Moralia, Part I (Books I–II) — Plutarch
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Translation/edition: F. C. Babbitt; three essays from the Goodwin edition
Language: English
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## On the education of children

[De lib. educ. 1] 1 1 1 Let us consider what may be said of the education of free-born children, and what advantages they should enjoy to give them a sound character when they grow up.
[De lib. educ. 2] 2 1 It is perhaps better to begin with their parentage first; and I should advise those desirous of becoming fathers of notable offspring to abstain from random cohabitation with women; I mean with such women as courtesans and concubines. For those who are not well-born, whether on the father’s or the mother’s side, have an indelible disgrace in their low birth, which accompanies them throughout their lives, and offers to anyone desiring to use it a ready subject of reproach and insult. Wise was the poet who declares:
[De lib. educ. 2b] The home’s foundation being wrongly laid,
The offspring needs must be unfortunate.
[De lib. educ. 2c] A goodly treasure, then, is honourable birth, and such a man may speak his mind freely, a thing which should be held of the highest account by those who wish to have issue lawfully begotten. In the nature of things, the spirits of those whose blood is base or counterfeit are constantly being brought down and humbled, and quite rightly does the poet declare:
[De lib. educ. 2d] A man, though bold, is made a slave whene’er
He learns his mother’s or his sire’s disgrace.
[De lib. educ. 2e] Children of distinguished parents are, of course, correspondingly full of exultation and pride. At all events, they say that Cleophantus, the son of Themistocles, often declared to many persons, that whatever he desired was always agreed to by the Athenian people; for whatever he wished his mother also wished; whatever his mother wished Themistocles also wished; and whatever Themistocles wished all the Athenians wished. It is very proper also to bestow a word of praise on the Spartans for the noble spirit they showed in fining their king, Archidamus, because he had permitted himself to take to wife a woman short of stature, the reason they gave being that he proposed to supply them not with kings but with kinglets.
[De lib. educ. 3] 3 1 In this connexion we should speak of a matter which has not been overlooked by our predecessors. What is this? It is that husbands who approach their wives for the sake of issue should do so only when they have either not taken any wine at all, or at any rate, a very moderate portion. For children whose fathers have chanced to beget them in drunkenness are wont to be fond of wine, and to be given to excessive drinking. 2 Wherefore Diogenes, observing an emotional and crack-brained youth, said, “Young man, your father must have been drunk when he begot you!” So much for my views on the subject of birth. We must now speak of education.
[De lib. educ. 4] 4 1 As a general statement, the same assertion may be made in regard to moral excellence that we are in the habit of making in regard to the arts and sciences, namely, that there must be a concurrence of three things in order to produce perfectly right action, and these are: nature, reason, and habit. By reason I mean the act of learning, and by habit constant practice. The first beginnings come from nature, advancement from learning, the practical use from continued repetition, band the culmination from all combined; but so far as any one of these is wanting, the moral excellence must, to this extent, be crippled. For nature without learning is a blind thing, and learning without nature is an imperfect thing, and practice without both is an ineffective thing. Just as in farming, first of all the soil must be good, secondly, the husbandman skilful, and thirdly, the seed sound, so, after the same manner, nature is like to the soil, the teacher to the farmer, and the verbal counsels and precepts like to the seed. I should strenuously insist that all three qualities met together and formed a perfect union in the souls of those men who are celebrated among all mankind, — Pythagoras, Socrates, Plato, and all who have attained an ever-living fame.
[De lib. educ. 4b] Now it is a fortunate thing and a token of divine love if ever a heavenly power has bestowed all these qualities on any one man; but if anybody imagines that those not endowed with natural gifts, who yet have the chance to learn and to apply themselves in the right way to the attaining of virtue, cannot repair the want of their nature and advance so far as in them lies, let him know that he is in great, or rather total, error. For indifference ruins a good natural endowment, but instruction amends a poor one; easy things escape the careless, but difficult things are conquered by careful application. One may understand how effective and how productive a thing is application and hard work, if he only direct his attention to many effects that are daily observed. For drops of water make hollows in rocks, steel and bronze are worn away by the touch of hands, and rims of chariot-wheels once bent by dint of labour, cannot, no matter what be done, recover their original lines.
[De lib. educ. 4c] The bent staves which actors use it is impossible to straighten; indeed the unnatural shape has, through labour, come to predominate over the natural. And are these the only things which clearly show the potency of diligence? No, but myriads upon myriads. A piece of land is good by nature, but without care it grows waste, and the better it is by nature, so much the more is it spoiled by neglect if it be not worked. Another piece is forbidding and rougher than land should be, but, if it be tilled, straightway it produces noble crops. What trees if they are neglected do not grow crooked and prove unfruitful? Yet if they receive right culture, they become fruitful, and bring their fruit to maturity. What bodily strength is not impaired and finally ruined by neglect and luxury and ill condition? On the other hand, what weak physique does not show a very great improvement in strength if men exercise and train themselves?
[De lib. educ. 4d] What horses if they are well broken when young do not become obedient to their riders, whereas if they are left unbroken they turn out stubborn and restive? Why wonder at other instances, seeing as we do that many of the wildest animals are made tame and used to their labours? Well did the Thessalian say, when asked who were the most pacific of the Thessalians, “Those who are just returning from war.” But why discuss the matter at length? For character is habit long continued, 3 and if one were to call the virtues of character the virtues of habit, he would not seem to go far astray. I will cite but one more example on this point and then I shall desist from discussing it further. Lycurgus, the lawgiver of the Spartans, took two puppies of the same litter, and reared them in quite different ways, so that from the one he produced a mischievous and greedy cur, and from the other a dog able to follow a scent and to hunt.
[De lib. educ. 4e] And then at a time when the Spartans were gathered together, he said: “Men of Sparta, of a truth habit and training and teaching and guidance in living are a great influence toward engendering excellence, and I will make this evident to you at once.” Thereupon producing the two dogs, he let them loose, putting down directly in front of them a dish of food and a hare. The one dog rushed after the hare, and the other made for the dish. While the Spartans were as yet unable to make out what import he gave to this, and with what intent he was exhibiting the dogs, he said, “These dogs are both of the same litter, but they have received a different bringing-up, with the result that the one has turned out a glutton and the other a hunter.” In regard to habits and manner of life let this suffice.
[De lib. educ. 5] 5 1 Next in order comes the subject of feeding. Mothers ought, I should say, themselves to feed their infants and nurse them themselves. For they will feed them with a livelier affection and greater care, as loving them inwardly, and, according to the proverb, to their finger-tips. But the good-will of foster-mothers and nursemaids is insincere and forced, since they love for pay. Nature too makes clear the fact that mothers should themselves nurse and feed what they have brought into the world, since it is for this purpose that she has provided for every animal which gives birth to young a source of food in its milk. Wise also is her forethought; for she has fashioned women’s breasts double, so, if any be twins, they may have a double source of nutrition. Yet apart from all this, mothers would come to be more kindly disposed towards their children, and more inclined to show them affection. Not unnaturally either, I swear; for this fellowship in feeding is a bond that knits kindliness together. Yes, even the brute beasts, when dragged away from their companions in feeding, evidently miss them. So, as I have said, mothers must endeavour, if possible, to nurse their children themselves; but if they are unable to do this, either because of bodily weakness (for such a thing can happen) or because they are in haste to bear more children, yet foster-mothers and nursemaids are not to be selected at random, but as good ones as possible must be chosen; and, first of all, in character they must be Greek. For just as it is necessary, immediately after birth, to begin to mould the limbs of the children’s bodies in order that these may grow straight and without deformity, so, in the same fashion, it is fitting from the beginning to regulate the characters of children. For youth is impressionable and plastic, and while such minds are still tender lessons are infused deeply into them; but anything which has become hard is with difficulty softened. For just as seals leave their impression in soft wax, so are lessons impressed upon the minds of children while they are young. And, as it seems to me, Plato, that remarkable man, quite properly advises nurses, even in telling stories to children, not to choose at random, lest haply their minds be filled at the outset with foolishness and corruption. Phocylides, too, the poet, appears to give admirable advice in saying:
[De lib. educ. 5b] Should teach while still a child
The tale of noble deeds.
[De lib. educ. 6] 6 1 Now there is another point which should not be omitted, that in choosing the younger slaves, who are to be the servants and companions of young masters, those should be sought out who are, first and foremost, sound in character, 4 who are Greeks as well, and distinct of speech, so that the children may not be contaminated by barbarians and persons of low character, and so take on some of their commonness. The proverb-makers say, and quite to the point, “If you dwell with a lame man, you will learn to limp.”
[De lib. educ. 7] 7 1 When now they attain to an age to be put under the charge of attendants, then especially great care must be taken in the appointment of these, so as not to entrust one’s children inadvertently to slaves taken in war or to barbarians or to those who are unstable. Nowadays, the common practice of many persons is more than ridiculous; for some of their trustworthy slaves they appoint to manage their farms, bothers they make masters of their ships, others their factors, others they make house-stewards, and some even money-lenders; but any slave whom they find to be a wine-bibber and a glutton, and useless for any kind of business, to him they bring their sons and put them in his charge. But the good attendant ought to be a man of such nature as was Phoenix, the attendant of Achilles.
[De lib. educ. 7b] I come now to a point which is more important and weighty than anything I have said so far. Teachers must be sought for the children who are free from scandal in their lives, who are unimpeachable in their manners, and in experience the very best that may be found. For to receive a proper education is the source and root of all goodness. As husbandmen place stakes beside the young plants, so do competent teachers with all care set their precepts and exhortations beside the young, in order that their characters may grow to be upright. Nowadays there are some fathers who deserve utter contempt, who, before examining those who are going to teach, either because of ignorance, or sometimes because of inexperience, hand over their children to untried and untrustworthy men. This is not so ridiculous if their action is due to inexperience, but there is another case which is absurd to the last degree.
[De lib. educ. 7c] What is this? Why, sometimes even with knowledge and with information from others, who tell them of the inexperience and even of the depravity of certain teachers, they nevertheless entrust their children to them; some yield to the flatteries of those who would please them, and there are those who do it as a favour to insistent friends. Their action resembles that of a person, who, if he were afflicted with bodily disease, should reject that man who by his knowledge might be able to save his life, and, as a favour to a friend, should prefer one who by his inexperience might cause his death; or again that of a person who should dismiss a most excellent shipmaster, and accept the very worst because of a friend’s insistence. Heaven help us! Does a man who bears the name of father think more of gratifying those who ask favours than he thinks of the education of his children?
[De lib. educ. 7d] And did not Socrates of old often say very fittingly, that if it were in any way possible one should go up to the loftiest part of the city and cry aloud, “Men, whither is your course taking you, who give all possible attention to the acquiring of money but give small thought to your sons to whom ye are to leave it?” To this I should like to add that such fathers act nearly as one would act who should give thought to his shoe but pay no regard to his foot. Many fathers, however, go so far in their devotion to money as well as in animosity toward their children, that in order to avoid paying a larger fee, they select as teachers for their children men who are not worth any wage at all — looking for ignorance, which is cheap enough. Wherefore Aristippus not inelegantly, in fact very cleverly, rebuked a father who was devoid both of mind and sense.
[De lib. educ. 7e] For when a man asked him what fee he should require for teaching his child, Aristippus replied, “A thousand drachmas”; but when the other exclaimed, “Great Heavens! what an excessive demand! I can buy a slave for a thousand,” 5 Aristippus retorted, “Then you will have two slaves, your son and the one you buy.” And, in general, is it not absurd for people to accustom children to take their food with their right hand, and, if one puts out his left, to rebuke him, and yet to take no forethought that they shall hear right and proper words of instruction?
[De lib. educ. 7f] Now I will tell what happens to these admirable fathers when they have badly brought up and badly educated their sons. When their sons are enrolled in the ranks of men, and disdain the sane and orderly life, and throw themselves headlong into disorderly and slavish pleasures, then, when it is of no use, the fathers regret that they have been false to their duty in the education of their sons, being now distressed at their wrongdoing. For some of them take up with flatterers and parasites, abominable men of obscure origin, corrupters and spoilers of youth, and others buy the freedom of courtesans and prostitutes, proud and sumptuous in expense; still others give themselves up to the pleasures of the table, while others come to wreck in dice and revels, and some finally take to the wilder forms of evil-doing, such as adultery and bacchanalian routs, ready to pay with life itself for a single pleasure. But if these men had become conversant with the higher education, they perhaps would not have allowed themselves to be dominated by such practices, and they would at least have become acquainted with the precept of Diogenes, who with coarseness of speech, but with substantial truth, advises and says, “Go into any brothel to learn that there is no difference between what costs money and what costs nothing.”
[De lib. educ. 8] 8 1 Briefly, then, I say (an oracle one might properly call it, rather than advice) that, to sum up, the beginning, the middle, and end in all these matters is good education and proper training; and it is this, I say, which leads on and helps towards moral excellence and towards happiness. And, in comparison with this, all other advantages are human, and trivial, and not worth our serious concern. Good birth is a fine thing, but it is an advantage which must be credited to one’s ancestors. Wealth is held in esteem, but it is a chattel of fortune, since oftentimes she takes it away from those who possess it, and brings and presents it to those who do not expect it. Besides, great wealth is the very mark for those who aim their shafts at the purse — rascally slaves and blackmailers; and above all, even the vilest may possess it. Repute, moreover, is imposing, but unstable. Beauty is highly prized, but short-lived. Health is a valued possession, but inconstant. Strength is much admired, but it falls an easy prey to disease and old age. And, in general, if anybody prides himself wholly upon the strength of his body, let him know that he is sadly mistaken in judgement. For how small is man’s strength compared with the power of other living creatures! I mean, for instance, elephants and bulls and lions. But learning, of all things in this world, is alone immortal and divine. Two elements in man’s nature are supreme over all — mind and reason. The mind exercises control over reason, and reason is servant of the mind, unassailable by disease, unimpaired by old age. For the mind alone grows young with increase of years, and time, which takes away all things else, but adds wisdom to old age. War, again, like a torrent, sweeps everything away and carries everything along in its current, but learning alone it cannot take away. It seems to me that Stilpo, the philosopher of Megara, made an answer worth recording, at the time when Demetrius, having reduced the people of that city to slavery and razed its buildings, asked him whether perchance he had lost anything; but Stilpo replied: “No, indeed, for war cannot make spoil of virtue.” 6 In full accord and harmony with these appears the reply of Socrates. For he, when someone (I think it was Gorgias) asked him what notion he had regarding the great king, and whether he thought him happy, said, “I do not know how he stands in the matter of righteousness and learning,” — his thought being that happiness depends upon these and not upon accidental advantages.
[De lib. educ. 9] 9 1 Just as I advise people to make nothing of more immediate importance than the education of their children, so again I say they ought to cling to the uncorrupted and sound education, and to withdraw their sons as far away as possible from the nonsense of ostentatious public discourse. For to please the multitude is to displease the wise. And Euripides bears witness to my words when he says:
[De lib. educ. 9b] I have no gift to reason with a crowd;
I’m wiser with my friends and fewer folk.
[De lib. educ. 9c] And this is just; since those the wise hold cheap
Are better tuned to speak before a crowd.
[De lib. educ. 9d] I observe that those who practise speaking in a way to catch the favour of the vulgar herd also turn out in general to be incontinent in their lives and fond of pleasure. And this surely is to be expected; for if, in providing pleasure for others, they disregard what is honourable, they would be slow to place that which is upright and sound above the gratification of their own pleasures and luxurious tastes, and slow to pursue the temperate course instead of the agreeable. Moreover, why should children [be taught such a way of speaking]? For it is a good thing not to say or do anything at random, and according to the proverb, “Good things are hard.” Speeches made offhand display a large measure of readiness and facility, being characteristic of persons who know not what should be the beginning or where the end. But, apart from all other errors, those who speak on the impulse of the moment fall into a dreadful disregard of limit and into loquacity.
[De lib. educ. 9e] Reflexion on the other hand prevents a discourse from exceeding the due limits of proportion. Pericles, “as the story has been handed down for us to hear,” though called upon by the people, oftentimes did not heed their summons, saying that he was unprepared. In like manner also Demosthenes, who was an ardent follower of Pericles’ political policy, when the Athenians called upon him to give his counsel, resisted, saying, “I have not prepared myself.” This, perhaps, is an unauthentic and fictitious tradition; but in his speech against Meidias he presents clearly the helpfulness of reflection. At any rate he says, “Men of Athens, I say I have given much thought to this matter, and I could not deny that I have also rehearsed my speech to the best of my ability; for I should be a miserable wretch, if, in view of his past and present treatment of me, I had paid no attention to what I was going to say to you about it.” But I, for my part, would not assert that readiness of speech is to be utterly rejected, or again that it should not be used in its proper place, but that it is to be used like a drug, with caution.
[De lib. educ. 9f] Indeed until one arrives at man’s estate I do not think it right that he should speak at all offhand, but when he shall have firmly established his powers, then, if the occasion invite, it is fitting for him to exercise some freedom in his speech. For just as those who have been in fetters for a long time, even if later they be set free, yet, because of the long-continued habituation to their bonds, are not able to walk freely, and are not sure on their feet, so is it with those who for a long time have kept their speech under close restraint: if ever it becomes necessary to speak offhand, they nevertheless keep to the same type of expression as before. But to allow those who are still young to speak extempore stands responsible for the worst sort of rambling talk. 7 They tell the story of a wretched painter, who, exhibiting to Apelles a painting, said, “This I have only this moment painted.” Whereupon Apelles replied, “Even should you not say so, yet I know that it was painted hastily, and I only wonder that you have not painted more of like sort.”
[De lib. educ. 9g] I advise then (for I return now to my original theme) that, as one should always be careful to avoid the theatrical and melodramatic style, so, on the other hand, one should exercise the same caution to avoid triviality and vulgarity in style; for a turgid diction is unfitted for a man in public life, and a barren style is too unimpressive; but as the body ought to be not merely healthy but also sturdy, so also speech should be not merely free from fault but vigorous too. For the cautious is merely commended, but the audacious is admired as well. It so happens that I entertain the same opinion also in regard to mental disposition. For a man should not be bold, on the one hand, or, on the other, pusillanimous and cowering, since the one resolves itself into impudence, and the other into servility. Always to pursue the middle course in everything is artistic and in good taste.
[De lib. educ. 9h] While I am still dwelling upon my own opinion in regard to education, I desire to say that in the first place a discourse composed of a series of short sentences I regard as no small proof of lack of culture; in the second place I think that in practice such discourse soon palls, and in every case it causes impatience; for monotony is in everything tiresome and repellent, but variety is agreeable, as it is in everything else, as, for example, in entertainments that appeal to the eye or the ear.
