of the crafts — for it is difficult to be thoroughly proficient in the practice of even one — nevertheless could do everything, no matter what he might be doing, better than anybody else, even though from the point of view of the crafts, if he really is ever compelled to tackle anything of that nature, he is not superior when measured by the standard of craftsmanship. For this is an impossibility, that the layman should produce anything better than the joiner by the standard of the joiner’s craft, or that one who lacks experience in farming should be found more expert than the farmer in performing any of the tasks of the farmer.
[71.6] Wherein, then, would the philosopher be superior? It would be in his acting, or not acting, advantageously, and in his knowing when to act and where and the right moment better than the craftsman, and also in his knowing what is possible of achievement. For instance, I believe that Daedalus did not build his Labyrinth in Crete well — entering which his fellow citizens, both male and female, met their death — for he did not build it justly. And besides, in abetting the malady of Pasiphaë he wrought not rightly; for it was not advantageous nor was it just or honourable to lend such aid or to invent devices for ends which were shameful and impious. And even when he equipped Icarus with wings — if we are to believe the tale — I say he did not do well to invent this device; for he was attempting the impossible when he attached wings to a human being. Accordingly he wrought the death of his son.
[71.7] But apparently Homer too says harsh things of a certain builder among the Trojans, as not having done well when he built for Alexander the ships with which he sailed to Hellas — though he has no fault to find with him on the score of craftsmanship. For this is what he says:
[71.7b] Who built for Paris well-proportioned ships,
Sources of ill,
not lauding him for his construction of the ships, but rather censuring him much more severely than if, by saying that he had made the ships either slow or with some other defect, he had censured him for ship-building. And Homer in similar fashion censures also a certain huntsman and ridicules his skill, because he had acquired it to no good purpose, but, on the contrary, while the man knew how to shoot wild beasts, in warfare he could not hit any one but was useless because of his cowardice, and he adds that on the occasion in question Artemis did not aid him.
[71.8] From these illustrations, therefore, it is evident that there is need of wisdom and virtue as applied both to what men know and also to what they do not know; and thus it is that the prudent man, such as the philosopher should be, would in everything be superior to all the world, whether in doing any of these things or in not doing, no matter how he performs according to the standards of the craft. But that he will paint better than the painter when not himself a painter; or that he will tend the sick better than the physician, as measured by the standards of art, when himself not a physician; or that he will sing more musically than the musicians when unacquainted with the art of music or only slightly acquainted; or that he will show himself better versed than the arithmeticians in the theory of numbers, or than the surveyors in surveying, or than the farmers in planting, or than the pilots in piloting; or that he will slaughter an animal more expeditiously than the butchers, or, should it be necessary to cut it up, do so more expeditiously than those who have made this very thing their profession — such things are not to be expected.
[71.9] And yet a certain king of our times had the ambition to be wise in this sort of wisdom, believing that he had knowledge of very many things — not, however, of such things as do not receive applause among men, but rather those for which it is possible to win a crown — I mean acting as a herald, singing to the cithara, reciting tragedies, wrestling, and taking part in the pancration. Besides, they say that he could paint and fashion statues and play the pipe, both by means of his lips and by tucking a skin beneath his armpits with a view to avoiding the reproach of Athena! Was he not, then, a wise man?

## THE SEVENTY-SECOND DISCOURSE: ON PERSONAL APPEARANCE

IN THIS DISCOURSE Dio is defending what he considers to be the typical appearance of philosophers — the himation, or cloak, unaccompanied by the tunic generally worn next to the body, and long hair and beard. We learn that those who presented such an appearance were commonly subjected to insult and mockery and even to physical violence. And yet, as he tells us, philosophers — or pseudo-philosophers — were a more familiar spectacle with his hearers than shoemakers or fullers or jesters or the followers of any other calling. It is argued that the philosopher can find a precedent for his appearance in the statues of both gods and generals and kings, none of which excites amusement or resentment on the part of the beholder. Furthermore, the city in which he is speaking tolerates the sight of many outlandish costumes. This leads to the conjecture that the reason why the philosopher is singled out for insult is that men are inclined to view him with distrust, feeling that he is critical of them, and being actuated, as one might say, by an inferiority complex. Sometimes also the philosopher is subjected to annoyance by those who expect to hear from him words of wisdom. Reference to this type of annoyance leads naturally to the telling the fable of the owl and the birds, a fable more briefly sketched in Or. . but preserved nowhere else. The moral of the fable is that it is risky to trust to appearances, for, though the owl of the fable was truly wise, the owl of Dio’s day resembled her only in “feathers, eyes, and beak,” and actually served as decoy for other fowl.
In what city was this Discourse delivered? Arnim argues with much plausibility that it must have been Rome; for in §§ 3‑ we are told that foreigners in most outlandish dress, who came from remote parts of the empire, were a common spectacle about the streets; furthermore, we are told in § 5 that the local type of cult statue differed from that found in Egypt and Phoenicia but was identical with the Greek type; and, lastly, § 6 shows clearly that the city in question was not Greek. No other city seems to suit these clues so well as Rome. It is suggested that Dio is speaking there on his first visit following his return from exile.
The Seventy-second Discourse: On Personal Appearance
[72.1] Why on earth is it that, whenever men see somebody wearing a tunic and nothing more, they neither notice him nor make sport of him? Possibly because they reason that the fellow is a sailor and that there is no occasion to mock him on this account. Similarly, if they should spy some one wearing the garb of a farmer or of a shepherd — that is, wearing an exomis or wrapped in a hide or muffled in a kosymba — that are not irritated, nay, they do not even notice it to begin with, feeling that the garb is appropriate to the man who follows such a calling. [2] Take our tavern-keepers too; though people day after day see them in front of their taverns with their tunics belted high, they never jeer at them but, on the contrary, they would make fun of them if they were not so attired, considering that their appearance is peculiarly suited to their occupation. But when they see some one in a cloak but no tunic, with flowing hair and beard, they find it impossible to keep quiet in his presence or to pass by in silence; instead, they step up to him and try to irritate him and either mock at him or speak insultingly, or sometimes they catch hold of him and try to drag him off, provided they see one who is not himself very strong and note that no one else is at hand to help him; and they do this although they know that the garb he wears is customary with the philosophers, as they are called, yes, as one might say, has been prescribed for them.
[72.3] But what is even more astounding still is this. Here in your city from time to time are to be seen persons, some of whom are wearing felt caps on their heads — as to‑day certain of the Thracians who are called Getae do, and as Spartans and Macedonians used to do in days gone by — and others wearing a turban and trousers, as I understand Persians and Bactrians and Parthians and many other barbarians do; and some, still more outlandish than these, are accustomed to visit your city wearing feathers erect on their heads, for instance the Nasamonians; yet the citizens do not have the effrontery to make any trouble at all even for these, or to approach and annoy them. And yet as for Getae or Persians or Nasamonians, while some of them are seen here in no great numbers and others rarely visit here, [4] the whole world to‑day is virtually crowded with persons such as I have described, yes, I might almost say that they have grown more numerous than the shoemakers and fullers and jesters or the workers at any other occupation whatever. Therefore in our day too possibly it could be said with good reason that every catboat is under sail and every cow is dragging a plow.
[72.5] Moreover, it is not for the above reason alone that this spectacle is familiar to them, nay, they also have before their eyes the statues in the temples — as, for example, statues of Zeus and Poseidon and many other gods — arrayed in this type of costume. For while among Egyptians and Phoenicians and certain other barbarians you do not find the same type of statues as you do, I believe, among the Greeks, but far different, here you find the same. Likenesses of men too, citizens of your city, they have before their eyes both in the market-place and in the temples, likenesses of generals and kings set up in this guise with flowing beards. By why need I tell you all this? [6] For I might almost say that most of the Greeks also feel as you do about this matter, and their familiarity with the sight does not keep them from teasing or even insulting whenever they spy a man of that appearance — I mean, whenever they see one of the common sort of no repute, whom they do not fear as being able to retaliate; for of course those who have that ability they virtually cringe before and admire!
[72.7] Well, possibly what goes on is like this: the sailors and the farmers and shepherds, yes, and the Persians and Nasamonians too, the people believe do not look down on them or have any concern with them, and so they do not give them a thought. [7] The philosophers, however, they view with misgivings, suspecting that they scorn them and attribute to them vast ignorance and misfortune; and they suspect that, though the philosophers do not laugh at them in public, privately among themselves they view them in that light, holding that the unenlightened are all pitiable creatures, beginning, in fact, with those who are reputed to be rich and prosperous, persons whom these mockers themselves envy and believe to be little different from the gods in felicity; furthermore, they suspect that these philosophers disparage and ridicule them as being extravagant in eating and drinking, as wanting a soft bed to sleep on and the company of young women and boys whenever they repose, and plenty of money, and to be admired and looked up to by the mob, things which they believe to be more important and better than anything else.
[72.8] Because of this suspicion they of course dislike those who do not admire or prize the same things as they do and do not hold the same opinion about the things of chief importance. Therefore they seize for themselves the initiative in reviling and jeering at the philosophers as being luckless and foolish, knowing that if they succeed in showing that the philosophers are senseless and daft they will at the same time also prove themselves to be prudent and sensible; whereas if they give way to them, recognizing that the philosophers know what they should and are highly estimable, at the same time they will be admitting that they themselves are luckless and thick-witted and know absolutely none of the things free men should.
[72.9] Again, if they see a man rigged out as a sailor, they know that he is about to put to sea, and if they see some one else rigged out as a farmer, they know that he is about to engage in farming, and of course they know also that he who is clad in shepherd’s garb is on his way to his sheep and will spend his time attending to them, and so, since they are not irritated by any of these, they let them alone; but when they see a man in the garb of the philosopher, they reason in his case that it is not for sailing or for farming or for tending sheep that he is thus arrayed, but rather that he has got himself ready to deal with human beings, aiming to admonish them and put them to the test and not to flatter or to spare any one of them, but, on the contrary, aiming to reprove them to best of his ability by his words and to show what sort of persons they are. [10] They cannot, therefore, look upon the philosophers with any pleasure, but instead they clash with them and fight with them, just as boys too cannot look with pleasure upon any whom they see in the guise of tutors and prepared as if they meant to rebuke them and not to allow them to go astray or be careless. In truth, if the boys were at liberty to mock at and insult such persons, there is nothing they would rather do than that.
[72.11] However, not all have this motive in coming up and making themselves a nuisance; on the contrary, there are persons who indulge in this kind of curiosity and, in a way, are not bad persons either. [11] These approach any whom, because of their dress, they take to be philosophers, expecting to hear from them some bit of wisdom which they could not hear from any one else, because they have heard regarding Socrates that he was not only wise but also accustomed to speak words of wisdom to those who approached him, and also regarding Diogenes, that he too was well provided with statement and answer on each and every topic. And the masses still remember the sayings of Diogenes, some of which he may have spoken himself, though some too were composed by others.
[72.12] Indeed, as for the maxims of the Seven Sages, they hear that these were even inscribed as dedications at Delphi in days gone by, firstfruits, as it were, of the wisdom of those men and at the same time intended for the edification of mankind, the idea being that these maxims were truly divine, and if I may say so, even more divine than the responses which the Pythian priestess was wont to give as she sat upon her tripod and filled herself with the breath of the god. For the response which is made to each for himself he listens to and then goes his way, and such responses are not dedicated and thereby made known to all mankind too; but the maxims of the Seven Sages have been appointed for the common use of all who visit the god, as being profitable for all alike to know and to obey.
[72.13] And there are those who think that Aesop too was somewhat like the Seven Sages, that while he was wise and sensible, yet he was crafty too and clever at composing tales such as they themselves would most enjoy to hear. And possibly they are not wholly mistaken in their suppositions and in reality Aesop did in this way try to admonish mankind and show them wherein they were in error, believing that they would be most tolerant toward him if they were amused by his humour and his tales — just as children, when their nurses tell them stories, not only pay attention to them but are amused as well. As the result, then, of this belief, that they are going to hear from us too some such saying as Aesop used to utter, or Socrates, or Diogenes, they draw near and annoy and cannot leave in peace whomever they may see in this costume, any more than the birds can when they see an owl.
[72.14] Indeed, this is why Aesop composed a fable which I will relate. The birds came together to call upon the owl, and they begged her to withdraw from the shelter afforded by the human habitations and to transfer her nest to the trees, just like themselves, and to their branches, “whence,” they declared, “it is actually possible to sing a clearer note.” And in fact, as the fable has it, they stood ready to settle upon an oak, which was just then starting to grow, as soon as it should reach its prime, and to enjoy its green foliage. However, the story continues, the owl advised the birds not to do this and not to exult in the shoot of a plant whose nature it is to bear mistletoe, a bane to feathered folk. [15] But the birds not only did not applaud the owl for her advice, but, quite the reverse, they took delight in the oak as it grew, and when it was of proper size they alighted on it and sang. But because the mistletoe had grown on it, they now were easily captured by the men and repented of their conduct and admired the owl for her advice. And even to this day they feel this way about her, believing her to be shrewd and wise, and on this account they wish to get near her, believing that they are deriving some benefit from association with her; but if they do, they will approach her, I fancy, all in vain and to their cost. For though that owl of olden days was really wise and able to give advice, those of to‑day merely have her feathers, eyes, and beak, but in all else they are more foolish than the other birds. [16] Therefore they cannot benefit even themselves; for otherwise they would not be kept at the bird-catcher’s, caged and in servitude.
[72.14b] Just so, though each of us has the garb of Socrates and Diogenes, in intellect we are far from being like those famous men, or from living as they did, or from uttering such noble thoughts. Therefore, for no other reason than because of our personal appearance, we, like the owls, collect a great company of those who in truth are birds, being fools ourselves besides being annoyed by others of like folly.

## THE SEVENTY-THIRD DISCOURSE: ON TRUST

ALTHOUGH THIS DISCOURSE begins with no formal address, it presents the appearance of a letter, for in the final paragraph the author applies his remarks to some one individual, whose name, unfortunately, is not given. Certainly, if we were to assume that we had before us an oral communication, we should expect to find now and then some appeal to the listener and an occasional response, however brief and perfunctory.
Dio appears to be writing to some acquaintance, possibly a former pupil, who seems to be considering acceptance of some responsibility, the nature of which it is idle to conjecture. All but the final paragraph is devoted to an exposition of the discomforts and even dangers attendant upon such a decision. As horrible examples of the ingratitude of both state and private citizen Dio passes in review some of the most notable personages of myth and history, besides calling attention to the many nameless persons who were repaid for their services as guardians or trustees by reproach or even by prosecution in the courts. We infer that he would have his anonymous acquaintance remain true to philosophy.
The Seventy-third Discourse: On Trust
[73.1] Do you really mean to say that being trusted is a good thing for those who are trusted and comparable to being wealthy or healthy or honoured for those who are honoured or healthy or wealthy, because it brings to those persons themselves some benefit? I mean, for instance, if a person should chance to be trusted in an official capacity, by his own state or by another, with an army or money or fortifications, just as in the past many have had such things entrusted to them, and in some instances even the cities themselves, women and children and all, not only in times of peace, but also sometimes when in the grip of war. [2] And, by Heaven, if a person were to be trusted by a king or a tyrant with gold or silver or ships or arms or a citadel or the supreme command — for example, Leptines often received command of Syracuse from his brother, and Philistus received it from the younger Dionysius, and the Magi received from Cambyses charge of his palace in Persia at the time when he was campaigning against Egypt, and Mithranes received from Darius the citadel of Sardis, and Persaeus received Acrocorinth from Antigonus, and, much earlier than these, Atreus received Argos from Eurystheus, when Eurystheus was campaigning against Athens for refusing to surrender the children of Heracles, and, furthermore, the son of Atreus, Agamemnon, when setting sail for Troy, entrusted to a musician his wife and his house — [3] shall we say that all those who were trusted themselves derived some good from the trust?
[73.4] Again, how about those who are entrusted by men in private station with either wives or children or estate? For instance, many, I fancy, leave behind them guardians and protectors, some when going on a journey and others when dying; and some place deposits in trust without the presence of witnesses, having no fear of being defrauded; and some, because the laws forbid their naming as heirs those whom they themselves prefer, name others, instructing them to turn over the property to the friends of the deceased — [4] are we to say that all such derive an advantage from the transaction and from the high opinion about them which leads those who do so to entrust them with their possessions, but particularly in the case of those last mentioned, who seem to be trusted in violation of the laws? Or, on the contrary, shall we say that such a responsibility is vexatious and the source of much trouble and many worries, sometimes indeed even of the greatest perils?
[73.4b] But we may examine the question by beginning immediately with those who are thought to be of highest rank; for those of necessity neglect their private interests, both property and children, and devote their attention to the public interests and are absorbed in them; and often at the hands of those who plot against their cities, whether foreign foes or some of their fellow citizens, they meet with disaster, and often, too, at the hands of the cities themselves, because of unjust accusation. For some have been deprived of property, and some even have suffered disgrace of various kinds, having been convicted on a charge of embezzlement, others have been banished from their native land, and others have even been put to death.
[73.5] For example, they say that Pericles was convicted of embezzlement in an Athenian court, the noblest and best champion the city ever had; and that Themistocles was banished on a charge of treason, the one who, after having taken charge of the Athenians at a time when they were no longer able to occupy the soil of their native land but were yielding to the foe their city itself and their shrines, not only restored all these things, but even made the Athenians leaders of the Greeks, wresting the leadership from the Spartans, who had held this honour from the beginning.
[73.6] Again, Miltiades, who had been the first to vanquish the barbarians, with only his fellow citizens to aid him, and to humble the pride of the Persians, a pride which they formerly held, believing themselves to be superior to all other men — this man, I say, not much later was cast into prison by the Athenians; and, besides, his son Cimon would have been deprived of civic rights for the rest of his life if he had not given his sister Elpinicê in marriage to a man of humble origin but great wealth, who in his behalf paid the fine of fifty talents. And yet later on Cimon gained Cyprus for the Athenians, and in a joint account by land and sea vanquished the barbarians in the neighbourhood of Pamphylia. Still, though so remarkable himself and the son of so remarkable a father, if he had not secured considerable money the Athenians would have suffered him to be without civic rights in his city.
[73.6b] And take the case of Phocion of a later period, who lived to be more than eighty years of age, and who for most of these years had served as general, had preserved the state in its moments of direst need, and had been dubbed excellent by those very Athenians — this man they were not content merely to put to death, nay, they would not even permit his corpse to rest in Attic soil, but cast it forth beyond their borders. Or take Nicias son of Niceratus — because he was trusted by his fellow citizens, though he knew full well what the campaign in Sicily would be like, both from the warnings of the god and from his own reasoning, still he was compelled to make the expedition, ill as he was, because of this trust of theirs. Moreover, if after losing his army or a portion of it he himself had come back in safety, clearly on reaching home he would have been put to death. But since, knowing this, he persevered in every way, he was taken captive and suffered that fate at the hands of the enemy.
[73.8] Now these observations of mine have been made about a single city and about the statesmen in a single city, nor have all of these been named. But as to those who at the courts of the tyrants enjoyed a reputation for trustworthiness, were I to recount fully what sort of fate has been theirs I should perhaps need very many days. For one might almost say that it is impossible for such men to go scot free. For any who lay themselves open to a charge of misconduct are put to death on that account, and there is no chance of obtaining any pardon; while those who show themselves to be good men and competent to safeguard what has been entrusted to them, though at the moment they obtain a certain honour, not much later they meet with disaster, being victims of envy and suspicion. [9] It does not, you see, seem to be advantageous to absolute monarchs that any man in their service should be good, or that any man should patently stand high in the esteem of the masses. On the other hand, trusts bestowed by men in private life, though possibly they involve less risk, because the business in hand is less important, still entail untold trouble and labours, and often not even gratitude, however slight, is their reward. On the contrary, it often happens that the very men who have received benefits at their hands charge them with not having paid all that is due with justice and clean hands.
[73.10] Now with what purpose have I rehearsed these matters? Surely not because I was making you the object of such admonition, or because I aimed to dissuade you from being true to a trust. For I should be far worse than Zethus was if I subjected you to such criticism, for he admonished his brother because he did not deem it fitting for him to devote himself to the pursuit of wisdom or to waste time on music to the neglect of his own affairs; and he said that his brother was introducing an absurd and unprofitable Muse. Just as if perchance some one were to say that you too had chosen that sort of occupation, not one of idleness or of drunkenness by any means, and yet one involving neglect of your own estate quite possibly; and, by Zeus, he might even recite this line:
[73.10b] Wherefore an empty house shall be thy home.