[De lib. educ. 10] 10 1 Now the free-born child should not be allowed to go without some knowledge, both through hearing and observation, of every branch also of what is called general education; yet these he should learn only incidentally, just to get a taste of them, as it were (for perfection in everything is impossible), but philosophy he should honour above all else. I can perhaps make my opinion clear by means of a figure: for example, it is a fine thing to voyage about and view many cities, but profitable to dwell only in the best one. And it was a clever saying of Bion, the philosopher, that, just as the suitors, not being able to approach Penelope, consorted with her maid-servants, so also do those who are not able to attain to philosophy wear themselves to a shadow over the other kinds of education which have no value. Wherefore it is necessary to make philosophy as it were the head and front of all education.
[De lib. educ. 10b] For as regards the care of the body men have discovered two sciences, the medical and the gymnastic, of which the one implants health, the other sturdiness, in the body; but for the illnesses and affections of the mind philosophy alone is the remedy. For through philosophy and in company with philosophy it is possible to attain knowledge of what is honourable and what is shameful, what is just and what is unjust, what, in brief, is to be chosen and what to be avoided, how a man must bear himself in his relations with the gods, with his parents, with his elders, with the laws, with strangers, with those in authority, with friends, with women, with children, with servants; that one ought to reverence the gods, to honour one’s parents, to respect one’s elders, to be obedient to the laws, to yield to those in authority, to love one’s friends, to be chaste with women, to be affectionate with children, and not to be overbearing with slaves; and, most important of all, not to be overjoyful at success or overmuch distressed at misfortune, nor to be dissolute in pleasures, nor impulsive and brutish in temper.
[De lib. educ. 10c] These things I regard as pre-eminent among all the advantages which accrue from philosophy. For to have a generous heart in prosperity shows a man, to excite no envy withal shows a disciplined nature; to rule pleasure by reason marks the wise man, and not every man can master his passion. But I regard as perfect, so far as men can be, those who are able to combine and mingle political capacity with philosophy; 8 and I am inclined to think that these are secure in the possession of two things which are of the greatest good: a life useful to the world in their public position, and the calm and untroubled life in their pursuit of philosophy. For there are three forms of life, of which the first is the practical life, the second the contemplative life, and the third the life of enjoyment. The last, which is dissolute and enslaved to pleasure, is bestial and mean, but the contemplative life, which falls short in practice, is not useful, while the practical life which has no portion in philosophy, is without culture or taste.
[De lib. educ. 10d] One must try, then, as well as one can, both to take part in public life, band to lay hold of philosophy so far as the opportunity is granted. Such was the life of Pericles as a public man, such was Archytas of Tarentum, such was Dion of Syracuse, such was Epaminondas of Thebes, of whom the next to the last was the associate of Plato.
[De lib. educ. 10e] In regard to education I do not know why it is necessary to take the time to say more; but in addition to the foregoing, it is useful, or rather it is necessary, not to be indifferent about acquiring the works of earlier writers, but to make a collection of these, like a set of tools in farming. For the corresponding tool of education is the use of books, and by their means it has come to pass that we are able to study knowledge at its source.
[De lib. educ. 11] 11 It is not proper, either, to overlook the exercise of the body, but we should send the children to the trainer’s and cultivate adequately this side of education with all diligence, not merely for the sake of gracefulness of body but also with an eye to strength; for sturdiness of body in childhood is the foundation of a hale old age. Just as in fair weather, then, one ought to prepare for storm, so also in youth one should store up discipline and self-restraint as a provision for old age. But the amount of bodily exercise should be so limited as not to be a drain on the children and make them too tired to study; for, according to Plato, sleep and weariness are the enemies of learning. But why do I introduce this subject here? Just because I am anxious to say that which is of greater importance than all the rest: it is for the contests of war that boys must be practised, by exercising themselves in throwing the javelin, shooting with the bow, and in hunting. “For the goods of the vanquished” in battle “are prizes offered to the victors.” War has no place for a bodily condition produced by an indoor life, and a slenderly built soldier accustomed to military exercises forces his way through the masses of fleshy athletes.
[De lib. educ. 11b] But perchance someone may say, “What is this? You, who have promised to give directions in regard to the education of free-born children, are now evidently disregarding the education of the poor children of the common people, and you acknowledge that you are offering your suggestions to the rich only.” To these it is not difficult to make reply. My dearest wish would be that my scheme of education should be generally useful; but if some, being needy in their private circumstances, shall be unable to avail themselves of my directions, let them lay the blame therefor upon fortune and not upon him who gives this counsel. Even the poor must endeavour, as well as they can, to provide the best education for their children, but, if that be impossible, then they must avail themselves of that which is within their means. I have burdened the discussion with this minor matter so as to connect therewith in due order the other topics which tend toward the right education of the young.
[De lib. educ. 12] 12 1 This also I assert, that children ought to be led to honourable practices by means of encouragement and reasoning, and most certainly not by blows or ill-treatment, for it surely is agreed that these are fitting rather for slaves than for the free-born; for so they grow numb and shudder at their tasks, partly from the pain of the blows, partly from the degradation. Praise and reproof are more helpful for the free-born than any sort of ill-usage, 9 since the praise incites them toward what is honourable, and reproof keeps them from what is disgraceful.
[De lib. educ. 12b] But rebukes and praises should be used alternately and in a variety of ways; it is well to choose some time when the children are full of confidence to put them to shame by rebuke, and then in turn to cheer them up by praises, and to imitate the nurses, who, when they have made their babies cry, in turn offer them the breast for comfort. Moreover in praising them it is essential not to excite and puff them up, for they are made conceited and spoiled by excess of praise.
[De lib. educ. 13] 13 1 In my time I have seen fathers in whom excessive affection had become the cause of no affection. What is it that I mean to say, in order that by the example I give I may make my argument more luminous? It is this: in their eagerness that their children may the sooner rank first in everything, they lay upon them unreasonable tasks, which the children find themselves unable to perform, and so come to grief; besides, being depressed by their unfortunate experiences, they do not respond to the instruction which they receive. For, just as plants are nourished by moderate applications of water, but are drowned by many in succession, in the same fashion the mind is made to grow by properly adapted tasks, but is submerged by those which are excessive. Children must be given some breathing-space from continued tasks, for we must bear in mind that our whole life is divided between relaxation and application. For this reason there have been created not only waking hours but also sleep, not only war but also peace, not only storm but also fair weather, not only periods of vigorous activity but also holidays. In short, rest gives relish to labour. We may observe that this holds true not merely in the case of living creatures, but also in the case of inanimate things, for we unstring bows and lyres that we may be able to tighten them again. The body, generally speaking, is maintained by hunger and its satisfaction, and the mind by relaxation and labour.
[De lib. educ. 13b] It is right to rebuke some fathers who, after entrusting their sons to attendants and masters, do not themselves take cognizance at all of their instruction by means of their own eyes or their own ears. Herein they most fail in their duty; for they ought themselves every few days to test their children, and not rest their hopes upon the disposition of a hired person; for even those persons will devote more attention to the children if they know they must from time to time render an account. And in this connexion there is point as well as wit in the remark of the groom who said that nothing makes the horse so fat as the king’s eye.
[De lib. educ. 13c] Above all, the memory of children should be trained and exercised; for this is, as it were, a storehouse of learning; and it is for this reason that the mythologists have made Memory the mother of the Muses, thereby intimating by an allegory that there is nothing in the world like memory for creating and fostering. This, then, is to be trained in either case, whether one’s children be naturally gifted with a good memory, or, on the contrary, forgetful. For we shall thus strengthen nature’s generous endowment, and thus fill out her deficiency; and while the first class of children will excel others, the second class will excel their former selves. The saying of Hesiod is admirably put:
[De lib. educ. 13d] If even small upon the small you place
And do this oft, the whole will soon be great.
[De lib. educ. 13e] Nor should parents forget that those branches of instruction which involve memory make no small contribution, not merely to education, but also to the practical activities of life; for the memory of past activities serves as a pattern of good counsel for the future.
[De lib. educ. 14] 14 1 Moreover, one’s sons are to be kept from foul language; for, according to Democritus, “A word is a deed’s shadow.” 10 Then, too, proper measures must be taken to ensure that they shall be tactful and courteous in their address; for nothing is so deservedly disliked as tactless characters. Besides, children may avoid getting themselves disliked by their associates if they do not prove totally unyielding in discussions. For it is a fine thing to understand, not only how to gain the victory, but also how to submit to defeat, in cases where victory is injurious; for there is really such a thing as a “Cadmean victory.” As a witness of this I may quote Euripides the wise, who says:
[De lib. educ. 14b] When of two speakers one is growing wroth,
Wise is he that yields in argument.
[De lib. educ. 14c] We must now lay down some rules of conduct which the young should follow no less but even more than those previously given. These are: To practise the simple life, to hold the tongue in check, to conquer anger, to control the hands. We must consider the importance of each of these; and they will be more intelligible if based on examples.
[De lib. educ. 14d] So, to begin with the last, some men by putting their hands to wrongful gains have upset the good repute of their earlier lives. Witness the case of Gylippus, the Spartan, who was forced into exile because he had secretly unsewed the bags of money.
[De lib. educ. 14e] Again, an unruffled temper is certainly the mark of a wise man. Thus Socrates once, when a bold and impudent youth had kicked him, observed that the bystanders were so indignant and so violently moved as to wish to foul up the offender; but he only said: “If an ass had kicked me, should you have thought it proper to kick him in return?” That youth, however, did not by any means get off scot-free, but as everybody jeered at him, and nicknamed him “Kicker,” he ended by hanging himself.
[De lib. educ. 14f] And when Aristophanes brought out the Clouds, and heaped all manner of abuse upon Socrates in every possible way, one of those who had been present said to Socrates, “Are you not indignant, Socrates, that he used you as he did in the play?” “No indeed,” he replied; “when they break a jest upon me in the theatre I feel as if I were at a big party of good friends.” What Archytas of Tarentum and Plato did will be seen to be closely akin to this. For Archytas, on his return from the war (where he had been general) found his land gone to waste. He summoned his overseer and said, “You should be sorry for this, if I were not in too great a temper.” And Plato, provoked at a gluttonous and impudent slave, called his sister’s son, Speusippus, and said as he withdrew, “Beat this fellow, for I am too much provoked.” But it may be urged that such actions are difficult and hard to imitate. I know that myself. But the effort must be made, by employing the actions of such men as standards as far as possible, to abate a great part of our unbridled and furious temper; for in other respects also we are not comparable with them either in experience or magnanimous. Yet we, no less than they, feeling ourselves to be the high priests of God’s mysteries and torch-bearers of wisdom, do attempt, so far as lies in our power, to imitate and to get a little taste of such conduct for ourselves.
[De lib. educ. 14g] The control of the tongue, then, still remains to be discussed of the topics I suggested. If anybody has the notion that this is a slight and insignificant matter, he is very far from the truth. For timely silence is a wise thing, and better than any speech. And this is the reason, as it appears to me, why the men of olden time established the rites of initiation into the mysteries, that we, by becoming accustomed to keep silence there, may transfer that fear which we learned from the divine secrets to the safe keeping of the secrets of men. For, again, nobody was ever sorry because he kept silent, but hundreds because they talked. Again, the word unspoken cannot possibly be recalled. I have heard of countless men who have fallen into the greatest misfortunes through intemperate speech. 11 Of these I shall mention one or two as typical and omit the rest. When Ptolemy Philadelphus married his sister Arsinoë, Sotades said,
[De lib. educ. 14h] ‘Tis wrong for you to try to spur that mare,
[De lib. educ. 14i] and thereafter he rotted in prison for many years; and so suffered condign punishment for his untimely talking, and to make other men laugh he sorrowed a long time himself. A story to match and couple with this, and much more dreadful, is what the sophist Theocritus said and suffered. Alexander had bidden the Greeks to make ready crimson robes so that on his return he might offer a sacrifice of thanksgiving for his victory in the war against the barbarians, and all the states had to pay a poll-tax in money, when Theocritus remarked, “Before this I used to be in doubt, but now I know for a certainty that this is Homer’s ‘Crimson Death.’ “ And thereby he made an enemy of Alexander. And Antigonus, king of the Macedonians, who was blind of one eye, he drove to immoderate anger by reproaching him with his disfigurement. For Antigonus sent his chief cook, Eutropion, who had been an officer in his army, to Theocritus, and insisted that Theocritus should come to him and engage in discussion. When Eutropion delivered his message to Theocritus, coming several times for the purpose, the latter said, “I know very well that you want to serve me up raw to your Cyclops,” twitting the one for being disfigured and the other for being now a cook. “Then you shall not keep your head on,” said Eutropion, “but you shall pay the penalty for this reckless talk and madness of yours.” He thereupon reported the remark to the king, who sent and had Theocritus put to death.
[De lib. educ. 14j] But besides all this, we should, as a most sacred duty, accustom children to speak the truth. For lying is fit for slaves only, and deserves to be hated of all men, and even in decent slaves it is not to be condoned.
[De lib. educ. 15] 15 1 So far I have felt no doubt or even hesitation in saying what I have said about the decorous conduct and modest behaviour of the young; but in regard to the topic now to be introduced I am of two opinions and two minds, and I incline now this way, now that, as though on a balance, being unable to settle down on either side; and a feeling of great reluctance possesses me, whether to introduce or to avoid the subject. Still I must venture to speak of it. What is it then? It is the question whether boys’ admirers are to be permitted to associate with them and pass their time with them, or whether, on the contrary, they should be kept away and driven off from associations with the youth. For when I have regard to those uncompromising fathers, harsh and surly in their manner, who think the society of admirers an intolerable outrage to their sons, I feel cautious about standing as its sponsor and advocate. But again, when I think of Socrates, Plato, Xenophon, Aeschines, Cebes, and that whole band of men who sanctioned affection between men, and thus guided the youth onward to learning, leadership, and virtuous conduct, I am of a different mind again, and am inclined to emulate their example. Euripides gives testimony in their favour when he says:
[De lib. educ. 15b] Among mankind another love exists,
That of an upright, chaste, and noble soul.
[De lib. educ. 15c] Nor may we omit the remark of Plato wherein jest and seriousness are combined. For he says that those who have acquitted themselves nobly ought to have the right to kiss any fair one they please. Now we ought indeed to drive away those whose desire is for mere outward beauty, but to admit without reserve those who are lovers of the soul. And while the sort of love prevailing at Thebes and in Elis is to be avoided, as well as the so-called kidnapping in Crete, 12 that which is found at Athens and in Lacedaemon is to be emulated.
[De lib. educ. 16] 16 1 In this matter each man may be allowed such opinion as accords with his own convinces. But now that I have spoken of the orderly and decorous behaviour of children, I shall next pass to the period of adolescence, and say a very few words about it. I have often expressed my utter disapprobation of men who have been responsible for the introduction of depraved habits. For, while it is true that they have put attendants and teachers in charge of their children, they nevertheless have allowed the impetuosity of youth to range unrestrained, when they ought, on the contrary, to have exercised greater caution and watchfulness over them when they were young men than when they were children. For who is not aware that the faults of children are trivial and altogether corrigible — heedlessness, perhaps, towards their attendants, or deceiving and refusing to mind their teachers? But the iniquities of early manhood are often monstrous and wicked — unlimited gluttony, theft of parents’ money, gambling, revels, drinking-bouts, love affairs with young girls, and corruption of married women. The impulses of young men should therefore be kept fettered and restrained by careful supervision. For life’s prime is prodigal in its pleasures, restive, and in need of a curb, so that parents who do not take hold of the reins with firm hand at this period of life, are manifestly, by their folly, giving to their sons licence for wrongdoing. Wise fathers ought, therefore, especially during this time, to be vigilant and alert, and to bring the young men to reason by instruction, by threats, by entreaties, by pointing out examples of men who through love of pleasure have become involved in misfortunes, and of those who, through their steadfastness, have gained for themselves approval and good repute. For these two things — hope of reward and fear of punishment — are, as it were, the elements of virtue. For the one renders men more eager for honourable pursuits while the other makes them averse to base actions.
[De lib. educ. 17] 17 1 It should be the general rule to keep the young away from any association with base men; for they carry away something of their badness. This duty Pythagoras also has enjoined in the form of allegories which I shall now quote and explain. For they contribute no small influence towards the acquisition of virtue. For example:
[De lib. educ. 17b] “Do not taste of black-tails;” that, “Do not spend your time with men of black character, because of their malevolence.”
[De lib. educ. 17c] “Do not step over the beam of a balance”; that is, one should give greatest heed to justice and not transgress it.
[De lib. educ. 17d] “Do not sit on a peck measure”; as much as to say that we should avoid idleness and have forethought for providing our daily bread.
[De lib. educ. 17e] “Do not give your hand to everybody”; instead of, “Do not make friends too readily.”
[De lib. educ. 17f] “Do not wear a tight ring”; means that one should live his life unhampered, and not subject it to any bond.
[De lib. educ. 17g] “Do not poke a fire with steel”; instead of, “Do not provoke an angry man.” Indeed, it is wrong to do so, and we should yield to men who are in a temper.
[De lib. educ. 17h] “Do not eat your heart”; as much as to say, “Do not injure your soul by wasting it with worries.”
[De lib. educ. 17i] “Abstain from beans”; means that a man should keep out of politics, for beans were used in earlier times for voting upon the removal of magistrates from office.
[De lib. educ. 17j] “Do not put food into a slop-pail”; signifies that it is not fitting to put clever speech into a base mind. For speech is the food of thought, and baseness in men makes it unclean.
[De lib. educ. 17k] “Do not turn back on reaching the boundaries”; that is, when people are about to die and see the boundary of their life close at hand, they should bear all this with serenity and not be faint-hearted.
[De lib. educ. 17l] I return to the subject suggested at the beginning of the chapter. As I said there, the young should be kept away from every sort of base men, and most of all from flatterers. 13 Let me repeat here what I say over and over again to many fathers: There is no class of persons more pernicious than flatterers, nor any that more surely and quickly gives youth a nasty tumble. They utterly ruin both fathers and sons, bringing to sorrow the old age of those and the youth of these, and dangling pleasure as an irresistible lure to get their advice taken. To sons who are to inherit wealth fathers commend sobriety, flatterers drinking to excess; fathers commend self-restraint, flatterers profligacy; fathers frugality, flatterers extravagance; fathers industry, flatterers indolence, saying, “A life is but a moment. We must live, not merely exist. Why should we give a thought to your father’s threats? He’s an old twaddler with one foot already in the grave, and before long we’ll take his coffin on our shoulders and carry him out.” Another of them posts a drab in the young man’s path, or prostitutes a married woman for him, and spoils and wastes the father’s provision for old age. Detestable is their whole tribe, pretenders of friendship, without a vestige of honest speech, flatterers of the rich but despisers of the poor, addressing themselves with instinctive art to the young, grinning broadly when their patrons laugh, spurious claimants to any spirit, and bastard members of human life, subsisting at the beck and nod of the wealthy; free-born by freak of fortune, but slaves by choice. Whenever they are not treated with insult, they feel themselves insulted because then they do not fulfil the purpose for which they are kept. So if any father is concerned for the good upbringing of his children, he must drive away these detestable creatures, and quite as much must he drive away schoolmates who show depravity, for these also are capable of corrupting the most likely natures.