## THE SEVENTY-FOURTH DISCOURSE: ON DISTRUST

THIS DISCOURSE, AS its title suggests, approaches the question of human relationships from a different angle from that observed in Or. . There the speaker was stressing the annoyances and misfortunes resulting from being trusted; here he produces a wealth of examples to show that it is dangerous to trust any one. That note of cynicism is maintained with remarkable consistency to the very end, and there is a ring of conviction about it all which suggests strongly that Dio is speaking out of the bitterness of his own heart. Arnim places the Discourse among those delivered during the period of Dio’s exile. Because the element of dialogue is found only at the very opening of the document, he infers that Dio was addressing a group of listeners, one of whom bore to the speaker a closer relationship and therefore was helpful in launching the discussion. The abruptness with which the Discourse opens and closes is held to indicate, as in some other instances, that our text has been separated from its original setting, or possibly that the reporter chose only this much for preservation.
The Seventy-fourth Discourse: On Distrust
[74.1] Dio. Are you aware that in the past there have been persons who have been harmed by enemies?
[74.1b] Interlocutor. Why, of course.
Dio. Well then, have they been harmed by so‑called friends and close acquaintances, or even by certain kinsmen, some even by the very closest, brothers or sons or fathers?
[74.1c] Int. Yes indeed, many have been.
Dio. What is the reason, then, that not only do enemies injure their enemies but also the so‑called friends injure one another, and, by Heaven, that many even of those who are so closely related act so?
[74.1d] Int. Clearly the reason is found in the depravity of mankind, because of which each, I imagine, is also himself harmful to himself.
[74.1e] Dio. Toward all men, then, one should be equally on his guard, and not be one whit more trustful even if a person is held to be a friend or a close acquaintance or a blood-relative?
[74.1f] Int. Toward all, as this statement of yours declares.
[74.1g] Dio. Then was the author of this verse right when he wrote,
Keep sober and remember to distrust;
These are the joints essential to the mind?
[74.2] Int. Probably he was.
Dio. Furthermore, manifestly the poet is giving this advice, not to his enemies, but rather to those whom he considers friends. For surely those by whom one knows himself to be hated would not entrust with power against himself. How, then, could the poet be urging those to be distrusted whom he does not himself trust?
[74.3] Well, then, let us consider the following question also. By whom have more persons been ruined — by those who are admittedly enemies, or, on the contrary, by those who profess to be friends? As for myself, I observe that of the cities which have been captured those which have been destroyed by traitors are more numerous than those which have been forcibly seized by the foe, and also that with human beings those who lodge complaints against their friends and close acquaintances are altogether more numerous than those who blame their enemies for their misfortunes; [3] and, furthermore, that whereas against the foe walls and fortresses have been provided for all — though sometimes no use has been made of these for many years — yet against their fellow citizens, against men who have a common share in the same sanctuaries and sacrifices and marriage rites, men who are fellow tribesmen with one another, fellow demesmen and kinsmen, the courts, the laws, and the magistracies have been provided. Furthermore, these institutions are never idle. At any rate the cities are always crowded with plaintiffs and defendants, with juries and litigants, and not even during their solemn festivals or in times of truce can men keep their hands off one another. At least they pass special laws regarding crimes committed during festivals, and they call these “holy laws,” as if the name did any good! Yes, the war against depravity is unremitting for all against all, a war without truce and without herald; [4] but above all this war is joined between those who are close to one another.
[74.4] Accordingly those who wish to live at peace and with some degree of security must beware of fellowship with human beings, must recognize that the average man is by nature prone to let others have a share in any evil, and that, no matter if one claims a thousand times to be a friend, he is not to be trusted. For with human beings there is no constancy or truthfulness at all; on the contrary, any man whom at the moment they prize above everything, even, it may be, above life itself, after a brief interval they deem their bitterest foe, and often they cannot refrain even from attacking his body. [5] For example, the lover slays his beloved because he loves him too much, as he imagines, but really because he has become enraged over some trivial matter. Others slay themselves, some involuntarily because of incontinence, and some voluntarily, since there is nothing in their life more extraordinary than their innate depravity. But enough of this, for the other injuries which each inflicts upon himself it obviously is impossible to examine in detail.
[74.4b] Then what kind of trust can one have in dealing with men like these, or what assurance? Or how could a person love me who does not love even himself? For the reply which was made to the Athenians on the occasion when, being in dire straits, they made some request concerning Samos, might well, I think, be made to those low persons who try to worm their way into one’s friendship: “If one does not love himself, how can he love another, whether stranger or son or brother?”
[74.6] What, then, must one do when some one makes a show of friendship, takes a solemn oath at the altar, and is almost eager to butcher himself there? He must listen, of course, immediately, and, by Zeus, possibly nod assent; yet at the same time be quite certain that not one of his protestations is valid. For example, when Electra beheld Orestes weeping and striving to draw her to him, at the moment she supposed that he had experienced some abatement of his madness, and yet she was far from trusting him entirely. At any rate shortly afterward, seeing him sore distraught, she exclaimed,
[74.6b] Ah me, dear brother, how confused thy glance,
How swiftly though hast changed!
[74.7] Again, one may often behold the sea so calm that, methinks, even the most timid would scorn it. What then? On that account should one have faith in it, and with neither anchors nor rudder nor all the other aids to safety put to sea? Nay, if Fortune so decrees, presently a gale will swoop down upon you and you will behold a mighty surge and
[74.7b] Enormous billows, huge as mountains are,
Curling and topped with foam;
[74.7c] and the man who but now seems to you gentle and who makes much display of kindliness and zeal, when some chance occasion overtakes him you will find is savage and harsh and ready to work any and every mischief.
[74.8] How many prayers do you suppose Medeia offered to the gods in behalf of her children, or how many times did she suffer agony when they were ill, or how often would she have chosen to give her own life in their stead? Yet she became their murderer. “Aye, by Zeus,” someone will say, “in a fit of anger and jealousy.” But do you not suppose that most of mankind could also become jealous, envious, apprehensive? Why, one might almost say that they are always and unceasingly in the grip of these emotions. Do not, therefore, trust those who say that they feel kindly toward you and that they never would abandon their affection for you. For just as the streamers which mark the breeze always flutter according to the quarter from which it blows, now in this direction and now in the opposite direction, in the same way the mood of the common herd shifts in response to each and every emotion.
[74.9] Nobody trusts slaves when they make an agreement, for the reason that they are not their own masters; far more should one pay no heed to the agreements of such persons as I am describing. For in every respect human beings, because of their depravity, are farther removed from a state of freedom. The law does not permit one to make a contract with persons younger than a specified age on the ground that they are untrustworthy, nor, at Athens, may one have business dealings with a woman except to the extent of a measure of barley because of the weakness of female judgement. In fact, ordinary persons are no better than the very young, or rather than even the little boys, except in their bodily strength and their rascality; consequently they deserve to be distrusted more than those others.
[74.10] It would indeed be a blessing if, just as one becomes successively a lad, a stripling, a youth, and an old man by the passing of time, one might also in the same way become wise and just and trustworthy. Yet it must be said that not one whit better than women of the meaner sort are the men who are depraved. They differ in body, not in mind. Accordingly, just as the women are not allowed by law to accept agreements involving too large a sum, but a limit has been set defining the amount to which they may do so, in the same way, I believe, we should also have dealings with the ordinary run of men so far as the things of least importance, but in actions of greater importance or in discussions about urgent matters or in the safeguarding of one’s existence, never! [11] For the fact is, if they ever refrain from doing mischief for whatever reason, just as the wild beasts often are quiet when asleep or sated with food, though they have not discarded their own peculiar nature, similarly the masses too for a time do no harm, yet later when some pretext is presented they pay in full, as saying goes, both the interest and the principal of their villainy.
[74.12] The Spartan, when in social gatherings certain persons offered to make a compact with him and invited him to take as a guarantee of their friendship whatever he might choose, replied that there was only one guarantee, namely, their inability to do harm even if they wished, but that all other guarantees were foolish and absolutely good for nothing. [12] That guarantee alone should one accept from the masses, no other. For the guarantee which consists in phrases, in acquaintanceship, in oaths, in kinship is laughable. Atreus was the brother of Thyestes and the uncle of the little boys whom he slaughtered; Eteocles and Polyneices were not only brothers according to the law, but also children of a son and his mother, the closest relationship possible; wherefore, if there were any utility in birth, these most of all should have loved each other; whereas, in the first place, he who had been trusted expelled the brother who had trusted him and robbed him of his country, [13] and after that they slew each other. Although Theseus was the father of Hippolytus and the son of Poseidon, persuaded by slanders he cursed his son and brought about his death. Priam, who previously had been notable for good fortune and who was king over so many tribes and so wide a domain —
[74.12b] Seaward as far as Lesbos, the abode
Of Macar, landward to Phrygia and the stream
Of boundless Hellespont —
[74.14] all because of his son and that son’s incontinence became the most wretched man of all. Now these were men of rank, but how great a multitude do you suppose can be found in every city of the obscure and plebeian Atreuses and Thyesteses, some actually committing murder undetected, and some making plots of other kinds? [14] As for the Aëropês and Clytaemnestras and Stheneboeas, they are too numerous to mention.
[74.15] Well, such are the facts about family and domestic ties, but how about oaths? Pandarus gave an oath to Menelaüs, as did the other Trojans too, but none the less he wounded him. Did not Tissaphernes give an oath to Clearchus and his men? What! did not the Great King send them the royal gods and his plighted word? Again, take Philip of Macedon; just as any other weapon which was serviceable for his warfare, was he not always equipped with perjury too; and was he not always seizing the cities by means of these two devices, either violation of treaties or suborning of traitors? He found the former altogether more congenial; for while he had to give money to the traitors, to the gods he paid nothing in connexion with oaths. [15] As for Lysander the Spartan, they say that he gave as his opinion that boys should be deceived with knucklebones and balls, but men with oaths and phrases. But is the crafty fox at all different, as portrayed by Archilochus? And as for the oracle received by Glaucus, do you not imagine that most men had given that advice ere then, namely, to swear,
[74.15b] Since death awaits as well the man who keeps
His oath?
[74.15c] Furthermore, while it has so happened that the persons just named and others like them achieved notoriety because of the great events in which they took part, with the less illustrious Glaucuses or Pandaruses “the marts are thronged and thronged the ways.” This explains why they take neither Apollo nor Athena as counsellor in their perjury.
[74.16] But, you say, familiar acquaintance constitutes for mankind a great moral bar against injury, as also do treaties and hospitality. Eurytus was slain by the man who had entertained him in his house,
[74.16b] The daring one, who feared not Heaven’s wrath,
Nor reverenced the table he had spread,
But later even slew his guest.
[74.16c] And yet he came to be thought a god, though he had shown no reverence for the anger of the gods or for the table of hospitality, and he
Delighteth in the feast and hath for wife
Fair-ankled Hebê.
[74.16d] As for Archilochus, his salt and table availed him naught for the fulfilment of his marriage contract, as he says himself. [17] Lycaon, fool that he was, having encountered Achilles a second time, though he should either fight with vigour or else flee with all speed, urges the plea,
[74.17] For with thee first I ate Demeter’s grain.
[74.17b] Well then, previously, when he had not yet partaken of Achilles’ food, he was sold into Lemnos and thus saved; but this time when taken captive he was slaughtered. That was all the good Demeter did him. As for the ducks and partridges, we do not hunt them until they have eaten of our food. [18] Take Aegisthus; he slew Agamemnon,
[74.18] First feeding him, as he who slays an ox
Hard by the crib.
[74.19] And although Agamemnon had suffered no harm at the hands of the Trojans during the ten years in which he had been at war with them and had never sat at meat with them; on the other hand, when he had come home after so long an absence, had sacrificed to the gods, and had caused his own table to be spread before him, his own wife slew him so cruelly. Yes, afterwards, when at the gates of Hades he encountered Odysseus, he denounces Clytaemnestra, [19] for he says she did not even close his eyes when he was dead; and, furthermore, he urges Odysseus never to trust a woman,
[74.19b] Or ever tell to her a crafty plan.
[74.20] Yet Clytaemnestra treated him as she did, not because she was a woman, but because she was a wicked woman; and there is no more reason for not being kind to a woman than to a man. [20] However, I fancy, each one who has encountered misfortune distrusts particularly that because of which he has suffered and warns all others to beware of it. For instance, he who has been bitten by a viper warns against snakes, another who has been bitten by a scorpion warns against scorpions, and if a man has been bitten by a dog, you will see him always carrying a cane; in just that way most men behave toward human beings. One man has met with some dreadful misfortune because of a woman; so he cries to Heaven,
[74.20b] O Zeus, why hast thou brought to light of day
The breed of women, snare and curse to men?
[74.20c] Another, a stranger who has been received as a guest, brings grief to his host, as Alexander did by stealing from Menelaüs his wealth and his wife. The man so treated has been made distrustful toward strangers, another toward a brother, another toward a son.
[74.21] But the case is not so simple; for it is not the brother as such or the kinsman or the stranger who is by nature prone to do wrong, but rather the wicked man; but wickedness is found in almost all; aye, if you have good judgement, beware of all. A stranger? Beware. A fair and moderate man, he says? Beware still more. Let this principle be inviolate. “Yes,” you counter, “but he shows the kindly disposition of a man of courtesy.” Very well, accept him, with gratitude to the gods — or, so please you, to him as well — yet for the future you must watch him. For what some one has said about Fortune might much rather be said about human beings, namely, that no one knows about any one whether he will remain as he is until the morrow. [22] At any rate, men do violate the compacts made with each other and give each other different advice and, believing one course to be expedient, actually pursue another. Thus it comes to pass that when a man, through trusting another, gets involved with one of those troublesome fellows, he makes himself ridiculous if he lays the blame on him when he should blame himself, and if he now and then cries out against the gods, when it is a man by whom he has been duped, a friend and close acquaintance. But the gods laugh at him, knowing as they do that he had duped himself by putting himself in another’s power. Those who stumble on the street or, by Zeus, fall into a mud-puddle or a pit are not angry at the stones or at the mud; for they would be absolutely crazy if they did, seeing that they ought to blame themselves and their heedlessness.
[74.23] “What!” some one will say, “must we choose the existence of a wild beast and live a solitary life?” No, not that of a wild beast, but rather that of a prudent man and of one who knows how to live in safety. For far safer and better is solitude than association with mankind, if only solitude be found apart from fear and devoid of solicitude for things of common interest. Just as, in my opinion, for persons making a voyage the open sea is more to their advantage than the coast, unless one be sailing in fair weather and be well acquainted with the region; for in the open sea rarely, if ever, is a ship wrecked, but it is close to the shores and near the capes that the wreckage may be seen. [24] Therefore, when storm overtakes a ship, though every landlubber longs for the land, the skipper flees from it as far as possible. Yet havens free from billows can be found, trusting which men may safely ride at anchor, however high the gale may rise. But with human beings, the most temperate are like our summer anchorages, which afford shelter for the moment only; for with men of that type also the individual is a reasonable person with regard to some one of life’s problems, but with regard to the rest he is not. In money matters, for instance, he might never wrong you — granted, of course, that a man of that sort exists — but let a fit of rage or jealous rivalry seize him and you would perhaps not find him unshaken and trustworthy.
[74.25] Accordingly, one should have dealings with such persons only in so far as one is compelled to do so and extremely little at that, what is more, keeping wide awake one’s self and on guard, as the poet says of the Achaeans and Hector,
[74.25b] But he, experienced in war, with shield
Of ox-hide covered his shoulders broad and watched
The whir of arrows and the thud of darts.
Similarly in our life we must employ prudence and understanding as a shield and, covered by it, flee and guard against men’s villainy and the tricks and plots which they are wont to use.
[74.26] But, speaking generally, it would be surprising if eating from the same table were to prove a bar to villainy, and, forsooth, drinking from the same mixing-bowl and seeing the same lamp, when, on the other hand, seeing the same sun and being nourished by the same earth does not enter into the reckoning of any rogue; why, the tavern or, by Zeus, any other house made of stones and timbers mixes human beings together and can bring them together in friendship, just as Odysseus thinks is proper:
[74.26b] Respect the house; we’re underneath thy roof.
[74.26c] Thus he thinks that the hut — a hut, too, built of wood grown on hostile soil — is worthier of respect than the men themselves. Yet the whole sky, beneath which we all have been from the beginning, is of no avail toward producing concord, neither is our partnership in the universe, a partnership in things divine and majestic, but only, on the contrary, our partnership in things which are petty and worthless.
[74.27] Again, every man’s own father — often an ineffectual old man — is a great force for righteousness to prevent those of the same family from plotting against each other; while the common father of all, of “both men and gods,” he from whom we all have our being, not a creature such as Laches or Simon, cannot check or prevent the unrighteousness of men! Indeed, that one could not trust mere words about friendship — for this is the only point remaining — is no doubt clear. [28] For it is absurd that, when lending money to one’s neighbours, no one would lightly put faith in word alone, but instead requires witnesses and writings — and many do violence to even these — [and, on the other hand, that the mere profession of friendship should suffice].
[74.27b] “What!” somebody objects, “did not the men of former times have any friends? For instance, what would you say of these demigods that are on the lips of all: Orestes and Pylades, Theseus and Peirithoüs, Achilles and Patroclus?” Well, if one were to admit that the popular belief about these is true, there would be three friendships that had occurred in a period of time so extensive that in it one could say that the sun had gone into an eclipse quite a number of times.