[De lib. educ. 18] 18 1 Now all these rules concern honour and good profit, but what follows concerns human nature. Take the fathers again: I do not think they should be utterly harsh and austere in their nature, but they should in many cases concede some shortcomings to the younger person, and remind themselves that they once were young. As physicians, by mixing bitter drugs with sweet syrups, have found that the agreeable taste gains access for what is beneficial, so fathers should combine the abruptness of their rebukes with mildness, and at one time grant some licence to the desires of their children, and slacken the reins a little, and then at another time draw them tight again. Most desirable is it that they should bear misdeeds with serenity, but if that be impossible, yet, if they be on occasion angered, they should quickly cool down. For it is better that a father should be quick-tempered than sullen, since a hostile and irreconcilable spirit is no small proof of animosity towards one’s children. It is a good thing also to pretend not to know of some shortcomings, and to turn the old man’s dull eye and dull ear to what they do, and seeing, not to see, and, hearing, not to hear, sometimes, what goes on. Our friends’ shortcomings we bear with: why should it be surprising that we bear with our children’s? Though our slaves often suffer from a headache in the morning, we do not force them to confess a debauch. “You were niggardly once; well, now be liberal. You were indignant once; well, pardon now. He tricked you once with the help of a slave; restrain your anger. He once took away a yoke of cattle from the field, he once came home with breath reeking from yesterday’s debauch; ignore it. Or smelling of perfume; do not say a word.” In this fashion is restive youth gradually broken to harness.
[De lib. educ. 19] 19 1 An effort should be made to yoke in marriage those who cannot resist their desires, and who are deaf to admonitions. For marriage is the most secure bond for youth. One should, however, betroth to his sons women who are not greatly above them either in birth or wealth. The maxim “Keep to your own place” is wise, since those who take to wife women far above themselves unwittingly become not the husbands of their wives, 14 but the slaves of their wives’ dowries.
[De lib. educ. 20] 20 1 I will add but little more and then conclude my suggestions. Fathers ought above all, by not misbehaving and by doing as they ought to do, to make themselves a manifest example to their children, so that the latter, by looking at their fathers’ lives as at a mirror, may be deterred from disgraceful deeds and words. For those who are themselves involved in the same errors as those for which they rebuke their erring sons, unwittingly accuse themselves in their sons’ name. If the life they lead is wholly bad, they are not free to admonish even their slaves, let alone their sons. Besides, they are likely to become counsellors and instructors to their sons in their wrongdoing. For, wherever old men are lacking in decency, young men too are sure to be most shameless.
[De lib. educ. 20b] We must endeavour, therefore, to employ every proper device for the discipline of our children, emulating the example of Eurydice, who, although she was an Illyrian and an utter barbarian, yet late in life took up education in the interest of her children’s studies. The inscription which she dedicated to the Muses sufficiently attests her love for her children:
[De lib. educ. 20c] Eurydice of Hierapolis
Made to the Muses this her offering
When she had gained her soul’s desire to learn.
[De lib. educ. 20d] Mother of young and lusty sons was she,
And by her diligence attained to learn
Letters, wherein lies buried all our lore.
[De lib. educ. 20e] Now to put into effect all the suggestions which I have given is the province of prayer, perhaps, or exhortation. And even to follow zealously the majority of them demands good fortune and much careful attention, but to accomplish this lies within the capability of man.

## How the young man should study poetry

[De aud. poet. 1] 1 It may be allowed to be a question fit for the determination of those concerning whom Cato said, Their palates are more sensitive than their hearts, whether that saying of Philoxenus the poet be true or no, The most savory flesh is that which is no flesh, and fish that is no fish. Yet this to me, Marcus Sedatus, is out of question, that those precepts of philosophy which seem not to be delivered with a designed gravity, such as becomes philosophers, take most with persons that are very young, and meet with a more ready acceptance and compliance from them. Whence it is that they do not only read through Esop’s fables and the fictions of poets and the Abaris of Heraclides and Ariston’s Lyco; but they also read such doctrines as relate to the souls of men, if something fabulous be mixed with them, with an excess of pleasure that borders on enthusiasm. Wherefore we are not only to govern their appetites in the delights of eating and drinking, but also (and much more) to inure them to a like temperance in reading and hearing, that, while they make use of pleasure as a sauce, they may pursue that which is wholesome and profitable in those things which they read. For neither can a city be secure if but one gate be left open to receive the enemy, though all the rest be shut; nor a young man safe, though he be sufficiently fortified against the assaults of all other pleasures, whilst he is without any guard against those of the ear. Yea, the nearer the commerce is betwixt the delights of that sense and those of the mind and reason, by so much the more, when he lies open on that side, is he apt to be debauched and corrupted thereby. Seeing therefore we cannot (and perhaps would not if we could) debar young men of the size of my Soclarus and thy Cleander altogether from the reading of poets, yet let us keep the stricter guard upon them, as those who need a guide to direct them in their reading more than in their walks. Upon which consideration, I find myself disposed to send thee at present in writing that discourse concerning Poetry which I had lately an occasion to deliver by word of mouth; that, when thou hast read it over thyself, thou mayst also make such use of it, if thou judgest it may be serviceable to that purpose, as those which are engaged to drink hard do of amethysts (or preservatives against drunkenness), — that is, that thou mayst communicate it to Cleander, to prepossess him therewith; seeing he is naturally endowed with a brisk, piercing, and daring wit, and therefore more prone to be inveigled by that sort of study.
[De aud. poet. 1b] They say of the fish called polypus that
His head in one respect is very good, But in another very naughty food;
[De aud. poet. 1c] because, though it be very luscious to eat, yet it is thought to disturb the fancy with frightful and confused dreams. And the like observation may be made concerning poetry, that it affords sweet and withal wholesome nourishment to the minds of young men, but yet it contains likewise no less matter of disturbance and emotion to them that want a right conduct in the study thereof. For of it also, as well as of Egypt, may it be said that (to those who will use it)
[De aud. poet. 1d] Its over-fertile and luxuriant field Medicines and poisons intermixt doth yield;
[De aud. poet. 1e] for therein
Love with soft passions and rich language drest Oft steals the heart out of th’ ingenuous breast.
[De aud. poet. 1f] And indeed such only are endangered thereby, for the charms of that art ordinarily affect not those that are downright sots and naturally incapable of learning. Wherefore, when Simonides was asked why of all men he could not deceive the Thessalians, his answer was, Because they are not so well bred as to be capable of being cajoled by me. And Gorgias used to call tragical poems cheats, wherein he that did cheat was juster than he that did not cheat, and he that was cheated was wiser than he that was not cheated.
[De aud. poet. 1g] It deserves therefore our consideration, whether we shall put young men into Epicurus’s boat, — wherein, having their ears stopped with wax, as those of the men of Ithaca were, they shall be obliged to sail by and not so much as touch at poetry, — or rather keep a guard on them, so as to oblige their judgments by principles of right reason to use it aright, and preserve them from being seduced to their hurt by that which affords them so much delight. For neither did Lycurgus, the valiant son of Dryas (as Homer calls him) act like a man of sound reason in the course which he took to reform his people that were much inclined to drunkenness, by travelling up and down to destroy all the vines in the country; whereas he should have ordered that every vine should have a well of water near it, that (as Plato saith) the drunken deity might be reduced to temperance by a sober one. For water mixed with wine takes away the hurtful spirits, while it leaves the useful ones in it. Neither should we cut down or destroy the Muses’ vine, poetry; but where we perceive it luxuriates and grows wild through an ungoverned appetite of applause, there ought we to prune away or keep under the fabulous and theatrical branches thereof; and where we find any of the Graces linked to any of the Muses, — that is, where the lusciousness and tempting charms of language are not altogether barren and unprofitable, — there let us bring in philosophy to incorporate with it.
[De aud. poet. 1h] For as, where the mandrake grows near the vine and so communicates something of its force thereto, the wine that is made of its grapes makes the sleep of those that drink it more refreshing; so doth the tempering poetry with the principles of philosophy and allaying their roughness with its fictions render the study of them more easy and the relish of them more grateful to young learners. Wherefore those that would give their minds to philosophical studies are not obliged to avoid poetry altogether, but rather to prepare themselves for philosophy by poems, accustoming themselves to search for and embrace that which may profit in that which pleaseth them, and rejecting and discarding that wherein they find nothing of this nature. For this discrimination is the first step to learning; and when this is attained, then, according to what Sophocles saith, —
[De aud. poet. 1i] To have begun well what we do intend Gives hope and prospect of as good an end.
[De aud. poet. 2] 2 Let us therefore in the first place possess those whom we initiate in the study of poetry with this notion (as one which they ought always to have at hand), that
‘Tis frequently the poet’s guise To intermingle truth with lies; —
[De aud. poet. 2b] which they do sometimes with and sometimes against their wills. They do it with their wills, because they find strict truth too rigid to comply with that sweetness and gracefulness of expression, which most are taken with, so readily as fiction doth. For real truth, though it disgust never so much, must be told as it is, without alteration; but that which is feigned in a discourse can easily yield and shift its garb from the distasteful to that which is more pleasing. And indeed, neither the measures nor the tropes nor the grandeur of words nor the aptness of metaphors nor the harmony of the composition gives such a degree of elegance and gracefulness to a poem as a well-ordered and artificial fiction doth. But as in pictures the colors are more delightful to the eye than the lines, because those give them a nearer resemblance to the persons they were made for, and render them the more apt to deceive the beholder; so in poems we are more apt to be smitten and fall in love with a probable fiction than with the greatest accuracy that can be observed in measures and phrases, where there is nothing fabulous or fictitious joined with it. Wherefore Socrates, being induced by some dreams to attempt something in poetry, and finding himself unapt, by reason that he had all his lifetime been the champion of severe truth, to hammer out of his own invention a likely fiction, made choice of Esop’s fables to turn into verse; as judging nothing to be true poetry that had in it nothing of falsehood. For though we have known some sacrifices performed without pipes and dances, yet we own no poetry which is utterly destitute of fable and fiction. Whence the verses of Empedocles and Parmenides, the Theriaca of Nicander, and the sentences of Theognis, are rather to be accounted speeches than poems, which, that they might not walk contemptibly on foot, have borrowed from poetry the chariot of verse, to convey them the more creditably through the world. Whensoever therefore any thing is spoken in poems by any noted and eminently famous man, concerning Gods or Daemons or virtue, that is absurd or harsh, he that takes such sayings for truths is thereby misled in his apprehension and corrupted with an erroneous opinion. But he that constantly keeps in his mind and maintains as his principle that the witchcraft of poetry consists in fiction, he that can at all turns accost it in this language, —
[De aud. poet. 2c] Riddle of art! like which no sphinx beguiles; Whose face on one side frowns while th’ other smiles! Why cheat’st thou, with pretence to make us wise, And bid’st sage precepts in a fool’s disguise? —
[De aud. poet. 2d] such a one, I say, will take no harm by it, nor admit from it any absurd thing into his belief. But when he meets in poetry with expressions of Neptune’s rending the earth to pieces and discovering the infernal regions, he will be able to check his fears of the reality of any such accident; and he will rebuke himself for his anger against Apollo for the chief commander of the Greeks, —
[De aud. poet. 2e] Whom at a banquet, whiles he sings his praise And speaks him fair, yet treacherously he slays.
[De aud. poet. 2f] Yea, he will repress his tears for Achilles and Agamemnon, while they are represented as mourning after their death, and stretching forth their limber and feeble hands to express their desire to live again. And if at any time the charms of poetry transport him into any disquieting passions, he will quickly say to himself, as Homer very elegantly (considering the propension of women to listen after fables) says in his Necyia, or relation of the state of the dead, —
[De aud. poet. 2g] But from the dark dominions speed thy way, And climb the steep ascent to upper day; To thy chaste bride the wondrous story tell, The woes, the horrors, and the laws of hell.
[De aud. poet. 2h] Such things as I have touched upon are those which the poets willingly feign. But more there are which they do not feign, but believing them themselves as their own proper judgments, they put fictitious colors upon them to ingratiate them to us. As when Homer says of Jupiter, —
[De aud. poet. 2i] Jove lifts the golden balances, that show The fates of mortal men, and things below. Here each contending hero’s lot he tries, And weighs with equal hand their destinies. Low sinks the scale surcharged with Hector’s fate; Heavy with death it sinks, and hell receives the weight.
[De aud. poet. 2j] To this fable Aeschylus hath accommodated a whole tragedy which he calls Psychostasia, wherein he introduceth Thetis and Aurora standing by Jupiter’s balances, and deprecating each of them the death of her son engaged in a duel. Now there is no man but sees that this fable is a creature of the poet’s fancy, designed to delight or scare the reader. But this other passage, —
[De aud. poet. 2k] Great Jove is made the treasurer of wars;
and this other also, —
[De aud. poet. 2l] When a God means a noble house to raze, He frames one rather than he’ll want a cause:
[De aud. poet. 2m] these passages, I say, express the judgment and belief of poets who thereby discover and suggest to us the ignorant or mistaken apprehensions they had of the Deities. Moreover, almost every one knows nowadays, that the porten tous fancies and contrivances of stories concerning the state of the dead are accommodated to popular apprehensions, — that the spectres and phantasms of burning rivers and horrid regions and terrible tortures expressed by frightful names are all mixed with fable and fiction, as poison with food; and that neither Homer nor Pindar nor Sophocles ever believed themselves when they wrote at this rate: —
[De aud. poet. 2n] There endless floods of shady darkness stream From the vast caves, where mother Night doth teem;
[De aud. poet. 2o] and,
[De aud. poet. 2p] There ghosts o’er the vast ocean’s waves did glide, By the Leucadian promontory’s side;
[De aud. poet. 2q] and,
[De aud. poet. 2r] There from th’ unfathomed gulf th’ infernal lake Through narrow straits recurring tides doth make.
[De aud. poet. 2s] And yet, as many of them as deplore death as a lamentable thing, or the want of burial after death as a calamitous condition, are wont to break out into expressions of this nature: —
[De aud. poet. 2t] O pass not by, my friend; nor leave me here Without a grave, and on that grave a tear;
[De aud. poet. 2u] and,
[De aud. poet. 2v] Then to the ghosts the mournful soul did fly, Sore grieved in midst of youth and strength to die;
[De aud. poet. 2w] and again,
[De aud. poet. 2x] ‘Tis sweet to see the light. O spare me then, Till I arrive at th’ usual age of men: Nor force my unfledged soul from hence, to know The doleful state of dismal shades below.
[De aud. poet. 2y] These, I say, are the speeches of men persuaded of these things, as being possessed by erroneous opinions; and therefore they touch us the more nearly and torment us inwardly, because we ourselves are full of the same impotent passion from which they were uttered. To fortify us therefore against expressions of this nature, let this principle continually ring in our ears, that poetry is not at all solicitous to keep to the strict measure of truth. And indeed, as to what that truth in these matters is, even those men themselves who make it their only study to learn and search it out confess that they can hardly discover any certain footsteps to guide them in that enquiry. Let us therefore have these verses of Empedocles, in this case, at hand: —
[De aud. poet. 2z] No sight of man’s so clear, no ear so quick, No mind so piercing, that’s not here to seek;
[De aud. poet. 2~2] as also those of Xenophanes: —
[De aud. poet. 2~2b] The truth about the Gods and world, no manE’er was or shall be that determine can;
[De aud. poet. 2~2c] and lastly, that passage concerning Socrates, in Plato, where he by the solemnity of an oath disclaims all knowledge of those things. For those who perceive that the searching into such matters makes the heads of philosophers themselves giddy cannot but be the less inclined to regard what poets say concerning them.
[De aud. poet. 3] 3 And we shall fix our young man yet the more if, when we enter him in the poets, we first describe poetry to him, and tell him that it is an imitating art and doth in many respects correspond to painting; not only acquainting him with that common saying, that poetry is vocal painting and painting silent poetry, but teaching him, moreover, that when we see a lizard or an ape or the face of a Thersites in a picture, we are surprised with pleasure and wonder at it, not because of any beauty in the things, but for the likeness of the draught. For it is repugnant to the nature of that which is itself foul to be at the same time fair; and therefore it is the imitation — be the thing imitated beautiful or ugly — that, in case it do express it to the life, is commended; and on the contrary, if the imitation make a foul thing to appear fair, it is dispraised because it observes not decency and likeness.
[De aud. poet. 3b] Now some painters there are that paint uncomely actions; as Timotheus drew Medea killing her children; Theon, Orestes murdering his mother; and Parrhasius, Ulysses counterfeiting madness; yea, Chaerephanes expressed in picture the unchaste converse of women with men. Now in such cases a young man is to be familiarly acquainted with this notion, that, when men praise such pictures, they praise not the actions represented but only the painter’s art, which doth so lively express what was designed in them. Wherefore, in like manner, seeing poetry many times describes by imitation foul actions and unseemly passions and manners, the young student must not in such descriptions (although performed never so artificially and commendably) believe all that is said as true or embrace it as good, but give its due commendation so far only as it suits the subject treated of.
[De aud. poet. 3c] For as, when we hear the grunting of hogs and the shrieking of pulleys and the rustling of wind and the roaring of seas, we are, it may be, disturbed and displeased, and yet when we hear any one imitating these or the like noises handsomely (as Parmenio did that of an hog, and Theodorus that of a pulley), we are well pleased; and as we avoid (as an unpleasing spectacle) the sight of sick persons and of a lazar full of ulcers, and yet are delighted to be spectators of the Philoctetes of Aristophon and the Jocasta of Silanion, wherein such wasting and dying persons are well acted; so must the young scholar, when he reads in a poem of Thersites the buffoon or Sisyphus the whoremaster or Batrachus the bawd speaking or doing any thing, so praise the artificial managery of the poet, adapting the expressions to the persons, as withal to look on the discourses and actions so expressed as odious and abominable.
[De aud. poet. 3d] For the goodness of things themselves differs much from the goodness of the imitation of them; the goodness of the latter consisting only in propriety and aptness to represent the former. Whence to foul actions foul expressions are most suitable and proper. As the shoes of Demonides the cripple (which, when he had lost them, he wished might suit the feet of him that stole them) were but unhandsome shoes, but yet fit for the man they were made for; so we may say of such expressions as these: —
[De aud. poet. 3e] ‘Tis worth the while an unjust act to own, When it sets him that does it on a throne; Get the repute of Just for a disguise, And in it do all things whence gain may rise;A talent dowry! Could I close my eyes In sleep, or live, if thee I should despise? And should I not in hell tormented be,Could I be guilty of profaning thee?
[De aud. poet. 3f] These, it is true, are wicked as well as false speeches, but yet are decent enough in the mouth of an Eteocles, an lxion, and an old griping usurer. If therefore we mind our children that the poets write not such things as praising and approving them, but do really account them base and vicious and therefore accommodate such speeches to base and vicious persons, they will never be damnified by them from the esteem they have of the poets in whom they meet with them. But, on the contrary, the suspicions insinuated into them of the persons will render the words and actions ascribed to them suspected for evil, because proceeding from such evil men. And of this nature is Homer’s representation of Paris, when he describes him running out of the battle into Helen’s bed. For in that he attributes no such indecent act to any other, but only to that incontinent and adulterous person, he evidently declares that he intends that relation to import a disgrace and reproach to such intemperance.
[De aud. poet. 4] 4 In such passages therefore we are carefully to observe whether or not the poet himself do anywhere give any intimation that he dislikes the things he makes such persons say; which, in the prologue to his Thais Menander does, in these words: —
[De aud. poet. 4b] Therefore, my Muse, describe me now a whore, Fair, bold, and furnished with a nimble tongue; One that ne’er scruples to do lovers wrong; That always craves, and denied shuts her door; That truly loves no man, yet, for her ends, Affection true to every man pretends.
[De aud. poet. 4c] But Homer of all the poets does it best. For he doth beforehand, as it were, bespeak dislike of the evil things and approbation of the good things he utters. Of the latter take these instances: —
[De aud. poet. 4d] He readily did the occasion take, And sweet and comfortable words he spake; By him he stood, and with soft speeches quelled The wrath which in his heated bosom swelled.
[De aud. poet. 4e] And for the former, he so performs it as in a manner solemnly to forbid us to use or heed such speeches as those he mentions, as being foolish and wicked. For example, being to tell us how uncivilly Agamemnon treated the priest, he premises these words of his own, —
[De aud. poet. 4f] Not so Atrides: he with kingly pride Repulsed the sacred sire, and thus replied;
[De aud. poet. 4g] intimating the insolency and unbecomingness of his answer. And when he attributes this passionate speech to Achilles, —
[De aud. poet. 4h] O monster, mix’d of insolence and fear, Thou dog in forehead, and in heart a deer!
[De aud. poet. 4i] he accompanies it with this censure, —
[De aud. poet. 4j] Nor yet the rage his boiling breast forsook, Which thus redoubling on Atrides broke;
[De aud. poet. 4k] for it was unlikely that speaking in such anger he should observe any rules of decency.
[De aud. poet. 4l] And he passeth like censures on actions. As on Achilles’s foul usage of Hector’s carcass, —
Gloomy he said, and (horrible to view) Before the bier the bleeding Hector threw.
[De aud. poet. 4m] And in like manner he doth very decently shut up relations of things said or done, by adding some sentence wherein he declares his judgment of them. As when he personates some of the Gods saying, on the occasion of the adultery of Mars and Venus discovered by Vulcan’s artifice, —
[De aud. poet. 4n] See the swift God o’ertaken by the lame! Thus ill acts prosper not, but end in shame.
[De aud. poet. 4o] And thus concerning Hecter’s insolent boasting he says, —
With such big words his mind proud Hector eased, But venerable Juno he displeased.
[De aud. poet. 4p] And when he speaks of Pandarus’s shooting, he adds, —
He heard, and madly at the motion pleased, His polish’d bow with hasty rashness seized.
[De aud. poet. 4q] Now these verbal intimations of the minds and judgments of poets are not difficult to be understood by any one that will heedfully observe them. But besides these, they give us other hints from actions. As Euripides is reported, when some blamed him for bringing such an impious and flagitious villain as Ixion upon the stage, to have given this answer: But yet I brought him not off till I had fastened him to a torturing wheel. This same way of teaching by mute actions is to be found in Homer also, affording us useful contemplations upon those very fables which are usually most disliked in him. These some men offer force to, that they may reduce them to allegories (which the ancients called πόνοιαι), and tell us that Venus committing adultery with Mars, discovered by the Sun, is to be understood thus: that when the star called Venus is in conjunction with that which hath the name of Mars, bastardly births are produced, and by the Sun’s rising and discovering them they are not concealed. So will they have Juno’s dressing herself so accurately to tempt Jupiter, and her making use of the girdle of Venus to inflame his love, to be nothing else but the purification of that part of the air which draweth nearest to the nature of fire. As if we were not told the meaning of those fables far better by the poet himself. For he teacheth us in that of Venus, if we heed it, that light music and wanton songs and discourses which suggest to men obscene fancies debauch their manners, and incline them to an unmanly way of living in luxury and wantonness, of continually haunting the company of women, and of being
[De aud. poet. 4r] Given to fashions, that their garb may please, Hot baths, and couches where they loll at ease.
[De aud. poet. 4s] And therefore also he brings in Ulysses directing the musician thus, —
Leave this, and sing the horse, out of whose womb The gallant knights that conquered Troy did come;
[De aud. poet. 4t] evidently teaching us that poets and musicians ought to receive the arguments of their songs from sober and understanding men. And in the other fable of Juno he excellently shows that the conversation of women with men. and the favors they receive from them procured by sorcery, witchcraft, or other unlawful arts, are not only short, unstable, and soon cloying, but also in the issue easily turned to loathing and displeasure, when once the pleasure is over. For so Jupiter there threatens Juno, when he tells her, —
[De aud. poet. 4u] Hear this, remember, and our fury dread, Nor pull the unwilling vengeance on thy head; Lest arts and blandishments successless prove Thy soft deceits and well dissembled love.
[De aud. poet. 4v] For the fiction and representation of evil acts, when it withal acquaints us with the shame and damage befalling the doers, hurts not but rather profits him that reads them. For which end philosophers make use of examples for our instruction and correction out of historical collections; and poets do the very same thing, but with this difference, that they invent fabulous examples themselves. There was one Melanthius, who (whether in jest or earnest he said it, it matters not much) affirmed that the city of Athens owed its preservation to the dissensions and factions that were among the orators, giving withal this reason for his assertion, that thereby they were kept from inclining all of them to one side, so that by means of the differences among those statesmen there were always some that drew the saw the right way for the defeating of destructive counsels. And thus it is too in the contradictions among poets, which, by lessening the credit of what they say, render them the less powerful to do mischief; and therefore, when comparing one saying with another we discover their contrariety, we ought to adhere to the better side. As in these instances: —
[De aud. poet. 4w] The Gods, my son, deceive poor men oft-times. Ans. ‘Tis easy, sir, on God to lay our crimes.
[De aud. poet. 4x] ‘Tis comfort to thee to be rich, is’t not! Ans. No, sir, ‘tis bad to be a wealthy sot.
[De aud. poet. 4y] Die rather than such toilsome pains to take. Ans. To call God’s service toil’s a foul mistake.
[De aud. poet. 4z] Such contrarieties as these are easily solved, if (as I said) we teach youth to judge aright and to give the better saying preference. But if we chance to meet with any absurd passages without any others at their heels to confute them, we are then to overthrow them with such others as elsewhere are to be found in the author. Nor must we be offended with the poet or grieved at him, but only at the speeches themselves, which he utters either according to the vulgar manner of speaking or, it may be, but in drollery. So, when thou readest in Homer of Gods thrown out of heaven headlong one by another, or Gods wounded by men and quarrelling and brawling with each other, thou mayest readily, if thou wilt, say to him, —
[De aud. poet. 4~2] Sure thy invention here was sorely out, Or thou hadst said far better things, no doubt;
[De aud. poet. 4~2b] yea, and thou dost so elsewhere, and according as thou thinkest, to wit, in these passages of thine: —
[De aud. poet. 4~2c] The Gods, removed from all that men doth grieve,A quiet and contented life do live. Herein the immortal Gods for ever blest Feel endless joys and undisturbed rest. The Gods, who have themselves no cause to grieve, For wretched man a web of sorrow weave.
[De aud. poet. 4~2d] For these argue sound and true opinions of the Gods; but those other were only feigned to raise passions in men. Again, when Euripides speaks at this rate, —
[De aud. poet. 4~2e] The Gods are better than we men by far, And yet by them we oft deceived are, —
we may do well to quote him elsewhere against himself, where he says better, —
If Gods do wrong, surely no Gods there are.
[De aud. poet. 4~2f] So also, when Pindar saith bitterly and keenly,
No law forbids us any thing to do,Whereby a mischief may befall a foe,
tell him: But, Pindar, thou thyself sayest elsewhere.
[De aud. poet. 4~2g] The pleasure which injurious acts attends Always in bitter consequences ends.
[De aud. poet. 4~2h] And when Sophocles speaks thus,
Sweet is the gain, wherein to lie and cheat Adds the repute of wit to what we get,
[De aud. poet. 4~2i] tell him: But we have heard thee say far otherwise,
When the account’s cast up, the gain’s but poor Which by a lying tongue augments the store.
[De aud. poet. 4~2j] And as to what he saith of riches, to wit:
[De aud. poet. 4~2k] Wealth, where it minds to go, meets with no stay; For where it finds not, it can make a way; Many fair offers doth the poor let go,And lose his prize because his purse is low; The fair tongue makes, where wealth can purchase it,The foul face beautiful, the fool a wit: —
[De aud. poet. 4~2l] here the reader may set in opposition divers other sayings of the same author. For example,
[De aud. poet. 4~2m] From honor poverty doth not debar, Where poor men virtuous and deserving are. Whate’er fools think, a man is ne’er the worse If he be wise, though with an empty purse. The comfort which he gets who wealth enjoys, The vexing care by which ‘tis kept destroys.
[De aud. poet. 4~2n] And Menander also somewhere magnifies a voluptuous life, and inflames the minds of vain persons with these amorous strains,
[De aud. poet. 4~2o] The glorious sun no living thing doth see, But what’s a slave to love as well as we.
[De aud. poet. 4~2p] But yet elsewhere, on the other side, he fastens on us and pulls us back to the love of virtue, and checks the rage of lust, when he says thus,
[De aud. poet. 4~2q] The life that is dishonorably spent, Be it ne’er so pleasant, yields no true content.
[De aud. poet. 4~2r] For these lines are contrary to the former, as they are also better and more profitable; so that by comparing them considerately one cannot but either be inclined to the better side, or at least flag in the belief of the worse.
[De aud. poet. 4~2s] But now, supposing that any of the poets themselves afford no such correcting passages to solve what they have said amiss, it will then be advisable to confront them with the contrary sayings of other famous men, and therewith to sway the scales of our judgment to the better side. As, when Alexis tempts to debauchery in these verses,
[De aud. poet. 4~2t] The wise man knows what of all things is best, Whilst choosing pleasure he slights all the rest. He thinks life’s joys complete in these three sorts, To drink and eat, and follow wanton sports; And what besides seems to pretend to pleasure, If it betide him, counts it over measure,
[De aud. poet. 4~2u] we must remember that Socrates said the contrary, to wit: Bad men live that they may eat and drink, whereas good men eat and drink that they may live. And against the man that wrote in this manner,
[De aud. poet. 4~2v] He that designs to encounter with a knave, An equal stock of knavery must have,
[De aud. poet. 4~2w] seeing he herein advises us to follow other vicious examples, that of Diogenes may well be returned, who being asked by what means a man might revenge himself upon his enemy, answered, By becoming himself a good and honest man. And the same Diogenes may be quoted also against Sophocles, who, writing thus of the sacred mysteries, caused great grief and despair to multitudes of men:
[De aud. poet. 4~2x] Most happy they whose eyes are blest to see The mysteries which here contained be,Before they die! For only they have joy In th’ other world; the rest all ills annoy.
[De aud. poet. 4~2y] This passage being read to Diogenes, What then! says he, shall the condition of Pataecion, the notorious robber, after death be better than that of Epaminondas, merely for his being initiated in these mysteries? In like manner, when one Timotheus on the theatre, in the praise of the Goddess Diana, called her furious, raging, possessed, mad, Cinesias presently cried out to him aloud, May thy daughter, Timotheus, be such a Goddess! And witty also was that of Bion to Theognis, who said, —
[De aud. poet. 4~2z] One can not say nor do, if poor he be;His tongue is bound to th’ peace, as well as he.
[De aud. poet. 4~2~2] How comes it to pass then, said he, Theognis, that thou thyself being so poor pratest and gratest our ears in this manner?
[De aud. poet. 5] 5 Nor are we to omit in our reading those hints which, from some other words or phrases bordering on those that offend us, may help to rectify our apprehensions. But as physicians use cantharides, believing that, though their bodies be deadly poison, yet their feet and wings are medicinal and can even kill the poison of the flies themselves, so must we deal with poems. If any noun or verb near at hand may assist to the correction of any such saying, and preserve us from putting a bad construction upon it, we should take hold of it and employ it to assist a more favorable interpretation. As some do in reference to those verses of Homer, —
[De aud. poet. 5b] Sorrows and tears most commonly are seen To be the Gods’ rewards to wretched men: — The Gods, who have no cause themselves to grieve, For wretched man a web of sorrow weave.
[De aud. poet. 5c] For, they say, he says not of men simply, or of all men, that the Gods weave for them the fatal web of a sorrowful life; but he affirms it only of foolish and imprudent men, whom, because their vices make them such, he therefore calls wretched and miserable.
[De aud. poet. 6] 6 Another way whereby those passages which are suspicious in poets may be transferred to a better sense may be taken from the common use of words, which a young man ought indeed to be more exercised in than in the use of strange and obscure terms. For it will be a point of philology which it will not be unpleasant to him to understand, that when he meets with [Editor: illegible character]ιγεδανή in a poet, that word signifies an evil death; for the Macedonians use the word δάνος to signify death. So the Aeolians call victory gotten by patient endurance of hardships ϰαμμονίη; and the Dryopians call daemons πόποι.
[De aud. poet. 6b] But of all things it is most necessary, and no less profitable if we design to receive profit and not hurt from the poets, that we understand how they make use of the names of Gods, as also of the terms of Evil and Good; and what they mean by Fortune and Fate; and whether these words be always taken by them in one and the same sense or rather in various senses, as also many other words are. For so the word οϰος sometimes signifies a material house, as, Into the high-roofed house; and sometimes estate, as, My house is devoured. So the word βίοτος sometimes signifies life, and sometimes wealth. And λύειν is sometimes taken for being uneasy and disquieted in mind, as in
[De aud. poet. 6c] [Editor: illegible character]ς αθ’ δ’ λύουσ’ πεβήσατο, τείρετο δ’ ανς,
and elsewhere for boasting and rejoicing, as in
Ἢ λύεις, [Editor: illegible character]τι Ἶρον νίκησας τν λήτην.
[De aud. poet. 6d] In like manner οάζειν signifies either to move, as in Euripides when he saith,
Κῆτος οάζον κ τλαντικῆς λός, —
or to sit, as in Sophocles when he writes thus,
Τίνας πό’ δρας τάσδε μοι οάζετε,Ἱκτηρίοις κλάδοισιν ξεστεμμένοι.
[De aud. poet. 6e] It is elegant also when they adapt to the present matter, as grammarians teach, the use of words which are commonly of another signification. As here: —
[De aud. poet. 6f] Νῆ’ λίγην ανεῖν, μεγάη δ’ ν ορτία θέσθαι.
[De aud. poet. 6g] For here ανεῖν signifies to praise (instead of παινε[Editor: illegible character]ν), and to praise is used for to refuse. So in conversation it is common with us to say, ϰαλς χει, it is well (i.e., No, I thank you), and to bid any thing fare well (χαίϱειν); by which forms of speech we refuse a thing which we do not want, or receive it not, but still with a civil compliment. So also some say that Proserpina is called παινή in the notion of παϱαιτητή, to be deprecated, because death is by all men shunned.
[De aud. poet. 6h] And the like distinction of words we ought to observe also in things more weighty and serious. To begin with the Gods, we should teach our youth that poets, when they use the names of Gods, sometimes mean properly the Divine Beings so called, but otherwhiles understand by those names certain powers of which the Gods are the donors and authors, they having first led us into the use of them by their own practice. As when Archilochus prays,
[De aud. poet. 6i] King Vulcan, hear thy suppliant, and grant That which thou’rt wont to give and I to want,
[De aud. poet. 6j] it is plain that he means the God himself whom he invokes. But when elsewhere he bewails the drowning of his sister’s husband, who had not obtained lawful burial, and says,
[De aud. poet. 6k] Had Vulcan his fair limbs to ashes turned,I for his loss had with less passion mourned,
[De aud. poet. 6l] he gives the name of Vulcan to the fire and not to the Deity. Again, Euripides, when he says,
[De aud. poet. 6m] No; by great Jove I swear, enthroned on high, And bloody Mars,
means the Gods themselves who bare those names. But when Sophocles saith,
[De aud. poet. 6n] Blind Mars doth mortal men’s affairs confound, As the swine’s snout doth quite deface the ground,
[De aud. poet. 6o] we are to understand the word Mars to denote not the God so called, but war. And by the same word we are to understand also weapons made of hardened brass, in those verses of Homer,
[De aud. poet. 6p] These are the gallant men whose noble blood Keen Mars did shed near swift Scamander’s flood.
[De aud. poet. 6q] Wherefore, in conformity to the instances given, we must conceive and bear in mind that by the names of Jupiter also sometimes they mean the God himself, sometimes Fortune, and oftentimes also Fate. For when they say, —
[De aud. poet. 6r] Great Jupiter, who from the lofty hill Of Ida govern’st all the world at will; That wrath which hurled to Pluto’s gloomy realm The souls of mighty chiefs: — Such was the sovereign doom, and such the will of Jove; For who (but who himself too fondly loves) Dares lay his wisdom in the scale with Jove’s? —
[De aud. poet. 6s] they understand Jupiter himself. But when they ascribe the event of all things done to Jupiter as the cause, saying of him, —
[De aud. poet. 6t] Many brave souls to hell Achilles sent, And Jove’s design accomplished in th’ event, —
[De aud. poet. 6u] they mean by Jove no more but Fate. For the poet doth not conceive that God contrives mischief against mankind, but he soundly declares the mere necessity of the things themselves, to wit, that prosperity and victory are destined by Fate to cities and armies and commanders who govern themselves with sobriety, but if they give way to passions and commit errors, thereby dividing and crumbling themselves into factions, as those of whom the poet speaks did, they do unhandsome actions, and thereby create great disturbances, such as are attended with sad consequences.
[De aud. poet. 6v] For to all unadvised acts, in fine, The Fates unhappy issues do assign.
[De aud. poet. 6w] But when Hesiod brings in Prometheus thus counselling his brother Epimetheus,
[De aud. poet. 6x] Brother, if Jove to thee a present make, Take heed that from his hands thou nothing take,
[De aud. poet. 6y] he useth the name of Jove to express Fortune; for he calls the good things which come by her (such as riches, and marriages, and empires, and indeed all external things the enjoyment whereof is unprofitable to them who know not how to use them well) the gifts of Jove. And therefore he adviseth Epimetheus (an ill man, and a fool withal) to stand in fear of and to guard himself from prosperity, as that which would be hurtful and destructive to him.