## THE SEVENTY-FIFTH DISCOURSE: ON LAW

ON STYLISTIC GROUNDS this Discourse has been assigned to the sophistic period of Dio’s career. It is an encomium such as is familiar in sophistic literature, and it exhibits both the merits and the defects of that form of composition. Careful attention is paid to matters of detail connected with rhetorical effect, but one misses the note of sincere conviction to be found in many other writings of our author.
The topic chosen for eulogy is νόμος. As is well known, that word covers a wide range, meaning at one time usage sanctified by long tradition, at another divine ordinance, and at another statutory law. Dio treats all three varieties impartially, passing lightly from one to another and back again. The opening phrase, ἔστι δέ, suggests that our Discourse was preceded by an introductory composition no longer extant.
The Seventy-fifth Discourse: On Law
[75.1] The law is for life a guide, for cities an impartial overseer, and for the conduct of affairs a true and just straight-edge by which each must keep straight his own conduct; otherwise he will be crooked and corrupt. Accordingly, those who strictly observe the law have firm hold on safety; while those who transgress it destroy first of all themselves and then their fellows too, providing them with an example and pattern of lawlessness and violence. Yes, just as at sea those who do not miss the beacon are most likely to come through with their lives and to find their havens, so those who live according to the law journey through life with maximum security and reach the right destination. [2] There have been, it is true, instances in which one who has used a human being as counsellor has done so to his sorrow, but not so with the law. So much more serviceable is it for our cities than their walls that many of them still remain unwalled, but without law no city can be administered.
[75.3] But the law is of advantage not only to mortals, but to the gods as well. At any rate the universe always preserves the same law inviolate, and nothing which is eternal may transgress it. It is for that reason, methinks, that the law has appropriately been called “king of men and gods”; for law does away with violence, puts down insolence, reproves folly, chastises wickedness, and in private and public relations helps all who are in need, succouring the victims of injustice, and to those who are perplexed about a course of action making known what is their duty. [3] Whenever, for instance, a man is confronted by a perplexing situation and is seeking to discover what is expedient for him, he need not, I believe, call in friends or kinsmen, but rather go to the laws and pose his question. For the law would not, having an eye to its own advantage, give him inferior advice, nor yet through ignorance of the better course, nor would it because of some engagement or lack of interest beg its consultants to let it be excused. For, on the contrary, it has regard for all alike, and it has leisure for the problems of all others, and for it there is no private or special interest.
[75.4] Again, law is more serviceable than the oracular responses of the gods in that, while there have been some who did not understand the oracles, and, supposing that they were acting in harmony with them, have done the very opposite — which accounts, I imagine, for their having met with disaster — from the law there proceeds nothing which is tortuous or ambiguous, but, instead, it puts in simple phrases everything which is appropriate for those who are in need. Besides, though ruler and master of all things, it exercises its authority without the use of arms and force — on the contrary, law itself does away with force; nay, it rules by persuasion and governs willing subjects. For it is because it first persuades men and secures their approval that law comes into being and acquires its own power.
[75.5] But so great is the power it possesses, that it is the law which assists even the gods. For example, the sacrilegious and those who violate the reverence due to the gods it punishes. Moreover, the law itself no one has the power to injure. For every one who transgresses the law harms, not the law, but himself. [6] But such is the righteousness and benevolence which pervades the law, that for the unfortunate it has proved even more helpful than their blood relatives; and for the victims of injustice it has proved more potent than their own might; and for fathers, more kindly than their sons; for sons, more kindly than parents; for brothers, than brothers. At any rate many, when wronged by their closest kin, seek refuge with the law. Then too, though it has experienced no kindness at the hands of any one, the law renders thanks in full to all for the kindnesses which they show to others, exacting thanks alike for fathers from their sons, for those who have in private done some deed of kindness from those whom they have benefited, and for those who display public spirit in municipal affairs from their city.
[75.7] Furthermore, most beautiful are the rewards which it has established for their benefactions, having devised crowns and public proclamations and seats of honour, things which for those who supply them entail no expense, but which for those who win them have come to be worth everything. Indeed, whatever it so desires, however inexpensive it may be, the law immediately renders important and precious. It is the law which has made the wild olive so important, worth so much devoted effort, [8] just as also with the parsley, the pine, and the olive crown; it is the law which has made the three words with which each good man is publicly acclaimed more precious to many than life itself. It is the law which convenes the national festive gatherings, which honours the gods, which exalts virtue; it is the law which purges the sea, makes civilized the land, is the veritable son of Zeus, the possessor of invincible, insuperable might for it is so far superior to all else in temperance and trustworthiness that not only partnership with women but also the bloom of maidens and the prime of lads we all have entrusted to the law. Besides, though Justice is a virgin, such is his continence that Law dwells with her without a chaperon.
[75.9] Law is a protector of old age, a schoolmaster of youth, of poverty a fellow labourer, a guard of wealth, to peace an ally, to war a foe. Nay, even in war itself law has the greater might. For instance, the herald who is dispatched from one’s bitterest foes the law protects and guards, giving him as a weapon more mighty than any corselet or any shield the herald’s staff — in fact, this is a symbol of the law. Because of the law the slain are deemed no longer to be foes, nor are hatred and insult wreaked upon their bodies.
[75.10] Again, so much more useful is the law to our cities than rudders are to our ships that, whereas a ship which has lost its rudders would not perish unless a storm should overtake it, a city cannot be saved if the law has been destroyed, not even when no dire disaster befalls it from without. But just as each of us is governed and safeguarded by the intelligence which is in him, while its destruction entails madness and insanity, similarly, if one expels the law from his life, just as if he had lost his mind, I believe he will be brought into a state of utter madness and confusion.

## THE SEVENTY-SIXTH DISCOURSE: ON CUSTOM

THIS IS ANOTHER sophistic exercise. Comparison with the preceding Discourse will show with what ease the sophist could shift his ground. In Or. 75 law is eulogized as a beneficent influence in human affairs; here custom has taken its place. Contradictions between the two documents abound, but perhaps none more striking than the two statements that follow: “from the law there proceeds nothing which is tortuous or ambiguous, but, instead, it puts in simple phrases everything which is appropriate for those who are in need” (Or. 75.4) and “some laws have not been clearly written, and they are often warped and twisted by the eloquence of the orators; but our customs are never ambiguous or crooked, and oratory could not get the upper hand with them” (Or. 76.4).
The Seventy-sixth Discourse: On Custom
[76.1] Custom is a judgement common to those who use it, an unwritten law of tribe or city, a voluntary principle of justice, acceptable to all alike with reference of that same matters, an invention made, not by any human being, but rather by life and time. Therefore, while of the laws in general each obtains its power through having been approved one and for all, custom is constantly being subjected to scrutiny. Moreover, while no law will readily be chosen by everybody — for it is by the opinions of the majority that it is ratified — yet a custom could not come into being if not accepted by all. Again, while law by threats and violence maintains its mastery, it is only when we are persuaded by our customs that we deem them excellent and advantageous.
[76.2] Therefore it seems to me that we might liken the written law to the power of tyranny, for it is by means of fear and through injunction that each measure is made effective; but custom might rather be likened to the benevolence of kingship, for of their own volition all men follow custom, and without constraint. Again, we know of many laws which have been repealed by those who made them, because they judged them to be bad; but no one could readily point to a custom which had been dissolved. Nay, it is altogether easier to do away with any written ordinance you please than to do away with any custom. [3] For written ordinances, once the writing is erased, are done for in a single day; but a city’s usage it is impossible to destroy in a very long period of time. Besides, while laws are preserved on tablets of wood or of stone, each custom is preserved within our own hearts. And this sort of preservation is surer and better. Furthermore, the written law is harsh and stern, whereas nothing is more pleasant than custom. Then too, our laws we learn from others, but our customs we all know perfectly.
[76.4] Again, some laws have not been clearly written, and they are often warped and twisted by the eloquence of the orators; but our customs are never ambiguous or crooked, and oratory could not get the upper hand with them. Also the laws must be kept constantly in mind if we are to abide by them; whereas a custom men cannot forget, even if they would; for such is its nature that it is constantly reminding them.
[76.4b] And, speaking generally, while one might say that the laws create a polity of slaves, our customs, on the contrary, create a polity of free men. For the laws inflict punishment upon men’s bodies; but when a custom is violated, the consequent penalty has always been disgrace. Therefore the one is a law for bad persons, the other for good persons. Indeed, if all men were good, evidently we should have no need of the written laws. Furthermore, although our kings are above the laws and do many things in violation of them, even they follow the customs.
[76.5] Again, of the written laws, not one is in force in time of war, but the customs are observed by all, even if men proceed to the extremity of hatred. For example, the provision that no one shall prevent the burial of the dead has nowhere been put in writing, for how could the victors obey the injunctions of the vanquished? Nay, it is custom which brings it to pass that the departed are granted that act of humanity. It is the same with the provision that no one shall lay hands on heralds, and that they alone enjoy complete security on their missions. Finally, from among those who transgress law, I believe that not one could be shown to have been punished openly by the gods; yet the Spartans, when they had transgressed the custom regarding heralds, having slain the heralds who came from the Great King, were punished by the divine power itself.