[De aud. poet. 6z] Again, where he saith,
[De aud. poet. 6~2] Reproach thou not a man for being poor; His poverty’s God’s gift, as is thy store,
[De aud. poet. 6~2b] he calls that which befalls men by Fortune God’s gift, and intimates that it is an unworthy thing to reproach any man for that poverty which he falls into by Fortune, whereas poverty is then only a matter of disgrace and reproach when it is attendant on sloth and idleness, or wantonness and prodigality. For, before the name of Fortune was used, they knew there was a powerful cause, which moved irregularly and unlimitedly and with such a force that no human reason could avoid it; and this cause they called by the names of Gods. So we are wont to call divers things and qualities and discourses, and even men themselves, divine. And thus may we rectify many such sayings concerning Jupiter as would otherwise seem very absurd. As these, for instance: —
[De aud. poet. 6~2c] Before Jove’s door two fatal hogsheads, filled With human fortunes, good and bad luck yield: — Of violated oaths Jove took no care, But spitefully both parties crushed by war: — To Greeks and Trojans both this was the rise Of mischief, suitable to Jove’s device.
[De aud. poet. 6~2d] These passages we are to interpret as spoken concerning Fortune or Fate, of the causality of both which no account can be given by us, nor do their effects fall under our power. But where any thing is said of Jupiter that is suitable, rational, and probable, there we are to conceive that the names of that God is used properly. As in these instances: —
[De aud. poet. 6~2e] Through others’ ranks he conquering did range, But shunned with Ajax any blows t’ exchange; But Jove’s displeasure on him he had brought, Had he with one so much his better fought. For though great matters are Jove’s special care, Small things t’ inferior daemons trusted are.
[De aud. poet. 6~2f] And other words there are which the poets remove and translate from their proper sense by accommodation to various things, which deserve also our serious notice. Such a one, for instance, is ϱετή, virtue. For because virtue does not only render men prudent, just, and good, both in their words and deeds, but also oftentimes purchaseth to them honor and power, therefore they call likewise these by that name. So we are wont to call both the olive-tree and the fruit λαία, and the oak-tree and its acorn φηγός, communicating the name of the one to the other. Therefore, when our young man reads in the poets such passages as these, —
[De aud. poet. 6~2g] This law th’ immortal Gods to us have set, That none arrive at virtue but by sweat; The adverse troops then did the Grecians stout By their mere virtue profligate and rout; If now the Fates determined have our death, To virtue we’ll consign our parting breath; —
[De aud. poet. 6~2h] let him presently conceive that these things are spoken of that most excellent and divine habit in us which we understand to be no other than right reason, or the highest attainment of the reasonable nature, and most agreeable to the constitution thereof. And again, when he reads this,
[De aud. poet. 6~2i] Of virtue Jupiter to one gives more, And lessens, when he lifts, another’s store;
[De aud. poet. 6~2j] and this,
Virtue and honor upon wealth attend;
[De aud. poet. 6~2k] let him not sit down in an astonishing admiration of rich men, as if they were enabled by their wealth to purchase virtue, nor let him imagine that it is in the power of Fortune to increase or lessen his own wisdom; but let him conceive that the poet by virtue meant either glory or power or prosperity or something of like import. For poets use the same ambiguity also in the word χαχότης, evil, which sometimes in them properly signifies a wicked and malicious disposition of mind, as in that of Hesiod,
[De aud. poet. 6~2l] Evil is soon acquired; for everywhere There’s plenty on’t and t’all men’s dwellings near;
and sometimes some evil accident or misfortune, as when Homer says,
[De aud. poet. 6~2m] Sore evils, when they haunt us in our prime, Hasten old age on us before our time.
[De aud. poet. 6~2n] So also in the word εδαιμονία, he would be sorely deceived who should imagine that, wheresoever he meets with it in poets, it means (as it does in philosophy) a perfect habitual enjoyment of all good things or the leading a life every way agreeable to Nature, and that they do not withal by the abuse of such words call rich men happy or blessed, and power or glory felicity. For, though Homer rightly useth terms of that nature in this passage, —
[De aud. poet. 6~2o] Though of such great estates I am possest, Yet with true inward joy I am not blest;
[De aud. poet. 6~2p] and Menander in this, —
[De aud. poet. 6~2q] So great’s th’ estate I am endowed withal: All say I’m rich, but none me happy call; —
[De aud. poet. 6~2r] yet Euripides discourseth more confusedly and perplexedly when he writes after this manner, —
[De aud. poet. 6~2s] May I ne’er live that grievous blessed life; — But tell me, man, why valuest thou so high Th’ unjust beatitude of tyranny?
[De aud. poet. 6~2t] except, as I said, we allow him the use of these words in a metaphorical and abusive sense. But enough hath been spoken of these matters.
[De aud. poet. 7] 7 Nevertheless, this principle is not once only but often to be inculcated and pressed on young men, that poetry, when it undertakes a fictitious argument by way of imitation, though it make use of such ornament and illustration as suit the actions and manners treated of, yet disclaims not all likelihood of truth, seeing the force of imitation, in order to the persuading of men, lies in probability. Wherefore such imitation as does not altogether shake hands with truth carries along with it certain signs of virtue and vice mixed together in the actions which it doth represent. And of this nature is Homer’s poetry, which totally bids adieu to Stoicism, the principles whereof will not admit any vice to come near where virtue is, nor virtue to have any thing to do where any vice lodgeth, but affirms that he that is not a wise man can do nothing well, and he that is so can do nothing amiss. Thus they determine in the schools. But in human actions and the affairs of common life the judgment of Euripides is verified, that
[De aud. poet. 7b] Virtue and vice ne’er separately exist, But in the same acts with each other twist.
[De aud. poet. 7c] Next, it is to be observed that poetry, waiving the truth of things, does most labor to beautify its fictions with variety and multiplicity of contrivance. For variety bestows upon fable all that is pathetical, unusual, and surprising, and thereby makes it more taking and graceful; whereas what is void of variety is unsuitable to the nature of fable, and so raiseth no passions at all. Upon which design of variety it is, that the poets never represent the same persons always victorious or prosperous or acting with the same constant tenor of virtue; — yea, even the Gods themselves, when they engage in human actions, are not represented as free from passions and errors; — lest, for the want of some difficulties and cross passages, their poems should be destitute of that briskness which is requisite to move and astonish the minds of men.
[De aud. poet. 8] 8 These things therefore so standing, we should, when we enter a young man into the study of the poets, endeavor to free his mind from that degree of esteem of the good and great personages in them described as may incline him to think them to be mirrors of wisdom and justice, the chief of princes, and the exemplary measures of all virtue and goodness. For he will receive much prejudice, if he shall approve and admire all that comes from such persons as great, if he dislike nothing in them himself, nor will endure to hear others blame them, though for such words and actions as the following passages import: —
[De aud. poet. 8b] Oh! would to all the immortal powers above, Apollo, Pallas, and almighty Jove! That not one Trojan might be left alive, And not a Greek of all the race survive. Might only we the vast destruction shun, And only we destroy the accursed town! Her breast all gore, with lamentable cries, The bleeding innocent Cassandra dies, Murdered by Clytemnestra’s faithless hand: Lie with thy father’s whore, my mother said, That she th’ old man may loathe; and I obeyed: Of all the Gods, O father Jove, there’s none Thus given to mischief but thyself alone.
[De aud. poet. 8c] Our young man is to be taught not to commend such things as these, no, nor to show the nimbleness of his wit or subtlety in maintaining an argument by finding out plausible colors and pretences to varnish over a bad matter. But we should teach him rather to judge that poetry is an imitation of the manners and lives of such men as are not perfectly pure and unblamable, but such as are tinctured with passions, misled by false opinions, and muffled with ignorance; though oftentimes they may, by the help of a good natural temper, change them for better qualities. For the young man’s mind, being thus prepared and disposed, will receive no damage by such passages when he meets with them in poems, but will on the one side be elevated with rapture at those things which are well said or done, and on the other, will not entertain but dislike those which are of a contrary character. But he that admires and is transported with every thing, as having his judgment enslaved by the esteem he hath for the names of heroes, will be unawares wheedled into many evil things, and be guilty of the same folly with those who imitate the crookedness of Plato or the lisping of Aristotle. Neither must he carry himself timorously herein, nor, like a superstitious person in a temple, tremblingly adore all he meets with; but use himself to such confidence as may enable him openly to pronounce, This was ill or incongruously said, and, That was bravely and gallantly spoken. For example, Achilles in Homer, being offended at the spinning out that war by delays, wherein he was desirous by feats of arms to purchase to himself glory, calls the soldiers together when there was an epidemical disease among them. But having himself some smattering skill in physic, and perceiving after the ninth day, which useth to be decretory in such cases, that the disease was no usual one nor proceeding from ordinary causes, when he stands up to speak, he waives applying himself to the soldiers, and addresseth himself as a councillor to the general, thus: —
[De aud. poet. 8d] Why leave we not the fatal Trojan shore, And measure back the seas we cross’d before?
[De aud. poet. 8e] And he spake well, and with due moderation and decorum. But when the soothsayer Chalcas had told him that he feared the wrath of the most potent among the Grecians, after an oath that while he lived no man should lay violent hands on him, he adds, but not with like wisdom and moderation,
[De aud. poet. 8f] Not e’en the chief by whom our hosts are led, The king of kings, shall touch that sacred head;
in which speech he declares his low opinion or rather his contempt of his chief commander. And then, being farther provoked, he drew his weapon with a design to kill him, which attempt was neither good nor expedient. And therefore by and by he repented his rashness, —
[De aud. poet. 8g] He said, observant of the blue-eyed maid; Then in the sheath returned the shining blade;
[De aud. poet. 8h] wherein again he did rightly and worthily, in that, though he could not altogether quell his passion, yet he restrained and reduced it under the command of reason, before it brake forth into such an irreparable act of mischief. Again, even Agamemnon himself talks in that assembly ridiculously, but carries himself more gravely and more like a prince in the matter of Chryseis. For whereas Achilles, when his Briseis was taken away from him,
[De aud. poet. 8i] In sullenness withdraws from all his friends, And in his tent his time lamenting spends;
Agamemnon himself hands into the ship, delivers to her friends, and so sends from him, the woman concerning whom a little before he declared that he loved her better than his wife; and in that action did nothing unbecoming or savoring of fond affection. Also Phoenix, when his father bitterly cursed him for having to do with one that was his own harlot, says,
[De aud. poet. 8j] Him in my rage I purposed to have killed, But that my hand some God in kindness held; And minded me that Greeks would taunting say, Lo, here’s the man that did his father slay.
[De aud. poet. 8k] It is true that Aristarchus was afraid to permit these verses to stand in the poet, and therefore censured them to be expunged. But they were inserted by Homer very aptly to the occasion of Phoenix’s instructing Achilles what a pernicious thing anger is, and what foul acts men do by its instigation, while they are capable neither of making use of their own reason nor of hearing the counsel of others. To which end he also introduceth Meleager at first highly offended with his citizens, and afterwards pacified; justly therein reprehending disordered passions, and praising it as a good and profitable thing not to yield to them, but to resist and overcome them, and to repent when one hath been overcome by them.
[De aud. poet. 8l] Now in these instances the difference is manifest. But where a like clear judgment cannot be passed, there we are to settle the young man’s mind thus, by way of distinction. If Nausicaa, having cast her eyes upon Ulysses, a stranger, and feeling the same passion for him as Calypso had before, did (as one that was ripe for a husband) out of wantonness talk with her maidens at this foolish rate, —
[De aud. poet. 8m] O Heaven! in my connubial hour decree This man my spouse, or such a spouse as he!
[De aud. poet. 8n] she is blameworthy for her impudence and incontinence. But if; perceiving the man’s breeding by his discourse, and admiring the prudence of his addresses, she rather wisheth to have such a one for a husband than a merchant or a dancing gallant of her fellow-citizens, she is to be commended. And when Ulysses is represented as rejoicing at Penelope’s jocular conversation with her wooers, and at their presenting her with rich garments and other ornaments,
[De aud. poet. 8o] Because she cunningly the fools cajoled, And bartered light words for their heavy gold;
[De aud. poet. 8p] if that joy were occasioned by greediness and covetousness, he discovers himself to be a more sordid prostituter of his own wife than Poliager is wont to be represented on the stage to have been, of whom it is said, —
[De aud. poet. 8q] Happy man he, whose wife, like Capricorn, Stores him with riches from a golden horn!
[De aud. poet. 8r] But if through foresight he thought thereby to get them the more within his power, as being lulled asleep in security for the future by the hopes she gave them at present, this rejoicing, joined with confidence in his wife, was rational. Again, when he is brought in numbering the goods which the Phaeacians had set on shore together with himself and departed; if indeed, being himself left in such a solitude, so ignorant where he was, and having no security there for his own person, he is yet solicitous for his goods, lest
[De aud. poet. 8s] The sly Phaeacians, when they stole to sea, Had stolen some part of what they brought away;
the covetousness of the man deserved in truth to be pitied, or rather abhorred. But if, as some say in his defence, being doubtful whether or no the place where he was landed were Ithaca, he made use of the just tale of his goods to infer thence the honesty of the Phaeacians, — because it was not likely they would expose him in a strange place and leave him there with his goods by him untouched, so as to get nothing by their dishonesty, — then he makes use of a very fit test for this purpose, and deserves commendation for his wisdom in that action. Some also there are who find fault with that passage of the putting him on shore when he was asleep, if it really so happened, and they tell us that the people of Tuscany have still a traditional story among them concerning Ulysses, that he was naturally sleepy, and therefore a man whom many men could not freely converse with. But if his sleep was but feigned, and he made use of this pretence only of a natural infirmity, by counterfeiting a nap, to hide the strait he was in at that time in his thoughts, betwixt the shame of sending away the Phaeacians without giving them a friendly collation and hospitable gifts, and the fear he had of being discovered to his enemies by the treating such a company of men together, they then approve it.
[De aud. poet. 8t] Now, by showing young men these things, we shall preserve them from being carried away to any corruption in their manners, and dispose them to the election and imitation of those that are good, as being before instructed readily to disapprove those and commend these. But this ought with the most care to be done in the reading of tragedies wherein probable and subtle speeches are made use of in the most foul and wicked actions. For that is not always true which Sophocles saith, that
[De aud. poet. 8u] From naughty acts good words can ne’er proceed.
[De aud. poet. 8v] For even he himself is wont to apply pleasant reasonings and plausible arguments to those manners and actions which are wicked or unbecoming. And in another of his fellow-tragedians, we may see even Phaedra herself represented as justifying her unlawful affection for Hippolytus by accusing Theseus of ill-carriage towards her. And in his Troades, he allows Helen the same liberty of speech against Hecuba, whom she judgeth to be more worthy of punishment than herself for her adultery, because she was the mother of Paris that tempted her thereto. A young man therefore must not be accustomed to think any thing of that nature handsomely or wittily spoken, nor to be pleased with such colorable inventions; but rather more to abhor such words as tend to the defence of wanton acts than the very acts themselves.
[De aud. poet. 9] 9 And lastly, it will be useful likewise to enquire into the cause why each thing is said. For so Cato, when he was a boy, though he was wont to be very observant of all his master’s commands, yet withal used to ask the cause or reason why he so commanded. But poets are not to be obeyed as pedagogues and lawgivers are, except they have reason to back what they say. And that they will not want, when they speak well; and if they speak ill, what they say will appear vain and frivolous. But nowadays most young men very briskly demand the reason of such trivial speeches as these, and enquire in what sense they are spoken:
[De aud. poet. 9b] It bodes ill luck, when vessels you set up,To place the ladle on the mixing-cup. Who from his chariot to another’s leaps, Seldom his seat without a combat keeps.
[De aud. poet. 9c] But to those of greater moment they give credence without examination, as to those that follow:
[De aud. poet. 9d] The boldest men are daunted oftentimes, When they’re reproached with their parents’ crimes: When any man is crushed by adverse fate, His spirit should be low as his estate.
[De aud. poet. 9e] And yet such speeches relate to manners, and disquiet men’s lives by begetting in them evil opinions and unworthy sentiments, except they have learned to return answer to each of them thus: “Wherefore is it necessary that a man who is crushed by adverse fate should have a dejected spirit? Yea, why rather should he not struggle against Fortune, and raise himself above the pressures of his low circumstances? Why, if I myself be a good and wise son of an evil and foolish father, does it not rather become me to bear myself confidently upon the account of my own virtue, than to be dejected and dispirited because of my father’s defects?” For he that can encounter such speeches and oppose them after this manner, not yielding himself up to be overset with the blast of every saying, but approving that speech of Heraclitus, that
[De aud. poet. 9f] Whate’er is said, though void of sense and wit, The size of a fool’s intellect doth fit,
[De aud. poet. 9g] will reject many such things as falsely and idly spoken.
[De aud. poet. 10] 10 These things therefore may be of use to preserve us from the hurt we might get by the study of poems. Now, as on a vine the fruit oftentimes lies shadowed and hidden under its large leaves and luxuriant branches, so in the poet’s phrases and fictions that encompass them there are also many profitable and useful things concealed from the view of young men. This, however, ought not to be suffered; nor should we be led away from things themselves thus, but rather adhere to such of them as tend to the promoting of virtue and the well forming of our manners. It will not be altogether useless therefore, to treat briefly in the next place of passages of that nature. Wherein I intend to touch only at some particulars, leaving all longer discourses, and the trimming up and furnishing them with a multitude of instances, to those who write more for show and ostentation.
First, therefore, let our young man be taught to understand good and bad manners and persons, and from thence apply his mind to the words and deeds which the poet decently assigns to either of them. For example, Achilles, though in some wrath, speaks to Agamemnon thus decently:
[De aud. poet. 10b] Nor, when we take a Trojan town, can IWith thee in spoils and splendid prizes vie;
[De aud. poet. 10c] whereas Thersites to the same person speaks reproachfully in this manner: —
[De aud. poet. 10d] ‘Tis thine whate’er the warrior’s breast inflames, The golden spoil, and thine the lovely dames. With all the wealth our wars and blood bestow, Thy tents are crowded and thy chests o’erflow.
[De aud. poet. 10e] Again, Achilles thus: —
[De aud. poet. 10f] Whene’er, by Jove’s decree, our conquering powers Shall humble to the dust Troy’s lofty towers;
[De aud. poet. 10g] but Thersites thus: —
Whom I or some Greek else as captive bring.