## THE SEVENTY-SEVENTH/EIGHTH DISCOURSE: ON ENVY

IN ENUMERATING THE eighty items which he found in his copy of Dio, Photius lists next in order after Or. 76 two speeches entitled περὶ φθόνου. Some support is given Photius in that connexion by our manuscripts, for UB place at the beginning of the document before us the heading περὶ φθόνου α, and, to introduce § 15, a second heading, περὶ φθόνου β, while PH have preserved for us only §§ 1‑14. These facts account for the double number attached to the present Discourse in editions of our author. How it came to be viewed as two separate documents is difficult to understand, for both parts deal with the same theme, the second part follows naturally upon the first, and there is no perceptible break between them. To be sure, dialogue predominates in the first part, while in the second there is almost unbroken exposition, but that is a phenomenon noticed in other specimens of Dio’s teaching.
Arnim assigns this Discourse to the period of Dio’s exile and regards it as a trustworthy and significant illustration of the way in which at that period he sometimes imparted instruction. The dialogue begins abruptly, the opening words revealing that the discussion is already under way. Almost immediately Dio’s partner calls attention to the presence of a large company of listeners, who might find a detailed discussion irksome. Dio counters by asking if they have not assembled for the express purpose of listening to “wise words and about wise words,” and he proceeds to test the sincerity of their interest by continuing the argument. But by the time we reach § 9 we find that — possibly because he has taken to heart the warning about his audience — he begins to abandon dialectic and to launch forth into rather continuous exposition. One is reminded of the Borysthenitic Discourse (Or. 36), in which we are told that a large crowd has assembled to hear their visitor, and Dio, after a preliminary skirmish with the young Callistratus, directs his further remarks to his audience at large. The setting of our present Discourse cannot be determined with precision, but that it was delivered in some large city may be inferred from § 8. Furthermore, the size of the audience and the reference (§ 15) to a discussion which had taken place the day preceding suggest that Dio had been in residence long enough to have attracted some attention.
The Seventy-seventh/eighth Discourse: On Envy
[77.1] Dio. Is it really for these and similar reasons that Hesiod came to be regarded as a wise man among the Greeks and by no means unworthy of that reputation, as being one who composed and chanted his poems, not by human art, but because he had held converse with the Muses and had become a pupil of those very beings? Whence it inevitably follows that whatever entered his mind he also expressed with both music and wisdom and in no instance without a purpose, as is clearly illustrated by the verse I have in mind.
[77.1b] Interlocutor. What verse?
[77.1c] Dio.
Both potter at potter doth rage and joiner at joiner.
[77.2] Int. Many other verses of Hesiod’s will be seen to have been well expressed about both men and gods, and, I may almost add, about more important matters than the sort just mentioned; yet here too, no doubt, he has expressed himself very truthfully as well as with experience of human nature.
[77.2b] Dio. Shall we, then, consider them more carefully?
[77.2c] Int. Why, how will so large a gathering bear with us if we discuss such matters?
[77.2d] Dio. Why not; have they not come to hear wise words and about wise words?
[77.2e] Int. They would say so, it seems to me.
[77.2f] Dio. But they do not regard Hesiod as commonplace and of small account, do they?
Int. By no means.
[77.2g] Dio. Well, is it not useful for them to hear about envy and jealousy, and who those are who are envious and jealous of one another, and for what reasons?
[77.2h] Int. Of course, most useful of all.
[77.3] Dio. Then it is useful also to test the patience of the gentlemen without delay. Well now, does Hesiod have any other reason for saying that these men of his are envious and ill-disposed toward one another than because each would make less profit from his occupation, whatever that occupation may be, if there were many of a similar occupation?
[77.3b] Int. Why, what other reason could it be?
Dio. Then, if it is profitable for a potter that there should be no other potter in the same city or village, is this not profitable for a butcher, to the end that he may have the opportunity to sell whatever kind of meat he has to those who need it, even if by chance he has bought a very lean or oldish carcass?
[77.4] Int. Evidently it is profitable for a butcher too.
[77.4b] Dio. Well then, is it not preferable for a dyer to ply his trade as a dyer all by himself rather than in competition with other craftsmen, so that he may be able to sell his dyes, of whatever quality they may be, to the women? For they will then be satisfied to buy dyes even slightly better than the kind than they are themselves accustomed to use for dyeing on their farms, dyes picked up at random, and they will not demand fast colours and royal purples.
[77.4c] Int. Of course they will not.
Dio. Well, how about a brothel-keeper? Is it not more profitable and better with a view to his earnings that he alone should have this reproach and alone be called vile names rather than in company with others, alike whether supporting and training that kind of cattle in the city or taking to the road and dragging his stock about to the congress at Thermopylae and to the other great festive gatherings as well?
[77.4d] Int. Indeed I am quite sure that the brothel-keeper would pray that fellow artists might be very scarce.
[77.5] Dio. Then, was it about all, that is, all who are engaged in the same line of business, that he was making an assumption so sweeping, believing that all are detrimental to one another and a hindrance in the gaining of their living?
[77.5b] Int. Yes, he meant all, most likely.
[77.6] Dio. Aye, it was not like him, I suppose, to take them up one by one. For certainly in other matters it is his custom to treat of the whole topic by means of one or two examples. For instance, when he says that a man would not even lose an ox except for the depravity of his neighbour, he surely does not mean that, while a bad neighbor would destroy an ox or condone the crime in others, he would not steal a sheep, provided he could escape detection, or one of the fine goats which yield abundant milk and bear twins; nay, manifestly he speaks to those who read his poems as to intelligent persons. [6] Are we, then, putting it concisely, to say that the poet, speaking thus briefly, refers to all who belong to the same craft as not loving one another and not benefiting one another?
[77.6b] Int. Most assuredly.
Dio. Well now, in Heaven’s name, is seafaring a craft, or would it receive that label in any degree less than the craft of the potter or of the butcher?
[77.6c] Int. Not less, I suppose.
Dio. Then in a large ship with many sails and a large cargo and a crowd of passengers would a single sailor be successful, and would it be to his advantage to have no other sailor on board, be his knowledge of nautical affairs either greater or less than his own; and, on the other hand, if there are many of them, will they be detrimental to one another and harmful, and on that account on a ship do the majority of the sailors hate each other?
[77.7] Int. This matter of the sailors is a different story. Yet at any rate a pilot, I fancy, would not enjoy seeing another pilot sailing with him.
[77.7b] Dio. When there is a violent storm and the pilot cannot control each of his two rudders because of old age or the violence of the sea, even at such a time does he not like another pilot or pray that the one to relieve him may make his appearance; or, again, when he needs to sleep, having been without sleep for many nights and days opening, even in such circumstances too does he feel the same hatred, and does he consider it his loss if a second pilot is on board?
[77.7c] Int. Perhaps he would not hate him then; how could he? Still, we are not speaking of a sailor’s craft or of nautical affairs either.
[77.8] Dio. Very well. The physician, at any rate, practises his healing art on land and has a profession not inferior to that of the joiners.
[77.8b] Int. Well, what of that?
Dio. Do you really suppose he would like to be the only one acquainted with his art in a city as large as this, particularly if many are ill?
[77.8c] Int. What is to prevent his wishing to be the only one? For though for everybody else the situation may be worse, since they cannot all be treated by a single physician, still his work is prized more highly under these conditions. Nor can one tell the amount and the number of the fees he might take in if he, single-handed in the midst of so many sick, were able to provide treatment.
[77.8d] Dio. But I am not speaking to you of a physician who is crazy.
[77.9] Int. What! Do you consider it the mark of insanity in a man to wish to be very highly prized and to amass great wealth?
[77.9b] Dio. Yes, if when he himself is a victim of lethargic fever or has an attack of inflammation of the brain he is delighted that he has no one to cure him and give him a potion of mandragora to drink or some other healthful drug, his purpose being, forsooth, to be the only one to get the fees and honours in the city. But if, then, besides himself, his children also and his wife and his friends should be ill, all dangerously ill, would he even then pray that no other physician be found to come to his rescue; and if one does make his appearance, is the physician likely, as Hesiod puts it, to rage and to regard as an enemy his own saviour and the saviour of those dearest to him?
[77.10] Again, suppose there should occur some such thing as once befell the Egyptian physicians. You see, they tried to cure Darius the Persian — for in falling from his horse his ankle bone happened to slip out of place — and they were unable by means of their own art to correct the injury, but, instead, they brought upon him insomnia and awful pains by pulling the joint and trying to force it into place. So Darius gave orders to keep these men in prison, intending that they should be tortured to death. But learning that among his captives there was a certain Greek who endeavoured to heal people, summoning him in desperation he ordered him to help him if he could. [11] Now the man was Democedes of Croton, who was considered the ablest of the Greek physicians of that day. And he did immediately cause him to fall asleep, and then by means of poultices and fomentations and so forth within a few days he made him sound and well. But when Darius bade him take as reward anything he pleased, he besought him to release the physicians. And, indeed, they were released, because Democedes had requested it. Now I ask you whether in such circumstances they were jealous of Democedes and regarded him as an enemy, as Hesiod says is true with the potters or the joiners, because they believed it to be to their advantage if no other physician turned up and cured the king, or whether they felt a strong affection for Democedes and were grateful to him.
[77.12] Int. It would be reasonable to suppose they were grateful.
[77.13] Dio. Again, there are corselet-makers in the cities and helmet-makers and wall-builders and spear-polishers and many others; whether, therefore, it is to their advantage that only one in each city should be a worker at each craft rather than enough to do the work is a matter I would gladly learn. For it is clear that, if enemies attack at a time when the walls have not been completed and not all the citizens have been equipped with arms, then they would be forced to hazard all without arms and walls. [13] Therefore, if the city were taken, though possibly these craftsmen might escape with their lives, still, taken captive and in chains, they would work for the foe without pay and at forced labour, all because previously they had lived pampered lives and sold their corselets and helmets and spears at an excessive price, and they would recognize that it was not right nor for their own good for a craftsman to be jealous or angry because of his craft, whether it was blacksmith against blacksmith or joiner against joiner, and that it was not more profitable or better for him to be the only worker at his craft than to have a few fellow workers.
[77.14] Well then, for the others, I dare say, what Hesiod says they desire is not always preferable, but only for the potters and butchers and dyers and brothel-keepers. Then jealousy and envy and the desire that no one else shall ply the same trade, whether it be that of the butcher or the dyer or the potter, are even still more suitable for the brothel-keepers than for physicians and pilots or for those who are engaged in any other more serious pursuit.
[77.14b] Very good. But if for pilots and physicians and those just mentioned it is not better to live where there is a shortage of their fellow craftsmen, can it be that for men of prudence and wisdom it is better and more profitable to find themselves without associates?
Int. By no means.
[77.15] Dio. Yes, because with the man of intelligence and benevolence, in addition to his being magnanimous and inoffensive, in addition to his knowing that virtue is beneficial to him, both his own virtue and that of his neighbours, and in addition to the unlikelihood that any one, even of the commoner sort, would ever be jealous one toward another regarding these things which are the common blessings of all mankind — in addition, I say to all this, of the other things which are the occasion of envy and reciprocal ill-will among the masses, not only does he not admire a single one, but he does not consider any to deserve serious regard, just as yesterday we were saying with reference to wealth. [16] Consequently, neither would he envy any one gold or silver or cattle or house or any other thing such as we were speaking of — as another poet says, not expressing his own private sentiment but expounding the opinion of mankind,
[77.15b] The things whereby men live at ease and gain
The epithet of affluent,
his idea being that they merely are called affluent, but are not truly so.
[77.17] Very well; then we are agreed, the high-minded, perfect man is above material wealth; but in the matter of reputation would he perhaps quarrel with and envy those whom he sees more highly honoured by the crowd and winning greater plaudits? or shall we say that he is not unaware that fame is the praise bestowed by the masses; but if the masses, evidently the unintelligent?
[77.18] Int. By no means is it likely that he is ignorant of that.
[77.19] Dio. Well then, do you believe that a good flautist takes pleasure in his skill and is proud when praised by unmusical and unskilled persons, and that, if youthful swineherds and shepherds crowding around him express their admiration and applaud him, he is elated over this thing itself and feels that praise from those persons is worth everything? Why, the Theban flautist made it plain that he did not pay very much attention either to the audience in the theatre or to the judges, inexperienced in flute-playing as they were — and that, too, although he was contending for a prize and victory — but for all that, he did not venture to depart even slightly from the proper rhythm, but he said that he was piping for himself and the Muses. What then! [19] Do you suppose that Orpheus, the son of the Muse — if the tale about him is true — would rejoice more when the birds flew down to him as he sang and the wild beasts were entranced by his voice and stood by tamely and quietly every time he began to make melody, and when, moreover, the trees came toward him with their fruit and flowers, and when the stones moved and came together, so that great cairns of stones were collected near him — do you suppose, I say, that at the sight of these doings he was delighted and proud, believing that he had reached the pinnacle of musical success, more than if his mother Calliopê had praised his playing the cithara and had stroked his head and said that he was fairly competent in music and very skilful in the fine points of his art? [20] I fancy he would rather be praised by Philammon for musical skill or by any one then living who was acquainted with the art of singing to the cithara, than by absolutely all the beasts and birds together; nay, even if the swans had uttered cries of praise and had accompanied him with their notes, he would not have given them a moment’s notice, because they did not possess skill, or even knowledge, about the art of making melody.