[De aud. poet. 10h] Again, Diomedes, when Agamemnon taking a view of the army spoke reproachfully to him,
[De aud. poet. 10i] To his hard words forbore to make reply, For the respect he bare to majesty;
whereas Stenelus, a man of small note, replies on him thus: —
[De aud. poet. 10j] Sir, when you know the truth, what need to lie? For with our fathers we for valor vie.
[De aud. poet. 10k] Now the observation of such difference will teach the young man the decency of a modest and moderate temper, and the unbecoming nauseousness of the contrary vices of boasting and cracking of a man’s own worth. And it is worth while also to take notice of the demeanor of Agamemnon in the same passage. For he passeth by Sthenelus unspoken to; but perceiving Ulysses to be offended, he neglects not him, but applies himself to answer him: —
[De aud. poet. 10l] Struck with his generous wrath, the king replies.
[De aud. poet. 10m] For to have apologized to every one had been too servile and misbecoming the dignity of his person; whereas equally to have neglected every one had been an act of insolence and imprudence. And very handsome it is that Diomedes, though in the heat of the battle he answers the king only with silence, yet after the battle was over useth more liberty towards him, speaking thus: —
[De aud. poet. 10n] You called me coward, sir, before the Greeks.
[De aud. poet. 10o] It is expedient also to take notice of the different carriage of a wise man and of a soothsayer popularly courting the multitude. For Chalcas very unseasonably makes no scruple to traduce the king before the people, as having been the cause of the pestilence that was befallen them. But Nestor, intending to bring in a discourse concerning the reconciling Achilles to him, that he might not seem to charge Agamemnon before the multitude with the miscarriage his passion had occasioned, only adviseth him thus: —
[De aud. poet. 10p] But thou, O king, to council call the old. . . .Wise weighty counsels aid a state distress’d,And such a monarch as can choose the best;
[De aud. poet. 10q] which done, accordingly after supper he sends his ambassadors. Now this speech of Nestor tended to the rectifying of what he had before done amiss; but that of Chalcas, only to accuse and disparage him.
[De aud. poet. 10r] There is likewise consideration to be had of the different manners of nations, such as these. The Trojans enter into battle with loud outcries and great fierceness; but in the army of the Greeks,
[De aud. poet. 10s] Sedate and silent move the numerous bands; No sound, no whisper, but the chief’s commands; Those only heard, with awe the rest obey.
[De aud. poet. 10t] For when soldiers are about to engage an enemy, the awe they stand in of their officers is an argument both of courage and obedience. For which purpose Plato teacheth us that we ought to inure ourselves to fear blame and disgrace more than labor and danger. And Cato was wont to say that he liked men that were apt to blush better than those that looked pale.
[De aud. poet. 10u] Moreover, there is a particular character to be noted of the men who undertake for any action. For Dolon thus promiseth: —
[De aud. poet. 10v] I’ll pass through all their host in a disguise To their flag-ship, where she at anchor lies.
[De aud. poet. 10w] But Diomedes promiseth nothing, but only tells them he shall fear the less if they send a companion with him; whereby is intimated, that discreet foresight is Grecian and civil, but rash confidence is barbarous and evil; and the former is therefore to be imitated, and the latter to be avoided.
[De aud. poet. 10x] It is a matter too of no unprofitable consideration, how the minds of the Trojans and of Hector too were affected when he and Ajax were about to engage in a single combat. For Aeschylus, when, upon one of the fighters at fisticuffs in the Isthmian games receiving a blow on the face, there was made a great outcry among the people, said: “What a thing is practice! See how the lookers-on only cry out, but the man that received the stroke is silent.” But when the poet tells us, that the Greeks rejoiced when they saw Ajax in his glistering armor, but
[De aud. poet. 10y] The Trojans’ knees for very fear did quake, And even Hector’s heart began to ache;
[De aud. poet. 10z] who is there that wonders not at this difference, — when the heart of him that was to run the risk of the combat only beats inwardly, as if he were to undertake a mere wrestling or running match, but the very bodies of the spectators tremble and shake, out of the kindness and fear which they had for their king?
[De aud. poet. 10~2] In the same poet also we may observe the difference betwixt the humor of a coward and a valiant man. For Thersites
[De aud. poet. 10~2b] Against Achilles a great malice had, And wise Ulysses he did hate as bad;
but Ajax is always represented as friendly to Achilles; and particularly he speaks thus to Hector concerning him: —
[De aud. poet. 10~2c] Hector! approach my arm, and singly know What strength thou hast, and what the Grecian foe. Achilles shuns the fight; yet some there are Not void of soul, and not unskill’d in war:
[De aud. poet. 10~2d] wherein he insinuates the high commendation of that valiant man. And in what follows, he speaks like handsome things of his fellow-soldiers in general, thus: —
[De aud. poet. 10~2e] Whole troops of heroes Greece has yet to boast, And sends thee one, a sample of her host;
[De aud. poet. 10~2f] wherein he doth not boast himself to be the only or the best champion, but one of those, among many others, who were fit to undertake that combat.
[De aud. poet. 10~2g] What hath been said is sufficient upon the point of dissimilitudes; except we think fit to add this, that many of the Trojans came into the enemy’s power alive, but none of the Grecians; and that many of the Trojans supplicated to their enemies, — as (for instance) Adrastus, the sons of Antimachus, Lycaon, — and even Hector himself entreats Achilles for a sepulture; but not one of these doth so, as judging it barbarous to supplicate to a foe in the field, and more Greek-like either to conquer or die.
[De aud. poet. 11] 11 But as, in the same plant, the bee feeds on the flower, the goat on the bud, the hog on the root, and other living creatures on the seed and the fruit; so in reading of poems, one man singleth out the historical part, another dwells upon the elegancy and fit disposal of words, as Aristophanes says of Euripides, —
[De aud. poet. 11b] His gallant language runs so smooth and round, That I am ravisht with th’ harmonious sound;
[De aud. poet. 11c] but others, to whom this part of my discourse is directed, mind only such things as are useful to the bettering of manners. And such we are to put in mind that it is an absurd thing, that those who delight in fables should not let any thing slip them of the vain and extravagant stories they find in poets, and that those who affect language should pass by nothing that is elegantly and floridly expressed; and that only the lovers of honor and virtue, who apply themselves to the study of poems not for delight but for instruction’s sake, should slightly and negligently observe what is spoken in them relating to valor, temperance, or justice. Of this nature is the following: —
[De aud. poet. 11d] And stand we deedless, O eternal shame! Till Hector’s arm involve the ships in flame? Haste, let us join, and combat side by side.
[De aud. poet. 11e] For to see a man of the greatest wisdom in danger of being totally cut off with all those that take part with him, and yet affected less with fear of death than of shame and dishonor, must needs excite in a young man a passionate affection for virtue. And this,
[De aud. poet. 11f] Joyed was the Goddess, for she much did prizeA man that was alike both just and wise,
[De aud. poet. 11g] teacheth us to infer that the Deity delights not in a rich or a proper or a strong man, but in one that is furnished with wisdom and justice. Again, when the same Goddess (Minerva) saith that the reason why she did not desert or neglect Ulysses was that he was
[De aud. poet. 11h] Gentle, of ready wit, of prudent mind,
[De aud. poet. 11i] she therein tells us that, of all things pertaining to us, nothing is dear to the Gods and divine but our virtue, seeing like naturally delights in like.
[De aud. poet. 11j] And seeing, moreover, that it both seemeth and really is a great thing to be able to moderate a man’s anger, but a greater by far to guard a man’s self beforehand by prudence, that he fall not into it nor be surprised by it, therefore also such passages as tend that way are not slightly to be represented to the readers; for example, that Achilles himself — who was a man of no great forbearance, nor inclined to such meekness — yet warns Priam to be calm and not to provoke him, thus,
[De aud. poet. 11k] Move me no more (Achilles thus replies, While kindling anger sparkled in his eyes),Nor seek by tears my steady soul to bend: To yield thy Hector I myself intend: Cease; lest, neglectful of high Jove’s command,I show thee, king, thou tread’st on hostile land;
[De aud. poet. 11l] and that he himself first washeth and decently covereth the body of Hector and then puts it into a chariot, to prevent his father’s seeing it so unworthily mangled as it was, —
[De aud. poet. 11m] Lest the unhappy sire, Provoked to passion, once more rouse to ire The stern Pelides; and nor sacred age, Nor Jove’s command, should check the rising rage.
[De aud. poet. 11n] For it is a piece of admirable prudence for a man so prone to anger, as being by nature hasty and furious, to understand himself so well as to set a guard upon his own inclinations, and by avoiding provocations to keep his passion at due distance by the use of reason, lest he should be unawares surprised by it. And after the same manner must the man that is apt to be drunken forearm himself against that vice; and he that is given to wantonness, against lust, as Agesilaus refused to receive a kiss from a beautiful person addressing to him, and Cyrus would not so much as endure to see Panthea. Whereas, on the contrary, those that are not virtuously bred are wont to gather fuel to inflame their passions, and voluntarily to abandon themselves to those temptations to which of themselves they are endangered. But Ulysses does not only restrain his own anger, but (perceiving by the discourse of his son Telemachus, that through indignation conceived against such evil men he was greatly provoked) he blunts his passion too beforehand, and composeth him to calmness and patience, thus: —
[De aud. poet. 11o] There, if base scorn insult my reverend age, Bear it, my son! repress thy rising rage. If outraged, cease that outrage to repel; Bear it, my son! howe’er thy heart rebel.
[De aud. poet. 11p] For as men are not wont to put bridles on their horses when they are running in full speed, but bring them bridled beforehand to the race; so do they use to preoccupy and predispose the minds of those persons with rational considerations to enable them to encounter passion, whom they perceive to be too mettlesome and unmanageable upon the sight of provoking objects.
[De aud. poet. 11q] Furthermore, the young man is not altogether to neglect names themselves when he meets with them; though he is not obliged to give much heed to such idle descants as those of Cleanthes, who, while he professeth himself an interpreter, plays the trifler, as in these passages of Homer: Ζεῦ πάτεϱ Ἴδηθεν μεδέων, and Ζεῦ να Δωδωναῖε. For he will needs read the last two of these words joined into one, and make them ναδωδωναῖε; for that the air evaporated from the earth by exhalation (νάδοσις) is so called. Yea, and Chrysippus too, though he does not so trifle, yet is very jejune, while he hunts after improbable etymologies. As when he will need force the words εϱύοπα Κϱονίδην to import Jupiter’s excellent faculty in speaking and powerfulness to persuade thereby.
[De aud. poet. 11r] But such things as these are fitter to be left to the examination of grammarians; and we are rather to insist upon such passages as are both profitable and persuasive. Such, for instance, as these: —
[De aud. poet. 11s] My early youth was bred to martial pains, My soul impels me to the embattled plains! How skill’d he was in each obliging art; The mildest manners, and the gentlest heart.
[De aud. poet. 11t] For while the author tells us that fortitude may be taught, and that an obliging and graceful way of conversing with others is to be gotten by art and the use of reason, he exhorts us not to neglect the improvement of ourselves, but by observing our teachers’ instructions to learn a becoming carriage, as knowing that clownishness and cowardice argue ill-breeding and ignorance. And very suitable to what hath been said is that which is said of Jupiter and Neptune: —
[De aud. poet. 11u] Gods of one source, of one ethereal race, Alike divine, and heaven their native place; But Jove the greater; first born of the skies, And more than men or Gods supremely wise.
[De aud. poet. 11v] For the poet therein pronounceth wisdom to be the most divine and royal quality of all; as placing therein the greatest excellency of Jupiter himself, and judging all virtues else to be necessarily consequent thereunto. We are also to accustom a young man attentively to hear such things as these: —
[De aud. poet. 11w] Urge him with truth to frame his fair replies: And sure he will, for wisdom never lies: The praise of wisdom, in thy youth obtain’d,An act so rash, Antilochus, has stain’d:Say, is it just, my friend, that Hector’s ear From such a warrior such a speech should hear?I deemed thee once the wisest of thy kind, But ill this insult suits a prudent mind.
[De aud. poet. 11x] These speeches teach us that it is beneath wise men to lie or to deal otherwise than fairly, even in games, or to blame other men without just cause. And when the poet attributes Pindarus’s violation of the truce to his folly, he withal declares his judgment that a wise man will not be guilty of an unjust action. The like may we also infer concerning continence, taking our ground for it from these passages: —
[De aud. poet. 11y] For him Antaea burn’d with lawless flame, And strove to tempt him from the paths of fame: In vain she tempted the relentless youth, Endued with wisdom, sacred fear, and truth: At first, with worthy shame and decent pride, The royal dame his lawless suit denied! For virtue’s image yet possessed her mind:
[De aud. poet. 11z] in which speeches the poet assigns wisdom to be the cause of continence. And when in exhortations made to encourage soldiers to fight, he speaks in this manner: —
[De aud. poet. 11~2] What mean you, Lycians? Stand! O stand, for shame! Yet each reflect who prizes fame or breath, On endless infamy, on instant death; For, lo! the fated time, the appointed shore; Hark! the gates burst, the brazen barriers roar!
[De aud. poet. 11~2b] he seems to intimate that continent men are valiant men; because they fear the shame of base actions, and can trample on pleasures and stand their ground in the greatest hazards. Whence Timotheus, in the play called Persae, takes occasion handsomely to exhort the Grecians thus: —
[De aud. poet. 11~2c] Brave soldiers of just shame in awe should stand; For the blushing face oft helps the fighting hand.
[De aud. poet. 11~2d] And Aeschylus also makes it a point of wisdom not to be blown up with pride when a man is honored, nor to be moved or elevated with the acclamations of a multitude, writing thus of Amphiaraus: —
[De aud. poet. 11~2e] His shield no emblem bears; his generous soul Wishes to be, not to appear, the best; While the deep furrows of his noble mind Harvests of wise and prudent counsel bear.
[De aud. poet. 11~2f] For it is the part of a wise man to value himself upon the consciousness of his own true worth and excellency.
[De aud. poet. 11~2g] Whereas, therefore, all inward perfections are reducible to wisdom, it appears that all sorts of virtue and learning are included in it$.
[De aud. poet. 12] 12 Again, boys may be instructed, by reading the poets as they ought, to draw something that is useful and profitable even from those passages that are most suspected as wicked and absurd; as the bee is taught by Nature to gather the sweetest and most pleasant honey from the harshest flowers and sharpest thorns. It does indeed at the first blush cast a shrewd suspicion on Agamemnon of taking a bribe, when Homer tells us that he discharged that rich man from the wars who presented him with his fleet mare Aethe: —
[De aud. poet. 12b] Whom rich Echepolus, more rich than brave, To ‘scape the wars, to Agamemnon gave(Aethe her name), at home to end his days; Base wealth preferring to eternal praise.
[De aud. poet. 12c] Yet, as saith Aristotle, it was well done of him to prefer a good beast before such a man. For, the truth is, a dog or ass is of more value than a timorous and cowardly man that wallows in wealth and luxury. Again, Thetis seems to do indecently, when she exhorts her son to follow his pleasures and minds him of companying with women. But even here, on the other side, the continency of Achilles is worthy to be considered; who, though he dearly loved Briseis — newly returned to him too, — yet, when he knew his life to be near its end, does not hasten to the fruition of pleasures, nor, when he mourns for his friend Patroclus, does he (as most men are wont) shut himself up from all business and neglect his duty, but only bars himself from recreations for his sorrow’s sake, while yet he gives himself up to action and military employments. And Archilochus is not praiseworthy either, who, in the midst of his mourning for his sister’s husband drowned in the sea, contrives to dispel his grief by drinking and merriment. And yet he gives this plausible reason to justify that practice of his,
[De aud. poet. 12d] To drink and dance, rather than mourn, I choose; Nor wrong I him, whom mourning can’t reduce.
[De aud. poet. 12e] For, if he judged himself to do nothing amiss when he followed sports and banquets, sure, we shall not do worse, if in whatever circumstances we follow the study of philosophy, or manage public affairs, or go to the market or to the Academy, or follow our husbandry. Wherefore those corrections also are not to be rejected which Cleanthes and Antisthenes have made use of. For Antisthenes, seeing the Athenians all in a tumult in the theatre, and justly, upon the pronunciation of this verse, —
[De aud. poet. 12f] Except what men think base, there’s nothing ill,
presently subjoined this corrective,
What’s base is base, — believe men what they will.
[De aud. poet. 12g] And Cleanthes, hearing this passage concerning wealth:
[De aud. poet. 12h] Great is th’ advantage that great wealth attends, For oft with it we purchase health and friends;
[De aud. poet. 12i] presently altered it thus:
[De aud. poet. 12j] Great disadvantage oft attends on wealth; We purchase whores with’t and destroy our health.
[De aud. poet. 12k] And Zeno corrected that of Sophocles,
[De aud. poet. 12l] The man that in a tyrant’s palace dwells His liberty for’s entertainment sells,
[De aud. poet. 12m] after this manner:
[De aud. poet. 12n] No: if he came in free, he cannot lose His liberty, though in a tyrant’s house;
[De aud. poet. 12o] meaning by a free man one that is undaunted and magnanimous, and one of a spirit too great to stoop beneath itself. And why may not we also, by some such acclamations as those, call off young men to the better side, by using some things spoken by poets after the same manner? For example, it is said,
[De aud. poet. 12p] ‘Tis all that in this life one can require, To hit the mark he aims at in desire.
[De aud. poet. 12q] To which we may reply thus:
[De aud. poet. 12r] ‘Tis false; except one level his desire At what’s expedient, and no more require.
[De aud. poet. 12s] For it is an unhappy thing and not to be wished, for a man to obtain and be master of what he desires if it be inexpedient. Again this saying,
[De aud. poet. 12t] Thou, Agamemnon, must thyself prepare Of joy and grief by turns to take thy share: Thy father, Atreus, sure, ne’er thee begat, To be an unchanged favorite of Fate:
[De aud. poet. 12u] we may thus invert:
Thy father, Atreus, never thee begat, To be an unchanged favorite of Fate: Therefore, if moderate thy fortunes are, Thou shouldst rejoice always, and grief forbear.
[De aud. poet. 12v] Again it is said,
Alas! this ill comes from the powers divine, That oft we see what’s good, yet it decline.
[De aud. poet. 12w] Yea, rather, say we, it is a brutish and irrational and wretched fault of ours, that when we understand better things, we are carried away to the pursuit of those which are worse, through our intemperance and effeminacy. Again, one says,
[De aud. poet. 12x] ‘Tis not the teacher’s speech but practice moves.
[De aud. poet. 12y] Yea, rather, say we, both the speech and practice, — or the practice by the means of speech, — as the horse is managed with the bridle, and the ship with the helm. For virtue hath no instrument so suitable and agreeable to human nature to work on men withal, as that of rational discourse. Again, we meet with this character of some person:
[De aud. poet. 12z] A. Is he more prone to male or female loves?B. He’s flexible both ways, where beauty moves.