[77.21] Very good; what then? In the matter of health would the man of sound judgement desire to win the testimony and commendation of a single individual who is a skilled physician and conversant with care of the body, or, instead, that of countless thousands who have no understanding, who, as likely as not, on seeing him bloated with disease and swollen and ulcerous, would congratulate him as they would Pulydamas the Thessalian and Glaucus the Carystian, supposing him to be in prime condition? [21] Well, if as regards flute-playing and singing to the cithara and pre-eminence as a wrestler or a boxer the praise of experts above all others is sweetest to the ears of connoisseurs and worth the most serious attention, as regards wisdom and justice and virtue as a whole is the praise of fools and nobodies sufficient to cheer the heart of the man of sense and to satisfy his intelligence?
[77.22] Int. By no means.
Dio. Again, do you think that he who is acquainted with the joiner’s art, when he wants a piece of furniture to be made true and straight, after he has fitted his work together by applying one straight-edge and one gauge is happier and more confident of the accuracy of his work than if he had done the adjusting and the measuring with several different and uneven strips of wood?
[77.23] By Heaven, have you heard about the doings of an accomplished painter who had exhibited in public a painting of a horse, a wonderful work of art and true to life? [23] They say, you remember, that he ordered his servant to observe those who looked at it, to see if they found fault with it or praised it, and to remember what they said and report back to him. The story goes on to relate that every man of them had something different to say about the painting and criticized it, one, I imagine, finding fault with the head, another with the haunches, another with the legs, to the effect that, if these parts had been done so and so, the work would be much better. And when the painter heard what his servant had to report, he made another painting, which conformed with the judgement and conception of the crowd, and he gave orders to place it beside the earlier one. Now the difference between the two was great; for the one was quite true to life, while the other was extremely ugly and ludicrous and resembled anything at all rather than a horse.
[77.24] Clearly, therefore, if a person is going to be exceedingly anxious to win the praise of the crowd as well, believing that its praise or censure has more weight than his own judgement, his every act and wish will be aimed to show himself the sort of person that the crowd expects. And manifestly he will presently be very like, not that first horse, which was executed with sincerity and in harmony with one man’s conception of his art, but like that amazing product of multiple workmanship, not pleasing even to those men themselves, its creators, having been put together by the conception and workmanship of all the world!
[77.25] Just so the myth says of Pandora, that she was fashioned, not by a single one among the gods, but jointly by them all, one contributing one gift and adding it to the whole, another another, the form thus fashioned proving to be by no means wise or destined for a good end either, but, as it turned out, a heterogeneous and complicated plague to those who got her. But when a multitude of gods, yes, a democratic rabble, jointly creating and labouring at their task, proved unable by all their labour to turn out an excellent and faultless work, what would one say of that which is fashioned and created by human opinion, be it a way of life or a man? Evidently, then, if one is by nature really prudent, he would pay no heed at all to the talk of the masses, nor would he court their praise by any and every means, and consequently he will never regard this praise as important or valuable or, if I may say so, good. But not regarding it as a good, he will be incapable of viewing with malice on that account those who have it.
[77.26] Accordingly, so high-minded, sane, and chastened a man as the one we have in mind is not the sort that chases after riches and praise and Olympic or Pythian crowns, nor after letters carved on tablets of stone and written testimonials of communities and kings, with a view to being universally admired and conspicuous; instead, he journeys through life without ostentation and free from arrogance, so far as possible, humble and chastened by himself and by his own conscience, having no need of any extraneous adornment or adventitious honour, nor of trappings and plumes, like your cowardly hireling soldiers, who affect plumes and crests and Gorgons on their shields, who rattle their little lances and then take to their heels if some trifling danger overtakes them.
[77.27] Persons of this description are to be seen in large numbers among the would‑be great — condottieri of a sort, popular leaders, and sophists, in theatres or before their pupils or among the tents inside a camp, uttering loud boasts on occasions when they chance to be tipsy at mid‑day,
[77.27b] That each will be a match for one, yes, two
Full companies of Trojan men;
yet these same persons, if a single human being runs at them and offers to give chase, will be seen to flee in utter rout, the pack of them not showing themselves a match for that lone man.
[77.28] Nay more; as for certain pleasures of food or drink or fornication, or as for a woman’s beauty or the bloom of a boy, he would not, through having become infatuated with these things and lusting after them and counting them important, deem fortunate those who get them — satraps and princes and, forsooth, vulgarians and flunkies who have become wealthy, the former by the practice of their craft, the latter by filching their masters’s property — nor would he pity himself for his poverty and for his lack of these good things and look upon himself as not one of the fortunate class; nor would he on this account envy the persons whom I have named, plot against them in every way, and pray for their ruin.
[77.29] Or shall we go so far as to acknowledge that our noble, or magnanimous man is in no better ease than dogs and horses and the other beasts, which cannot contain themselves when the other beasts are stuffing their bellies or copulating, but are resentful and indignant and enraged against those which are enjoying themselves, and are ready to pounce upon and bite and butt and to wage all manner of warfare against each other for the enjoyment of these pleasures; shall we say that any of these pleasures is of real importance, and that he regards Sardanapalus as one to be envied, who declared that he spent his life in feasting and in playing the wanton with eunuchs and women, and shall we say that on this account he envies the happiness of goats and asses?
[77.30] Int. Why, it would perhaps be even impious ever to entertain such thoughts concerning the temperate man of cultivation.
[77.31] Dio. Well then, if neither fame nor wealth nor pleasures of eating or drinking or copulation lead him to regard himself or any one else as fortunate or to suppose that any such thing at all is worth fighting over or valuable, he would not wrangle over them or begrudge any one those things any more than he would begrudge those who dwell near the sea either the sand upon the beaches or the roar and reverberation of the waves; [31] nay, not even if gold of its own accord were to fall from the sky and fill the fold of his garment, just as they say that once upon a time, when Danaë was being closely guarded in a bronze chamber, gold suddenly rained down upon her from above, drawn by her beauty; nay, not even if a torrent were to come from somewhere, sweeping down to him a flood of gold in a mass like mud, as, I believe, it is said that to Croesus in days of old the Pactolus, making its way through the midst of Sardis, brought ready wealth, a larger revenue and tribute than all Phrygia and Lydia, yes, and the Maeonians and Mysians and all who occupy the land this side the Halys River, brought him.
[77.32] Nay, not even the man who received from Croesus that famous gift did either Solon or any other of the wise men of that day envy, Alcmaeon, whom they say the Lydian allowed to open his treasuries and carry off on his own person as much of the gold as he wished. And yet, so the story runs, he entered in and set to work right manfully to load himself with the king’s bounty, girding about him a long, trailing tunic and filling its womanish, deep fold and the huge, capacious boots which he had put on for that express purpose and finally, after sprinkling the gold dust in his hair and beard and stuffing with it his cheeks and mouth, with difficulty he came walking out, the very image of a piper piping the birth-pangs of Semelê, thereby presenting a ludicrous spectacle for Croesus and his Lydians. [33] Moreover, at that moment Alcmaeon was not worth a single drachma, standing there in that condition.
[77.32b] So, as I was saying, our man of prudence would not be moved to envy, either by these things or if he were to see a man admired and extolled by ten or twenty thousand human beings, or, if you please, applauded and bedecked with ribbons, arching his neck and prancing like a horse exulting in a victory, escorted by more people than the crowds which escort a bride and groom; on the contrary, he might himself be more inglorious than the beggars, more destitute than the wretches who lie prostrate in the streets, held worthy of no consideration at all by anybody — just as they say was true of the Megarians once on a time — because of his inability to court favour or to be agreeable in converse, being austere by nature and a friend of truth, making no secret of his thoughts; still, not even so will he behave like the potters and joiners and bards, nor will he ever be warped through want or dishonour or change his own character, becoming a toady and cheat instead of noble and truthful.
[77.34] And yet why on earth do some of the prosperous wish to be courted by persons who claim to be free men, and why do they wish the so‑called philosophers to be seen at their doors, humble and unhonoured, just as, so help me, Circê wished her dwelling to be guarded by lions that were timid and cringing? Nay, it was not even real lions that guarded her, but wretched, foolish human beings, who had been corrupted by luxury and idleness. [35] Therefore, whenever any one beholds one of the so‑called philosophers fawning about the courtyards and vestibules and grovelling, it is fitting to recall those lions of Circê’s, which resembled hungry, cowardly curs, howling most shrilly, since they had been perverted by sorcery.
[77.36] Nay, to such a desire as I have mentioned I know not what name to give. For there are thousands who willingly, yes, very eagerly, cultivate the rich and influential, and all the world is full of flatterers, who ply that calling with both experience and skill. [36] Therefore it is not for lack of this line of goods that men seek to obtain it from persons of good breeding; rather this is like another enterprise of the very dissolute, who, although there are women in abundance, through wantonness and lawlessness wish to have females produced for them from males, and so they take boys and emasculate them. And thus a far worse and more unfortunate breed is created, weaker than the female and more effeminate.
[77.37] But he who in very truth is manly and high-minded would never submit to any such things, nor would he sacrifice his own liberty and his freedom of speech for the sake of any dishonourable payment of either power or riches, nor would he envy those who change their form and apparel for such rewards; on the contrary, he would think such persons to be comparable to those who change from human beings into snakes or other animals, not envying them, nor yet carping at them because of their wantonness, but rather bewailing and pitying them when they, like the boys, with an eye to gifts have their hair cut off, and grey hair at that! [38] But as for himself, the man of whom I speak will strive to preserve his individuality in seemly fashion and with steadfastness, never deserting his post of duty, but always honouring and promoting virtue and sobriety and trying to lead all men thereto, partly by persuading and exhorting, partly by abusing and reproaching, in the hope that he may thereby rescue somebody from folly and from low desires and intemperance and soft living, taking them aside privately one by one and also admonishing them in groups every time he finds the opportunity,
[77.37b] With gentle words at time, at others harsh,
[77.39] until, methinks, he shall have spent his life in caring for human beings, not cattle or horses or camels and houses, sound in words and sound in deeds, a safe travelling companion for any one to have on land or sea and a good omen for men to behold when offering sacrifice, not arousing strife or greed or contentions and jealousies and base desires for gain, but reminding men of sobriety and righteousness and promoting concord, but as for insatiate greed and shamelessness and moral weakness, expelling them as best he can — in short, a person far more sacred than the bearers of a truce or the heralds who in times of war come bringing an armistice.
[77.40] Therefore he wishes, yes, is eager, in so far as he can, to aid all men; though sometimes he is defeated by other men and other practices and has little or no power at all. Finally, he purges his own mind by the aid of reason and tries to render it exempt from slavery, fighting in defence of freedom a much more stubborn battle against lusts and opinions and all mankind, aided by the few who wish to help him, than once the Spartans fought when, having seized the pass, they gave battle to all the hordes from Asia, few though those Spartans were, for three nights and days in succession until, having been enveloped through one man’s treachery, they stood their ground and were hacked to pieces. [41] Moreover, he trains his body, inuring it to labour with all his might, not allowing it to become enervated by baths and ointments and perfumes until it becomes too soft and as unsound as a bad vessel. But some who see him say that he follows these practices out of foolishness and stupidity, having neglected the opportunity to be rich, to be honoured, and to life a life of continual pleasure, and they scorn him, think him insane, and esteem him lightly. [42] Yet he is not enraged at them or vexed; on the contrary, I believe he is kinder to each one than even a father or brothers or friends. And in fact, though he shows respect for his own fellow citizens and friends and kinsmen, still he does not hide his thoughts from them — all the more so because he believes them to be closer to him than all others through home ties and relationship — stressing his words as much as possible and increasing the vehemence of his admonition and exhortation for himself and them alike.
[77.43] Take, for example, the physician; if he should find it necessary to treat father or mother or his children when they are ill, or even himself through scarcity or lack of other physicians, in case he should need to employ surgery or cautery, he would not, because he loves his children and respects his father and his mother, for that reason cut with a duller knife or cauterize with milder fire, but, on the contrary, he would use the most potent and vigorous treatment possible. [44] For example, they say of Heracles, that when he was unable to heal his body, which had become the victim of a dread malady, he called his sons first of all and ordered them to set fire to him with the most brilliant flame; but when they were reluctant and shrank from the ordeal, he abused them as weaklings and unworthy of him and more like their mother, saying, in the words of the poet,
[77.45] Whither away, ye cravens and disgrace
To my engendering, ye likenesses
Of her, your mother, whom Aetolia bore?
Therefore toward oneself first of all, and all toward one’s nearest and dearest, one must behave with fullest frankness and independence, showing no reluctance or yielding in one’s words. For far worse than a corrupt and diseased body is a soul which is corrupt, not, I swear, because of salves or potions or some consuming poison, but rather because of ignorance and depravity and insolence, yes, and jealousy and grief and unnumbered desires. This disease and ailment is more grievous than that of Heracles and requires a far greater and more flaming cautery; and to this healing and release one must summon without demur father or son, kinsman or outsider, citizen or alien.

## THE SEVENTY-NINTH DISCOURSE: ON WEALTH

THE TITLE OF this Discourse as preserved in Parisinus 2985 is περὶ πλούτου τῶν ἐν Κιλικίᾳ, but the other manuscripts give merely περὶ πλούτου. What is the explanation of the additional phrase contained in the Paris manuscript? Cilicia is not named in the document before us, and a careful scrutiny of the speech fails to reveal any clear clue to the place of its delivery. One may reasonably infer from the choice of subject that Dio was addressing an audience in some wealthy city. His opening sentence might suggest Rome as the setting, but, were that the case, one may question whether he would have identified himself with his hearers as he does in § 5. The logical conclusion would seem to be that the scribe of the Paris manuscript has preserved for us a genuine tradition, based upon some memorandum left by the author, or else, possibly, upon the circumstances attending the discovery of the speech by his editor.
Assuming the accuracy of the title referred to, one would naturally think of Tarsus as the city in which Dio was speaking, for two of the speeches in our collection were certainly delivered in that city (33 and 34), and Dio calls Tarsus “the greatest of all the cities of Cilicia and a metropolis from the outset” (Or. 34.7).
The argument of our Discourse is, in brief, that wealth confers upon its owners no desirable distinction, possesses no real utility, is transitory in nature, and leads to vulgar extravagance, in the course of which Celts, Indians, Iberians, Arabs, and Babylonians “take tribute” from the stupid and self-indulgent persons who covet their exotic products. That for which a city really merits commendation and congratulation is the excellence of its laws, the probity of its citizens, and the moderation of its rulers.
The Seventy-ninth Discourse: On Wealth
[79.1] Come now, in Heaven’s name do tell me: on what account above all is it fitting to admire, yes, to feel proud of and to congratulate, a city which is the greatest and most powerful of all? Is it for excellence of laws, for probity of citizens, and for moderation of its rulers; or are these things trifles and worthless and easy to come by for ordinary people, and is it rather for multitude of inhabitants, lavishness of market-place, and sumptuousness of its edifices that one should congratulate it, for its Syrian and Babylonian fabrics, and because its citizens roof their houses with gold and the whole place teems with silver and amber and ivory, like the palaces of Alcinoüs and Menelaüs which Homer has described — overstepping the reality and the possibility too, one may venture to suggest — the city, I mean, having been equipped throughout in that fashion? Would it be, in Heaven’s name, for its paintings and its statues, none of which had been of any service to their former owners; on the contrary, those from whom these things were obtained would be found to be slaves, of low estate, and poor?
[79.2] For example, if there were any utility in bronze well blended and in mixing-bowls and altars and censers of cunning workmanship, the Corinthians’ city would have been prosperous and have long maintained its existence as a state, safeguarding its own settlers and citizens. And again, if there were utility in beautifully coloured and variegated marbles, the same statement could be made about the cities of Teos and Carystus, as well as about certain Egyptian and Phrygian cities in whose vicinity the mountains are of variegated stone — in fact, I hear that among their sarcophagi the very ancient ones are of this same rock — yet, for all that, they are no better or more fortunate than any of the very lowly and pitiful cities.
[79.3] Furthermore, if it were advantageous to possess gold, there was nothing to prevent the Ethiopians of the interior from being deemed most fortunate, for in their land gold is less highly prized than lead is with us, and it is said that in that region the criminals have been bound with heavy fetters of gold, yet they are none the less prisoners and depraved and evildoers. But to congratulate the wealthy and men of great riches, when in all other respects they are no better than very ordinary folk, is as if, on seeing the prisoners of Ethiopia emerge from their prison, one were to envy them and judge the most fortunate of all to be the one with the heaviest fetters.
[79.4] Again, if ivory is a marvellous possession and worth fighting for, the Indians are of all men most blest and pre-eminent by far, for in their land the bones of the elephants are tossed aside and no one troubles to go near them, just as in our land the bones of cattle and of asses are treated; they even say that in many places the skulls of the elephants, tusks and all, are built into their house walls. But what should we say of the Celts, in whose country, according to report, a certain river carries the amber down with its waters and the amber is found in abundance everywhere by the river banks, cast ashore like the pebbles on the beaches in our country? Indeed, in days gone by their children at play used to toss it about, though now they too collect and treasure it, having learned from us how fortunate they are.
[79.5] Are you aware that all these peoples — the Celts, Indians, Iberians, Arabs, and Babylonians — exact tribute from us, not from our land or from our flocks and herds, but from our own folly? For if, when by force of arms any people get the upper hand and compel the vanquished to pay them silver, this is called tribute, and it is a sign that people are not very fortunate or brave if they pay tribute to others, then is it not true that if, though no one has attacked or compelled them, but because of stupidity and self-indulgence, a certain people take that which they prize most highly, silver, and of their own volition send it over a long road and across a vast expanse of sea to those who cannot easily even set foot upon our soil, such conduct is altogether more cowardly and disgraceful? [6] Except for one thing, that to offer tiny, fragile pebbles and, forsooth, bones of wild beasts when they take our silver and gold, exchanging useless things for useful! But I am often most astonished when I reflect that the Medes were well content, yes, delighted at having got the Syrian riches, and the Persians in turn at having got that of the Medes, and the Macedonians that of the Persians, and that they thought they had at last become Fortune’s darlings and were more prosperous at the moment when they had in their possession what once had belonged to those wretched and unfortunate peoples.
[79.5b] But these words I have spoken, not in a spirit of idle folly, but because such goods, on the possession of which they have set their hearts and for which most men admire those who have acquired them, are good for nothing, nay, are not worth a single drachma when lumped together; nor can human beings ever become fortunate if ignorant and empty-headed, not even if they make the park at Susa their dwelling-place, a park which was, we are told, wholly up in the air.

## THE EIGHTIETH DISCOURSE: ON FREEDOM

CONDITIONS SURROUNDING THE Greek title of this Discourse are the opposite of those noted in connexion with that of the one preceding, for in the present instance all manuscripts except Parisinus 2985 add the phrase τῶν ἐν Κιλικίᾳ. What was said in the Introduction to Or. regarding the problem presented by that phrase is equally appropriate here, for once more we get no clue to the place of delivery.
The freedom which the speaker has chosen as his theme is the freedom which characterizes himself, the philosopher — freedom to come and go as suits his fancy, freedom from the anxieties and inconveniencies that harass mankind at large, freedom from the temptations which assail seekers after riches or fame or self-indulgence. Such freedom belongs to him who leads the simple life, obedient to the ordinances of Zeus rather than to those of some imperfect, earthly law-giver. This creed is abundantly fortified with illustrations drawn from Greek myth and history.
The Eightieth Discourse: On Freedom
[80.1] You perhaps are surprised and consider it past all belief and a mark of one who is by no means of sound judgement if a person abandons all that most men view with serious regard and, as one might say, permits riches and fame and pleasures to drift downstream but goes about as neither farmer nor trader nor soldier nor general, nor as shoemaker or builder or physician or orator, nor as one engaged in any other customary occupation, but, on the other hand, comes and goes in this strange fashion and puts in an appearance in places where he has no business at all but rather where chance and impulse may lead him. [2] Council chambers and theatres and assemblies he has held in light esteem, and yet he conducts a popular assembly all by himself; the spectacles which attract his gaze are not dancers or singers or boxers or wrestlers, but buyers and strollers and talkers and fighters; sometimes all these receive his very strict attention, and he derives from them much more enjoyment than do boys at athletic contests and theatrical performances, although he does not come ahead of time or keep awake all night to get a seat or get crushed by the crowd; at other times on the contrary, he neither hears nor sees any single one of them, but ignores their existence, thinking of anything that suits his fancy and acting without fear.
[80.3] As for myself, however, I regard it as a splendid and blessed state of being, if in the midst of slaves one can be a free man and in the midst of subjects be independent. To attain this state many wars were waged by the Lydians against the Phrygians and by the Phrygians against the Lydians, and many, too, by both Ionians and Dorians and, in fact, by all peoples, yet no one has ever, because he was enamoured of independence in the spiritual sense, undertaken to use his own personal laws; instead they all wrangle over the laws of Solon and Draco and Numa and Zaleucus, bent on following the one code but not the other, though, on the other hand, not even one of these law-givers had framed the sort of laws he should. Why, Solon himself, according to report, declared that he was proposing for the Athenians, not what satisfied himself, but rather what he assumed they would accept.
[80.4] Evidently, therefore, he composed bad laws, if indeed he composed the laws which would satisfy bad men; but, for all that, even Solon himself used these laws, bad as they were and not satisfactory to himself. Clearly, then, not one of these law-givers had any claim to independence, nor did they exert themselves or wage war for the purpose of being free; on the contrary, after they had gathered within the compass of their city walls slavery without bound or limit, thereupon with ramparts and towers and missiles they tried to protect themselves against the chance that slavery might make its entry among them from without, just as if, when a ship’s seams have opened up and the hold is already taking water, one were to take measures of prevention and be concerned lest perchance the sea might sweep over from above. Accordingly, just as it is said that the Trojans for Helen’s sake endured siege and death, although she was not at Troy but in Egypt, just so has it been with these men — in behalf of their freedom they fought and struggled, when all the while they had no freedom.
[80.5] Yet not only did these men of old profess to be enduring all things in defence of the laws, but even now men say that justice resides in whatever laws they themselves, luckless creatures that they are, may frame or else inherit from others like themselves. But the law which is true and binding and plain to behold they neither see nor make a guide for their life. So at noon, as it were, beneath the blazing sun, they go about with torches and flambeaux in their hands, ignoring the light of heaven but following smoke if it shows even a slight glint of fire. Thus, while the law of nature is abandoned and eclipsed with you, poor unfortunates that you are, tablets and statute books and slabs of stone with their fruitless symbols are treasured by you.
[80.6] Again, while the ordinance of Zeus you transgressed long ago, the ordinance of this man or of that you make it your aim that no man shall transgress. Moreover, the curse which the Athenians established in connexion with Solon’s laws against all who should attempt to destroy them you fail to see is more valid touching the laws of Zeus, for it is wholly inevitable that he who attempts to nullify the ordinance of Zeus shall be an outlaw — except that in this instance children and kinsmen of the guilty are not included in the punishment, as they were at Athens; instead, each is held accountable for his own misfortune. Whoever, therefore, tries to rescue this ordinance as best he can and to guard his own conduct I for my part would never say is lacking in judgement.
[80.7] But much more do I marvel at and pity you for the grievous and unlawful slavery under whose yoke you have placed your necks, for you have thrown about you not merely one set of fetters or two but thousands, fetters by which you are throttled and oppressed much more than are those who drag themselves along in chains and halters and shackles. For they have the chance of release or of breaking their bonds and fleeing, but you are always strengthening your bonds and making them more numerous and stronger. Moreover, merely because you do not see your bonds, do not think that these words of mine are false and untrustworthy; nay, consider Homer — who in your estimation is wisest of all — and what kind of bonds he says made Ares captive,
[80.8] Although the fleetest of the gods who hold
Olympus, bonds like filmy spider-webs,
Which no man e’en could see.
Then, think not that Ares, god that he was and mighty, was made captive by bonds so delicate and invisible withal, and yet that you yourselves, of all creatures the weakest, could never be made captive by means of bonds that are invisible but only by such as have been well made of steel and brass. Your bodies, to be sure, being solid and for the most part composed of earth, require bonds of that kind to master them; but since soul is invisible and delicate by nature, why might it not get bonds of like description? But you have made for yourselves stubborn, adamantine bonds, contriving them by any and every means, surpassing even Daedalus himself in your craft and in your eagerness to insure that every particle of your soul shall have been fettered and none of it be free or independent. [9] For what were the dungeon of the Cnossians and the crooked windings of the Labyrinth compared to the crookedness and the intricacy of folly? What was the Sicilian prison of the Athenian captives, who were cast into a sort of rocky pit? What was the Ceadas of the Spartans, or the ash-filled room that the Persians had, or, by Zeus, what were the cruel fathers of certain maidens, who, as the poets tell us,
[80.10] Immured them in prison cells of encircling bronze?
But, methinks, I too am no longer acting sensibly in giving more space in my remarks to the misfortunes of mankind than to the disgraceful, odious slavery in which you all have been enslaved, a slavery from which men cannot escape by providing themselves with fine threads by the aid of a foolish maiden, as the famous Theseus is said to have escaped in safety from Crete — at least, I fancy, not unless Athena herself were to lend her aid and join in the rescue. [10] For if I should wish to name all the prisons and the bonds of witless, wretched human beings by means of which you have made yourselves prisoners, possibly you would think me an exceedingly disagreeable and sorry poet for composing tragedies on your own misfortunes. For it is not merely with bonds such as confine those whom you consider criminals — bonds about neck and arms and legs — but with a special bond for the belly and for each of the other parts that they have been made captive, and with a constraint which is both varied and complex; moreover, I believe that any one who had seen the spectacle would have been delighted by it and would exceedingly admire the conceit.
[80.11] For first, I fancy, there comes to each a mistress who is in other respects harsh and ill-disposed and treacherous, but in appearance cheerful and with a smile for all,
[80.12] A smile of portent grim,
and in her hands she bears fetters to match her nature, flowery and soft at first glance, such as those with which one might expect that kings or tyrants have been bound; yet nothing is more grievous than these bonds, nothing clings more closely and exerts more pressure. [12] After her there comes a second, bearing a sort of collar of gold or silver. Having put this about their necks, she drags men in private station around every land and sea, yes, and kings as well, according to Hesiod, and she drags generals of cities to the gates, so as to open them and act the traitor. And yet she professes to be solicitous for these whom she destroys, and to be making them happy — just as once upon a time Cyrus bound Astyages with golden fetters, as being, evidently, solicitous for his grandfather!
[80.13] But it would be a huge undertaking to enumerate all the varieties of the fetters. Still, one variety deserves not to be overlooked, the most amazing of them all and the most complicated, one carried by the harshest mistress, a combination of gold and silver and all sorts of stones and pebbles and horns and tusks and shells of animals and, furthermore, purple dyes and countless other things, a sort of costly, marvellous necklace which she had contrived, imitating in it many patterns and forms — crowns and sceptres and diadems and lofty thrones — just as the over-subtle craftsmen in fashioning certain couches or doors or ceilings of houses contrive to make them appear something different from what they are; I mean, for example, making bosses on doors resemble heads of animals, and likewise with bosses on columns. [14] And, furthermore, in this collar are found noise and sound of every kind, both of clapping hands and of clucking tongues. So this collar, in turn, is placed about the necks of both demagogues and kings. But let us not ourselves be carried along too far by our simile, as if actually following a word-phantom, as Homer caused Achilles to go a long way off in following the phantom of Agenor. This will suffice.