[De aud. poet. 12~2] But it had been better said thus:
He’s flexible to both, where virtue moves.
[De aud. poet. 12~2b] For it is no commendation of a man’s dexterity to be tossed up and down as pleasure and beauty move him, but an argument rather of a weak and unstable disposition. Once more, this speech,
[De aud. poet. 12~2c] Religion damps the courage of our minds, And ev’n wise men to cowardice inclines,
[De aud. poet. 12~2d] is by no means to be allowed; but rather the contrary,
Religion truly fortifies men’s minds, And a wise man to valiant acts inclines,
[De aud. poet. 12~2e] and gives not occasion of fear to any but weak and foolish persons and such as are ungrateful to the Deity, who are apt to look on that divine power and principle which is the cause of all good with suspicion and jealousy, as being hurtful unto them. And so much for that which I call correction of poets’ sayings.
[De aud. poet. 13] 13 There is yet another way of improving poems, taught us well by Chrysippus; which is, by accommodation of any saying, to transfer that which is useful and serviceable in it to divers things of the same kind. For whereas Hesiod saith,
[De aud. poet. 13b] If but a cow be lost, the common fame Upon the next ill neighbor lays the blame;
[De aud. poet. 13c] the same may be applied to a man’s dog or ass or any other beast of his which is liable to the like mischance. Again, Euripides saith,
[De aud. poet. 13d] How can that man be called a slave, who slights Ev’n death itself, which servile spirits frights?
[De aud. poet. 13e] the like whereof may be said of hard labor or painful sickness. For as physicians, finding by experience the force of any medicine in the cure of some one disease, make use of it by accommodation, proportionably to every other disease of affinity thereto, so are we to deal with such speeches as are of a common import and apt to communicate their value to other things; we must not confine them to that one thing only to which they were at first adapted, but transfer them to all other of like nature, and accustom young men by many parallel instances to see the communicableness of them, and exercise the promptness of their wits in such applications. So that when Menander says,
[De aud. poet. 13f] Happy is he who wealth and wisdom hath,
[De aud. poet. 13g] they may be able to judge that the same is fitly applicable to glory and authority and eloquence also. And the reproof which Ulysses gives Achilles, when he found him sitting in Scyrus in the apartment of the young ladies,
[De aud. poet. 13h] Thou, who from noblest Greeks deriv’st thy race, Dost thou with spinning wool thy birth disgrace?
[De aud. poet. 13i] may be as well given to the prodigal, to him that undertakes any dishonest way of living, yea, to the slothful and unlearned person, thus:
[De aud. poet. 13j] Thou, who from noblest Greeks deriv’st thy race, Dost thou with fuddling thy great birth disgrace?
[De aud. poet. 13k] or dost thou spend thy time in dicing, or quail-striking, or deal in adulterate wares or griping usury, not minding any thing that is great and worthy thy noble extraction? So when they read,
[De aud. poet. 13l] For Wealth, the God most serve, I little care, Since the worst men his favors often wear,
[De aud. poet. 13m] they may be able to infer, therefore, as little regard is to be had to glory and bodily beauty and princely robes and priestly garlands, all which also we see to be the enjoyments of very bad men. Again, when they read this passage,
[De aud. poet. 13n] A coward father propagates his vice, And gets a son heir to his cowardice,
[De aud. poet. 13o] they may in truth apply the same to intemperance, to superstition, to envy, and all other diseases of men’s minds. Again, whereas it is handsomely said of Homer,
[De aud. poet. 13p] Unhappy Paris, fairest to behold!
[De aud. poet. 13q] and
Hector, of noble form,
[De aud. poet. 13r] for herein he shows that a man who hath no greater excellency than that of beauty to commend him deserves to have it mentioned with contempt and ignominy, — such expressions we should make use of in like cases to repress the insolence of such as bear themselves high upon the account of such things as are of no real value, and to teach young men to look upon such compellations as “O thou richest of men,” and “O thou that excellest in feasting, in multitudes of attendants, in herds of cattle, yea, and in eloquent speaking itself,” to be (as they are indeed) expressions that import reproach and infamy. For, in truth, a man that designs to excel ought to endeavor it in those things that are in themselves most excellent, and to become chief in the chiefest, and great in the greatest things. Whereas glory that ariseth from things in themselves small and inconsiderable is inglorious and contemptible. To mind us whereof we shall never be at a loss for instances, if, in reading Homer especially, we observe how he applieth the expressions that import praise or disgrace; wherein we have clear proof that he makes small account of the good things either of the body or Fortune. And first of all, in meetings and salutations, men do not call others fair or rich or strong, but use such terms of commendation as these:
[De aud. poet. 13s] Son of Laertes, from great Jove deriving Thy pedigree, and skilled in wise contriving; Hector, thou son of Priam, whose advice With wisest Jove’s men count of equal price; Achilles, son of Peleus, whom all story Shall mention as the Grecians’ greatest glory; Divine Patroclus, for thy worth thou art, Of all the friends I have, lodged next my heart.
[De aud. poet. 13t] And moreover, when they speak disgracefully of any person, they touch not at bodily defects, but direct all their reproaches to vicious actions; as for instance:
[De aud. poet. 13u] A dogged-looking, drunken beast thou art, And in thy bosom hast a deer’s faint heart; Ajax, at brawling valiant still, Whose tongue is used to speaking ill;A tongue so loose hung, and so vain withal, Idomeneus, becomes thee not at all; Ajax, thy tongue doth oft offend; For of thy boasting there’s no end.
[De aud. poet. 13v] Lastly, when Ulysses reproacheth Thersites, he objecteth not to him his lameness nor his baldness nor his hunched back, but the vicious quality of indiscreet babbling. On the other side, when Juno means to express a dalliance or motherly fondness to her son Vulcan, she courts him with an epithet taken from his halting, thus,
[De aud. poet. 13w] Rouse thee, my limping son!
[De aud. poet. 13x] In this instance, Homer does (as it were) deride those who are ashamed of their lameness or blindness, as not thinking any thing a disgrace that is not in itself disgraceful, nor any person liable to a reproach for that which is not imputable to himself but to Fortune. These two great advantages may be made by those who frequently study poets; — the learning moderation, to keep them from unseasonable and foolish reproaching others with their misfortunes, when they themselves enjoy a constant current of prosperity; and magnanimity, that under variety of accidents they be not dejected nor disturbed, but meekly bear the being scoffed at, reproached, and drolled upon. Especially, let them have that saying of Philemon ready at hand in such cases:
[De aud. poet. 13y] That spirit’s well in tune, whose sweet repose No railer’s tongue can ever discompose.
[De aud. poet. 13z] And yet, if one that so rails do himself deserve reprehension, thou mayst take occasion to retort upon him his own vices and inordinate passions; as when Adrastus in the tragedy is assaulted thus by Alcmaeon,
[De aud. poet. 13~2] Thy sister’s one that did her husband kill,
he returns him this answer,
But thou thyself thy mother’s blood did spill.
[De aud. poet. 13~2b] For as they who scourge a man’s garments do not touch the body, so those that turn other men’s evil fortunes or mean births to matter of reproach do only with vanity and folly enough lash their external circumstances, but touch not their internal part, the soul, nor those things which truly need correction and reproof.
[De aud. poet. 14] 14 Moreover, as we have above taught you to abate and lessen the credit of evil and hurtful poems by setting in opposition to them the famous speeches and sentences of such worthy men as have managed public affairs, so will it be useful to us, where we find any things in them of civil and profitable import, to improve and strengthen them by testimonies and proofs taken from philosophers, withal giving these the credit of being the first inventors of them. For this is both just and profitable to be done, seeing by this means such sayings receive an additional strength and esteem, when it appears that what is spoken on the stage or sung to the harp or occurs in a scholar’s lesson is agreeable to the doctrines of Pythagoras and Plato, and that the sentences of Chilo and Bias tend to the same issue with those that are found in the authors which children read. Therefore must we industriously show them that these poetical sentences,
[De aud. poet. 14b] Not these, O daughter, are thy proper cares, Thee milder arts befit, and softer wars; Sweet smiles are thine, and kind endearing charms; To Mars and Pallas leave the deeds of arms; Jove’s angry with thee, when thy unmanaged rage With those that overmatch thee doth engage;
[De aud. poet. 14c] differ not in substance but bear plainly the same sense with that philosophical sentence, Know thyself. And these,
[De aud. poet. 14d] Fools, who by wrong seek to augment their store, And know not how much half than all is more; Of counsel giv’n to mischievous intents, The man that gives it most of all repents;
[De aud. poet. 14e] are of near kin to what we find in the determination of Plato, in his books entitled Gorgias and Concerning the Commonwealth, to wit, that it is worse to do than to suffer injury, and that a man more endamageth himself when he hurts another, than he would be damnified if he were the sufferer. And that of Aeschylus,
[De aud. poet. 14f] Cheer up, friend; sorrows, when they highest climb, What they exceed in measure want in time,
[De aud. poet. 14g] we must inform them, is but the same famous sentence which is so much admired in Epicurus, that great griefs are but short, and those that are of long continuance are but small. The former clause whereof is that which Aeschylus here saith expressly, and the latter but the consequent of that. For if a great and intense sorrow do not last, then that which doth last is not great nor hard to be borne. And those words of Thespis,
[De aud. poet. 14h] Seest not how Jove, — because he cannot lie Nor vaunt nor laugh at impious drollery, And pleasure’s charms are things to him unknown, — Among the Gods wears the imperial crown?
[De aud. poet. 14i] wherein differ they from what Plato says, that the divine nature is seated far from both joy and grief? And that saying of Bacchylides,
[De aud. poet. 14j] Virtue alone doth lasting honor gain, But men of wretched souls oft wealth attain;
[De aud. poet. 14k] and those of Euripides much of the same import,
[De aud. poet. 14l] Hence temperance in my esteem excels, Because it constantly with good men dwells; How much soe’er to honor thou aspire, And strive by riches virtue to acquire, Still shall thy lot to good men wretched seem;
[De aud. poet. 14m] do they not evidently confirm to us what the philosophers say of riches and other external good things, that without virtue they are fruitless and unprofitable enjoyments?
[De aud. poet. 14n] Now thus to accommodate and reconcile poetry to the doctrines of philosophy strips it of its fabulous and personated parts, and makes those things which it delivers usefully to acquire also the reputation of gravity; and over and above, it inclines the soul of a young man to receive the impressions of philosophical precepts. For he will hereby be enabled to come to them not altogether destitute of some sort of relish of them, not as to things that he has heard nothing of before, nor with an head confusedly full of the false notions which he hath sucked in from the daily tattle of his mother and nurse, — yea, sometimes too of his father and pedant, — who have been wont to speak of rich men as the happy men and mention them always with honor, and to express themselves concerning death and pain with horror, and to look on virtue without riches and glory as a thing of nought and not to be desired. Whence it comes to pass, that when such youths first do hear things of a quite contrary nature from philosophers, they are surprised with a kind of amazement, trouble, and stupid astonishment, which makes them afraid to entertain or endure them, except they be dealt with as those who come out of very great darkness into the light of the bright sun, that is, be first accustomed for a while to behold those doctrines in fabulous authors, as in a kind of false light, which hath but a moderate brightness and is easy to be looked on and borne without disturbance to the weak sight. For having before heard or read from poets such things as these are, —
[De aud. poet. 14o] Mourn at one’s birth, as th’ inlet t’ all that grieves; But joy at death, as that which man relieves; Of worldly things a mortal needs but twain; The spring supplies his drink, the earth his grain:O tyranny, to barbarous nations dear! This in all human happiness is chief, To know as little as we can of grief;
[De aud. poet. 14p] they are the less disturbed and offended when they hear from philosophers that no man ought to be much concerned about death; that the riches of nature are defined and limited; that the happiness of man’s life doth not consist in the abundance of wealth or vastness of employments or height of authority and power, but in freedom from sorrow, in moderation of passions, and in such a temper of mind as measures all things by the use of Nature.
[De aud. poet. 14q] Wherefore, upon all these accounts, as well as for all the reasons before mentioned, youth stands in need of good government to manage it in the reading of poetry, that being free from all prejudicate opinions, and rather instructed beforehand in conformity thereunto, it may with more calmness, friendliness, and familiarity pass from thence to the study of philosophy.

## On listening to lectures

[De aud. 1] 1 1 THE discourse which I gave on the subject of listening to lecture I have written out and sent to you, my dear Nicander, so that you may know how rightly to listen to the voice of persuasion, now that you are no longer subject to authority, having assumed the garb of a man. Now absence of control, which some of the young men, for want of education, think to be freedom, establishes the sway of a set of masters, harsher than the teachers and attendants of childhood, in the form of the desires, which are now, as it were, unchained. And just as Herodotus says that women put off their modesty along with their undergarments, so some of our young men, as soon as they lay aside the garb of childhood, lay aside also their sense of modesty and fear, and, undoing the habit that invests them, straightway become full of unruliness. But you have often heard that to follow God and to obey reason are the same thing, and so I ask you to believe that in persons of good sense the passing from childhood to manhood is not a casting off of control, but a recasting of the controlling agent, since instead of some hired person or slave purchased with money they now take as the divine guide of their life reason, whose followers alone may deservedly be considered free. For they alone, having learned to wish for what they ought, live as they wish; but in untrained and irrational impulses and actions there is something ignoble, and changing one’s mind many times involves but little freedom of will.
[De aud. 2] 2 1 We may find a comparison in the case of newly naturalized citizens; those among them who were alien born and perfect strangers find fault with many of the things that are done, and are discontented; whereas those who come from the class of resident aliens, having been brought up under our laws and grown to be well acquainted with them, have no difficulty in accepting what devolves upon them and are content. And so you, who have been brought up for a long time in contact with philosophy, and have from the beginning been accustomed to philosophic reasoning as an ingredient in every portion of early instruction and information, ought to feel like an old friend and familiar when you come to philosophy, which alone can array young men in the manly and truly perfect adornment that comes from reason.
[De aud. 2b] I think you may not find unwelcome some preliminary remarks about the sense of hearing, 38 which Theophrastus asserts is the most emotional of all the senses. For nothing which can be seen or tasted or touched brings on such distractions, confusions, and excitements, as take possession of the soul when certain crashing, clashing, and roaring noises assail the hearing. Yet this sense is more rational than emotional. For while many places and parts of the body make way for vice to enter through them and fasten itself upon the soul, virtue’s only hold upon the young is afforded by the ears, if they be uncontaminated and kept from the outset unspoiled by flattery and untouched by vile words. For this reason Xenocrates advised putting ear-protectors on children rather than on athletes, on the ground that the latter have only their ears disfigured by the blows they receive, while the former have their characters disfigured by the words they hear; not that he would thus court heedlessness or deafness, but he advises vigilance against vile words, until such time as other words, of good sort, fostered in the character by philosophy, should, like watchmen, have taken under their charge the post chiefly exposed to influence and persuasion. And Bias of old, on receiving orders to send to Amasis the portion of the sacrificial animal which was at the same time the best and the worst, cut out the tongue and sent it to him, on the ground that speech contains both injuries and benefits in the largest measure. Most people in bestowing an affectionate kiss on little children not only take hold of children by the ears but bid the children to do the same by them, thus insinuating in a playful way that they must love most those who confer benefit through the ears. For surely the fact is plain, that the young man who is debarred from hearing all instruction and gets no taste of speech not only remains wholly unfruitful and makes no growth towards virtue, but may also be perverted towards vice, and the product of his mind, like that of a fallow and untilled piece of ground, will be a plentiful crop of wild oats. For if the impulses towards pleasure and the feelings of suspicion towards hard work d(which are not of external origin nor imported products of the spoken word, but indigenous sources, as it were, of pestilent emotions and disorders without number) be allowed to continue unconstrained along their natural channels, and if they be not either removed or diverted another way through the agency of goodly discourse, thus putting the natural endowments in a fit condition, there is not one of the wild beasts but would be found more civilized than man.
[De aud. 3] 3 1 Therefore, since listening to lectures is attended by great benefit, but by no less danger, to the young, I think it is a good thing to discuss the matter continually both with oneself and with another person. The reason for so doing is because we observe that a poor use is made of this by the great majority of persons, who practise speaking before they have acquired the habit of listening. They think that there must be study and practice in discourse, but as for hearing, benefit will come however it be used. It is true that, in the case of persons playing ball, learning to throw and learning to catch take place at the same time; but in the use of discourse its proper reception comes before its delivery, just as conception and pregnancy come before parturition. It is said that when fowls labour and bring forth wind-eggs, these result from some imperfect and infertile residue from conception; and if young men have not the power to listen, for the habit of getting some profit through listening, the speech brought forth by them is windy indeed, and
[De aud. 3b] Void of repute and unheeded beneath the clouds it is scattered.
[De aud. 3c] For although they can incline and turn vessels properly to receive any liquid which is being poured into them, in order that there may actually be a filling and not a spilling, they never learn to apply themselves to a speaker and to accord attention to his lecture so that none of its good points may escape them. But here is the most ridiculous thing in the world: 39 if they chance upon somebody who is giving an account of a dinner or a procession or a dream or a wordy brawl which he has had with another man, they listen in silence, and importune him to continue; yet if anybody draws them to one side and tries to impart something useful, or to advise them of some duty, or to admonish them when in the wrong, or to mollify them when incensed, they have no patience with him; but, eager to get the better of him if they can, they fight against what he says, or else they beat a hasty retreat in search of other foolish talk, filling their ears like worthless and rotten vessels with anything rather than the things they need. As skilful horse-trainers give us horses with a good mouth for the bit, so too skilful educators give us children with a good ear for speech, by teaching them to hear much and speak little. Indeed, Spintharus declared in commendation of Epameinondas that it was not easy to find a man who knew more and spoke less. And it is a common saying that nature has given to each of us two ears and one tongue, because we ought to do less talking than listening.
[De aud. 4] 4 1 In all cases, then, silence is a safe adornment for the young man, and especially so, when in listening to another he does not get excited or bawl out every minute, but even if the remarks be none too agreeable, puts up with them, and waits for the speaker to pause, and, when the pause comes, does not at once interpose his objection, but, as Aeschines puts it, allows an interval to elapse, in case the speaker may desire to add something to what he has said, or to alter or unsay anything. But those who instantly interrupt with contradictions, neither hearing nor being heard, but talking while others talk, behave in an unseemly manner; whereas the man who has the habit of listening with restraint and respect, takes in and masters a useful discourse, and more readily sees through and detects a useless or false one, showing himself thus to be a lover of truth and not a lover of disputation, nor froward and contentious. Wherefore it is sometimes said not unaptly that it is even more necessary to take the wind of self-opinion and conceit out of the young, than to deflate wine-skins, if you wish to fill them with something useful; otherwise, being full of bombast and inflation, they have no room to receive it.