## Encomium on Hair

Synesius’ Encomium on Baldness: Dio of the golden tongue has composed a discourse entitled An Encomium on Hair, which is a work of such brilliance that the inevitable result of the speech is to make a bald man feel ashamed. For the speech joins forces with nature; and by nature we all desire to be beautiful, an ambition whose realization is greatly assisted by the hair to which from boyhood nature has accustomed us. In my own case, for example, even when the dreadful plague was just beginning and a hair fell off, I was smitten to my inmost heart, and when the attack was pressed with greater vigour, hair after hair dropping out, and ultimately even two or three together, and the war was being waged with fury, my head becoming utterly ravaged, then indeed I thought myself to be the victim of more grievous injury than the Athenians suffered at the hands of Archidamus when he cut down the trees of the Acharnians, and presently, without my so intending, I was turned into a Euboean, one of the tribe which the poet marshalled against Troy “with flowing locks behind.”
At this stage what god, what spirit, did I pass by without arraignment? I even set myself to composing a eulogy of Epicurus, not that I held the same views about the gods as he, but rather because I aimed to make them smart for it to the best of my poor powers. For I said, “Where are the tokens of their providence in treating the individual contrary to his deserts? For what crime of mine dooms me to appear less comely in women’s eyes? It is nothing terrible if I am to appear so to the women of the neighbourhood — for so far as love is concerned I might with fullest justice lay claim to the prize for continence, even against Bellerophon — but even a mother, yes, even sisters, I am told, attach some importance to the beauty of their men. And Parysatis made this plain by growing cold toward Artaxerxes who was king because of Cyrus who was beautiful.”
Thus, then, I cried aloud in indignation, and I made no light matter of my misfortune. But when time had made it more familiar and reason, too, entering as contender, rose up to give battle against my suffering, and when little by little that suffering was yielding ground, then at last for these reasons I was more at ease and beginning to recover; but now this very Dio has caused the flood of my distress to flow afresh, and it has returned to attack me in company with an advocate. But against two adversaries, as the saying is, not even Heracles could contend, since when the Molionidae fell upon him from ambush he did not endure the attack. Nay, even in his struggle with the Hydra, though for a time they were locked in single combat, yet when the crab came to her aid Heracles might even have cried quits, had he not enlisted Iolaüs against them as ally. I too, methinks, have had much the same experience at the hands of Dio, though I have no nephew Iolaüs. Once more, therefore, quite forgetful of myself and my reasonings, I am composing laments, mourning my lost head of hair.
But since you are the most excellent of bald-heads and are apparently a man of mettle, seeing that you do not even give a thought to your misfortune but, when pease porridge has been served and an inspection of foreheads is in progress, even call attention to yourself, as if priding yourself, forsooth, upon some blessing, therefore endure with patience Dio’s discourse and, as the saying goes, keep your heart in obedience, just as Odysseus when confronted with the misconduct of the women remained undaunted; so do you too endeavour to be undismayed by Dio. Ah, but you couldn’t. What’s that you say? You will indeed be able? Well then, listen. But there is no need to unroll the parchment; instead I will recite the speech myself. For in fact it does not contain many lines; yet it is a polished composition, and its beauty lingers in my memory, so that not even if I wished to do so could I forget.
Dio’s Encomium on Hair:º “Having arisen at dawn and having addressed the gods, as is my wont, I proceeded to attend to my hair; for in truth my health, as it happened, was rather feeble and my hair had been too long neglected. At any rate, most of it had become quite matted and tangled, as happens with the knots of wool that dangle about the legs of sheep — though these, of course, are far more stubborn, having been twisted together out of strands that are finer.
“Well, my hair was a wild and grievous sight to behold, and it was proving difficult to get it loosened up, and most of it threatened to tear out and resisted my efforts. Accordingly it occurred to me to praise the hair-lovers, who, being beauty-lovers and prizing their locks most of all, attend to them in no casual manner, but keep a sort of reed always in the hair itself, wherewith they comb it whenever they are at leisure; moreover — the most unpleasant thing of all — while sleeping on the ground they are careful never to let their hair touch the earth, placing a small prop of wood beneath their head so as to keep it as far as possible from the earth, and they are more concerned to keep their hair clean than they are to enjoy sweet sleep. The reason, it would seem, is that hair makes them both beautiful and at the same time terrifying, while sleep, however sweet it be, makes them both sluggish and devoid of caution.
“And it seems to me that the Spartans, too, do not disregard a matter of such importance, for on that memorable occasion, on their arrival before the great and terrible battle, at a time when they alone among the Greeks were to withstand the attack of the Great King, three hundred in number as they were, they sat down and dressed their locks. And Homer, too, methinks, believed that sort of thing deserved fullest attention. At least he does not often praise his beauties for their eyes, nor does he think that by so doing he will best set forth their beauty. Accordingly, he praises the eyes of none of his heroes except Agamemnon, just as he praises the rest of his body also; moreover, he applies the term ‘flashing-eyed,’ not to the Greeks alone, but just as much to Agamemnon himself, using the epithet common to the Greeks in general; on the other hand, he praises everybody for his hair. First of all take Achilles, of whom he says,
She seized Peleides by his flaxen hair,
then Menelaüs, whom he calls ‘blonde’ for his hair. And Hector’s hair he mentions in these words,
And all about his blue-black tresses swept.
Indeed, on the death of Euphorbus, the most beautiful of the Trojans, Homer mourned nothing else of his, for he said,
His locks, so like the Graces’, were wet with blood,
His braids with gold and silver tightly claspt.
The same is true of Odysseus, when the poet wishes to exhibit him rendered beautiful by Athena; at any rate he says,
Blue-black his locks had grown.
And again of the same person,
Down from his head she caused the curly locks
To fall, like bloom of hyacinth.
“Moreover, the adornment afforded by the hair, to judge by Homer, seems to be more suited to the men than to the women. At any rate, when descanting on feminine beauty, he is not found to mention hair so often; for even with the gods he praises the female deities in different fashion — for it is ‘golden Aphroditê’ and ‘great-eyed Hera’ and ‘Thetis of the silver feet’ — but with Zeus he praises most of all his hair:
And toward her streamed the god’s ambrosial locks.”
There you have the words of Dio.

## Fragments

SAYINGS
DOMESTIC AFFAIRS
MISCELLANEOUS
LETTERS
1. TO RUFUS
2. TO RUFUS
3. TO EUSEBIUS
4. TO THE SAME
5. TO SABINIANUS

## SAYINGS

A SPARTAN woman, when her son had been lamed on the field of battle and was chafing on that account, remarked, “Grieve not, my child, for at every step you will be reminded of your own valour.”
“Reproof,” Diogenes was wont to say, “is another’s blessing.”
One of the youths who were disciples of Diogenes, when questioned by him, remained silent. But Diogenes remarked, “Do you not believe that it is to be expected of the same man that he should know, not only what he should say and when, but also what he should refrain from saying and before whom?”

## DOMESTIC AFFAIRS

WE SHALL begin with that which especially benefits a household; and that would be reproof of slander, for slander is the most painful of all evils and the most insidious.
Therefore one ought to act the master with moderation and permit any who so desire to relax at times. For intervals of relaxation are preparatory for labours — both bow and lyre and men as well are at their best through relaxation.
But wifely piety is love of husband.
But laughter which is continuous and boisterous is worse than anger; therefore it abounds especially among courtesans and the more foolish of children. As for myself, I hold that a face is adorned by tears more than by laughter. For with tears as a rule there is associated some profitable lesson, but with laughter licence. Moreover, by tears no one gives encouragement to a licentious person, whereas by laughter one fosters his expectations.
For great humiliation is the engendering of self-control.
For while the begetting of offspring is an act of necessity, their rearing is an act of love.

## MISCELLANEOUS

SURELY IT is shocking to importune the gods and yet be unwilling ourselves to do the things which by the gods’ decree are in our power.
Expectation of dangers exempts from dangers him who expects them, since his affairs are made secure beforehand by reason of his anticipation of the difficulties.
For though wickedness, when incipient, might possibly be checked by repression, when chronic and established as a thing to which we have grown accustomed, it cannot, they say, be checked through penalties.

## LETTERS

FIVE LETTERS INCLUDED by Hercher in his Epistolographi Graeci, page 259, have been associated with the name of Dio. Their contents afford no sure clue as to authorship, but there seems to be no good reason for refusing to attribute them to Dio. The Rufus to whom the first two are addressed may have been the Musonius Rufus who was the only philosopher at Rome to escape the wrath of Vespasian in the expulsions of A.D. 71. In a writing no longer extant, πρὸς Μουσώνιον, Dio seems to have made him the recipient of a violent attack upon the philosophers of that day, but if the unstinted recommendation of an unnamed philosopher bestowed by Dio in his Rhodian Discourse (§ 122) refers to Musonius, as is generally believed, Dio clearly either had never borne him any malice or else had repented of it. It may very well be that friendship for Musonius was at least partially responsible for Dio’s conversion to philosophy. As for the identity of the persons to whom the other letters are addressed, it seems idle to speculate, since neither the letters themselves nor any external evidence affords a clue.

## 1. TO RUFUS

THE BEARER OF the letter I introduce to you as a man who, though in trouble because of an adversary’s contentiousness, does not himself wish to make trouble for his friends. Moreover, in all other respects as well he is the kind of man you would approve — moderate and reasonable; as for his birth and social standing, I think you need not even inquire, for he has those requisites to commend him also.

## 2. TO RUFUS

YOU ALREADY ARE acquainted with my good friend Herennius, though not yet sufficiently, not to the extent that I desire. In fact, I could not even now, perhaps, tell all his attributes. This much, however, it is fitting that I myself should testify: not only has he been a friend of mine for some time, but also he has stood the test of time. Besides, though he had been a devoted student of the art of public speaking previously, now he has actually surpassed himself. For in truth he is an excellent orator, but he might become still better through association with you and through your guidance. But though you do many favours in many matters, you would favour me especially if you would consider Herennius, too, a friend of yours.

## 3. TO EUSEBIUS

IFANCY THAT I am beholding your very presence when I read the letters you send me, and so if you were to write me more often, I should be least vexed at your absence.

## 4. TO THE SAME

THE MISFORTUNES WHICH have befallen Dracontius are, to be sure, painful and evil in the extreme, as every one would admit, and yet they are such as mankind is subject to and as have ere now befallen many. Wherefore he must be steadfast in those tribulations and endure them with set purpose. For even if conditions should be otherwise, even if he should be exceedingly overcome by his experience, he must maintain a correct view regarding the facts, lest he be thought to have come through his misfortunes most nobly and yet not be most nobly minded regarding the living.

## 5. TO SABINIANUS

NOT BECAUSE OF reluctance to write or because of any disdain have I hitherto kept silence. And I would agree with you that I am the wickedest of mortals if, after having cultivated eloquence as an art, I refused to write a letter and, instead, neglected a friend with whom I had joined in song and dance in honour of the Muses and with whom I had been initiated into all the religious rites of greatest sanctity among the Greeks.