[De aud. 5] 5 1 Now the presence of envy, attended by malice and hostility, is not a good thing for any undertaking, but it stands in the way of all that is honourable; and it is the very worst associate and counsellor for one that would listen to a lecture, inasmuch as it makes what is profitable to be vexatious, unpleasing, and unacceptable, because envious persons are pleased with anything rather than with the good points of a discourse. Now the man that is stung by the wealth, or repute, or beauty possessed by another, is merely envious; for he is depressed by the good fortune of others; but one who feels discontentment at an excellent discourse is vexed by what is for his own good. For just as light is a good thing for those who can see, so is discourse for those who can hear, if they be willing to receive it.
[De aud. 5b] Now while envy in other matters is engendered by certain untrained and evil dispositions of a man, the envy that is directed against a speaker is the offspring of an unseasonable desire for repute and a dishonest ambition, and it does not suffer the person in such a mood even to pay attention to what is being said, but it confuses and distracts his mind which at one moment is engaged in reviewing its own condition to see whether it be inferior to that of the speaker, then anon it turns to dwell on the other persons present to see whether they are showing any pleasure or admiration; it is disconcerted by their approval, and irritated at the audience if they find the speaker acceptable; disregards and dismisses the part of the discourse already delivered because the memory of it is painful, but for what still remains trembles with anxiety lest that part prove better than the part already delivered; eager that the speakers may most quickly have done when they are speaking most excellently; 40 and when the lecture is over, it does not ponder upon any point of the discussion, but proceeds to count as votes the comments and attitudes of those present; if any approve, fleeing and recoiling from these as though frantic; if disapprove or distort the things said, hastening to join their company; and if it be impossible to distort, then it falls to making comparisons with others who could have spoken better and more forcibly to the same purport — until by spoiling and maltreating the lecture it has succeeded in making the whole thing useless and unprofitable to itself.
[De aud. 6] 6 1 Therefore a man must let his desire to hear make truce with his desire for repute, and listen cheerfully and affably as though he were a guest at some dinner or ceremonial banquet, commending the speaker’s ability in those parts wherein he achieves a success, and favourably accepting the goodwill, if nothing else, of the speaker who propounds his opinions and tries to persuade others by the reasons which have persuaded himself. Where he is successful we must reflect that the success is not due to chance or accident, but to care, diligence, and study, and herein we should try to imitate him in a spirit of admiration and emulation; but where there are mistakes, we should direct our intelligence to these, to determine the reasons and origin of the error. For as Xenophon asserts that good householders derive benefit both from their friends and from their enemies, so in the same way do speakers, not only when they succeed, but also when they fail, render a service to hearers who are alert and attentive.
[De aud. 6b] For poverty of thought, emptiness of phrase, an offensive bearing, fluttering excitement combined with a vulgar delight at commendation, and the like, are more apparent to us in others when we are listening than in ourselves when we are speakers. Wherefore we ought to transfer our scrutiny from the speaker to ourselves, and examine whether we unconsciously commit such mistakes. For it is the easiest thing in the world to find fault with one’s neighbour, and also a useless and inane proceeding unless it be applied in some way to correcting or avoiding similar faults. And everyone ought to be ready ever to repeat to himself, as he observes the faults of others, the utterance of Plato, “Am I not possibly like them?” For as we see our own eyes brightly reflected in the eyes of those near us, so we must get a picture of our own discourses in the discourses of others, that we may not too rashly disdain others, and may give more careful attention to ourselves in the matter of speaking.
[De aud. 6c] To this end the process of comparison is useful, if, when we have come away from the lecture and are by ourselves, we take some topic that seems to have been ineffectually or inadequately treated, and try our hand at the same thing, and address ourselves to supplying a deficiency here, or amending there, to saying the same thing in other words, or attempting to treat the subject in a wholly new way; and this is what Plato actually did for the discourse of Lysias. For to offer objections against a discourse which has been delivered is not difficult, but very easy; but to set up a better against it is a very laborious task. As the Spartan said, on hearing that Philip had razed the city of Olynthus to the ground, “Yes, but even he could not possibly set up such another.” Whenever, therefore, in discoursing thus upon a given subject, we find that we do not much excel those who have already spoken, we abate much of our disdain, and our presumption and self-esteem are very speedily cut short by being put to the test in such comparisons.
[De aud. 7] 7 1 Now admiration, which is the antithesis of disdain, obviously betokens a kindlier and gentler nature, but even this requires certainly no little caution, perhaps even more. 41 For while it is true that disdainful and self-confident persons are less apt to get benefit from the speakers, yet the enthusiastic and ingenuous are more apt to get harm; and they cause no one to question the saying of Heracleitus, that “A fool is wont to be agog at every word that’s said.” In praising a speaker we must be generous, but in believing his words cautious; as touching the style and the delivery of the performers, we should observe with a kindly and simple mind; but as for the utility and the truth of what they say, we must play the keen and heartless critics, that the speakers may feel no hatred, yet their words may do no harm. For we unwittingly receive into our minds a great many false and vicious doctrines by feeling goodwill and confidence towards the speakers.
[De aud. 7b] Upon a time the Spartan officials, after approving the proposal made by a man whose life had not been good, appointed another man of good repute in his life and character to present it, thus quite rightly and for the good of the State trying to accustom the people to being influenced more by the behaviour than by the speech of their counsellors. But in a philosophic discussion we must set aside the repute of the speaker, and examine what he says quite apart. For as in war so also in lectures there is plenty of empty show. For example, a speaker’s grey hair, his formality, he serious brow, his self-assertion, and above all the clamour and shouting of the audience as he brings them to their feet, combine to disconcert the young and inexperienced listener, who is, as it were, swept away by the current. The speaker’s style also has a spice of deception when it is pleasing and copious, and is applied to the subject with dignity and artfulness.
[De aud. 7c] For as most of the mistakes of persons singing to the flute escape the audience, so an exuberant and impressive style flashed upon the listener blinds him to the matter set forth. It seems to have been Melanthius, who being asked about Diogenes’ tragedy, said he could not get a sight of it, there were so many words in the way; and the discussions and exercises of most popular lecturers not only use words to conceal their thoughts, but they so sweeten their voice by certain harmonious modulations and softenings and rhythmic cadences, as to ravish away and transport their hearers. It is an empty pleasure they give, and an even more empty renown they acquire, so that the remark of Dionysius fits their case exactly. For he, as it appears, at some performance promised to a harp-player of great repute certain large gifts, but afterwards gave him nothing, on the ground that he had already discharged his obligation.
[De aud. 7d] “For,” said he, “all the time that you were giving pleasure to us with your singing, you were enjoying the pleasure of your hopes.” And this is just the meed that such lectures have for those who deliver them; for the speakers are admired in as far as they are entertaining, and afterwards, no sooner has the pleasure of listening passed away, than their repute deserts them, and so the time of their hearers and the life of the speakers is simply wasted.
[De aud. 8] 8 1 One ought therefore to strip off the superfluity and inanity from the style, and to seek after the fruit itself, imitating not women that make garlands, but the bees. For those women, culling flower-clusters and sweet-scented leaves, intertwine and plait them, and produce something that is pleasant enough, but short-lived and fruitless; whereas the bees in their flight frequently pass through meadows of violets, roses, and hyacinths, and come to rest upon the exceeding rough and pungent thyme, and on this they settle close,
[De aud. 8b] Making the yellow honey their care,
[De aud. 8c] and when they have got something of use, they fly away home to their own special work. In such wise, then, the sincere and single-minded student ought to regard 42 flowery and dainty language and theatrical and spectacular subject matter as the pasturage of drones who practise the popular lecture; these he should leave alone and use all diligence to sound the deep meaning of the words and the intention of the speaker, drawing from it what is useful and profitable, and remembering that he has not come to a theatre or music-hall, but to a school and classroom with the purpose of amending his life by what is there said. Hence it follows that in making his examination and forming his judgement of the lecture he should begin with himself and his own state of mind, endeavouring to estimate whether any one of his emotions has become less intense, whether any one of his troubles weighs less heavily upon him, whether his confidence and his high purpose have become firmly rooted, whether he has acquired enthusiasm for virtue and goodness. As a matter of course, when he rises to leave the barber’s shop, he stands by the mirror and feels his head, examining the cut of his hair and the difference made by its trimming; so on his way home from a lecture or an academic exercise, it would be a shame not to direct his gaze forthwith upon himself and to note carefully his own spirit, whether it has put from it any of its encumbrances and superfluities, and has become lighter and more cheerful. “For,” as Ariston says, “neither a bath nor a discourse is of any use unless it removes impurity.”
[De aud. 9] 9 1 Let the young man, then, find pleasure when he finds profit from a discourse; but he should not hold that the pleasure derived from the lecture is an end in itself, nor would I have him hum a merry note or show a jovial face as he leaves the philosopher’s school, any more than he should seek to be sprinkled with perfume when he needs a fomentation and a hot poultice; but he should feel grateful if by pungent discourse someone has cleansed his mind teeming with fogginess and dulness, as a beehive is cleared by smoke. For even though it is quite right for a speaker not to be altogether neglectful of pleasantness and persuasion in his style, yet the young man should make least concern of this, at any rate at first. Afterwards no doubt he may have an eye to that; for just as those who drink, dafter they have quenched their thirst, begin then to observe the ornamentation of the drinking-cups and to turn them about, so the young man, when he is well replenished with doctrines and has some respite, may be allowed to inspect the style to see whether it contains anything elegant and exquisite. But he who at the very outset does not stick to the subject matter, but insists that the style shall be pure Attic and severely plain, is like the man who is unwilling to swallow an antidote for a poison unless the cup be of the finest Attic ware, or unwilling to put on an overcoat in winter unless the wool be from Attic sheep, but must needs sit still and inactive, with a delicate thin jacket of Lysias’s language cast over him. Indeed, this sort of unhealthiness has produced much barrenness of mind and of good sense, much foolery and bibble-babble in the schools, since younger men do not keep in view the life, the actions, and the public conduct of a man who follows philosophy, but rate as matters for commendation points of style and phrasing, and a fine delivery, while as for what is being delivered, whether it be useful or useless, whether essential or empty and superfluous, they neither understand nor wish to inquire.
[De aud. 10] 10 1 This leads up to the matter of proposing problems. Now the person who comes to a dinner is bound to eat what is set before him and not to ask for anything else or to be critical; so he who comes to a feast of reason, if it be on a specified subject, must feel bound to listen to the speaker in silence. For those persons who lead the speaker to digress to other topics, and interject questions, and raise new difficulties, are not pleasant or agreeable company at a lecture; they get no benefit from it, and they confuse both the speaker and his speech. However, when the speaker requests his hearers to ask questions or to propose problems, one should always manifestly propose some problem which is useful and essential. Now Odysseus among the suitors is derided for
[De aud. 10b] 43 Asking for morsels of food and not for swords or for cauldrons,
[De aud. 10c] for they regard it just as much a sign of magnanimity to ask for something great as to give it. But there is more reason for ridiculing a hearer who diverts the speaker to petty and frivolous problems, such as some of the young men are in the habit of proposing when they are only fooling and withal showing off their skill in logic and mathematics; take, for example, the question about the division of indeterminate propositions or “What is movement as determined by the bounding side or by the diagonal?” To such persons we may retort with the remark of Philotimus to the man who was dying of consumption. When he had addressed the physician, asking him for something to cure a sore finger, Philotimus, perceiving his condition from his colour and respiration, said, “My dear sir, your concern is not about a sore finger.” And so for you, young man, it is not the time to be inquiring about such questions, but how you may be rid of self-opinion and pretension, love affairs and nonsense, and settle down to a modest and wholesome mode of living.
[De aud. 11] 11 It is quite necessary that in formulating questions the questioner should accommodate himself to the proficiency or natural capacity of the speaker, to those matters “in which he is at his best”; not forcibly to divert one who is more concerned with the ethical side of philosophy, by plying him with questions in natural science or mathematics, or to drag the man who poses as an authority on natural science into passing judgement on the hypothetical propositions of logic or solutions of quibbles like the Liar Problem. For just as one who should go about to split wood with a key, or to open his door with an axe, would not be thought to offer an indignity to those instruments but to deprive himself of the proper use and function of each, so those persons who ask of a speaker something for which he is not apt by nature or by practice, and do not gather and take what he has to offer, not only suffer harm thereby, but also incur the name and blame of malice and hostility as well.
[De aud. 12] 12 1 A man must also guard against proposing many problems or proposing them often himself. For this is, in a way, the mark of a man who is taking occasion to show himself off. But to listen good-naturedly when another advances them, marks the considerate gentleman and the scholar. The only exception is in case some matter of his own is troublesome and urgent, some emotion requiring repression, or a disorder requiring relief. For perhaps it may not even be “better to conceal ignorance,” as Heracleitus puts it, but to set it forth in public, and cure it. And if some fit of temper, or attack of superstition, or an intense disagreement with members of our own household, or a mad desire born of love,
[De aud. 12b] Stirring the heart-strings never stirred before,
[De aud. 12c] brings confusion to our thoughts, we must not run away to other kinds of discourse to escape being taken to task, but we must listen to the discussion of these very matters both at the formal exercises, and after the exercises, when we approach the men privately and question them further. But save us from the contrary course, followed by the majority, who are delighted with the philosophers and admire them when they are discoursing about other people; but if the philosopher leaves the other people alone, and addresses himself frankly and freely to them, and sets them in mind of matters that much concern them, they are annoyed and think him officious. For, as a rule, they imagine that they ought to listen to the philosophers in the schools as they listen to the tragedians in the theatres; but in matters out of school they think the philosophers are no better men than themselves. Now there is some reason that they should feel thus towards the popular lecturers; for when these get up from the speaker’s chair, and put away their books and lecture notes, it is apparent that in the real pursuits of life they are small men and rank lower than the average; but towards philosophers of the real sort it is not right that they have such a feeling, not realizing that seriousness and jest in them, nod, or smile, or frown, 44 and, above all, what they say to each person apart, may yield a return which is profitable for those who have acquired the habit of patient attention.
[De aud. 13] 13 1 The proprieties in regard to bestowing commendation also require some caution and moderation, for the reason that neither deficiency nor excess therein befits the free man. An offensive and tiresome listener is the man who is not to be touched or moved by anything that is said, full of festering presumption and ingrained self-assertion, as though convinced that he could say something better than what is being said, who neither moves his brow nor utters a single word to bear witness that he is glad to listen, but by means of silence and an affected gravity and pose, seeks to gain a reputation for poise and profundity; as though commendation were money, he feels that he is robbing himself of every bit that he bestows on another. For there are many who take that saying of Pythagoras wrongly and out of harmony with his meaning. He declared that he had gained this advantage from philosophy, to wonder at nothing; but these men think that their advantage gained is to commend nothing, to show respect for nothing, holding that immunity from wonder lies in disdain, and seeking to attain to dignity by means of contempt. Now it is true that philosophic reasoning, through knowledge and acquaintance with the cause in every case, does away with the wonder and amazement that spring from blindness and ignorance, but at the same time it does not destroy our serenity, moderation, or human interest. For to persons who are truly and consistently good it is the highest credit to bestow credit upon someone deserving of credit, and the most conspicuous honour to honour such a man, since this argues a superabundant and generous store of repute; whereas those who are niggardly in their commendation of others give the impression of being pinched and starving for their own.
[De aud. 13b] On the other hand, however, the opposite type of person, light-minded and flighty, who uses no judgement, but hangs intent on every word and syllable with an ejaculation ready on his lips, is frequently no satisfaction to the disputants themselves, and is always a painful affliction for the audience, startling them as he does and exciting them to join him contrary to their judgement, as though they for shame could not help being dragged into the applause. He gets no benefit from the lecture because for him it has been made full of confusion and fluttering excitement by his continual applaudings, and he departs with the name of being one of three things: a dissembler, a flatterer, or a boor in all that relates to discourse.
[De aud. 13c] Now a man sitting as a judge in court is bound to listen without regard either to enmity or favour, but in sober judgement with regard to justice; but at scholarly lectures no law and no oath prohibits us from receiving the lecturer with goodwill. Indeed, the ancients gave Hermes a place beside the Graces from a feeling that discourse demands, above all, graciousness and friendliness. For it is not possible for a speaker to be a failure so abject and complete that he does not afford something meriting commendation, an original thought, a reminiscence from others, the very subject and purpose of his discourse, or at least the style and arrangement of his remarks,
[De aud. 13d] Just as amid urchin’s foot and the rough rest-harrow
Flowering snowdrops grow, delicate in their bloom.
[De aud. 13e] For when some have declaimed a panegyric upon vomiting or fever, nay I vow, even upon a kitchen-pot, not without a certain amount of plausibility, how could it be that a discourse delivered by a man who in some sort bears the repute and name of philosopher, should not offer, at some point, to benevolent and humane hearers some respite and opportunity for commendation? We know, at any rate, that all persons in the bloom of youth do somehow or other, as Plato says, act as a stimulus upon the man inclined to love; the fair ones he names “children of the gods,” 45 the dark “manly,” while the hook-nosed he endearingly terms “kingly,” the snub-nosed “fetching,” the sallow “honey-hued,” and so welcomes and likes them all; for love, like ivy, is clever in attaching itself to any support. Much more, then, will the scholar and diligent hearer always be ready to discover some cause for which he may openly bestow on every speaker some commendation not inappropriate. So Plato, although he cannot commend Lysias’s speech for invention, and although he condemns its arrangement as disorderly, nevertheless commends the style, and that “each word was clearly and roundly turned.” One might find fault with Archilochus for his subject matter, Parmenides for his versification, Phocylides as commonplace, Euripides for his loquacity, and Sophocles for his unevenness; and it is equally true of the orators that one of them has no power to portray character, another is slow to rouse emotion, another is lacking in grace; yet it is a fact that each one of them is commended for the special faculty with which Nature has taught him to move us and draw us on. It follows, then, that there is ample and abundant opportunity for hearers to show friendliness toward those who are speaking. For some it is quite enough, even if we do not attest this by voice, that we vouchsafe to them a gentleness of glance, a serenity of countenance, and a disposition kindly and free from annoyance.
[De aud. 13f] Finally, the following matters, even with speakers who make a complete failure, are, as it were, general and common requirements at every lecture: to sit upright without any lounging or sprawling, to look directly at the speaker, to maintain a pose of active attention, and a sedateness of countenance free from any expression, not merely of arrogance or displeasure, but even of other thoughts and preoccupations. Now in every piece of work, beauty is achieved through the congruence of numerous factors, so to speak, brought into union under the rule of a certain due proportion and harmony, whereas ugliness is ready to spring into being if only a single chance element be omitted or added out of place. And so in the particular case of a lecture, not only frowning, a sour face, a roving glance, twisting the body about, and crossing the legs, are unbecoming, but even nodding, whispering to another, smiling, sleepy yawns, bowing down the head, and all like actions, are culpable and need to be carefully avoided.
[De aud. 14] 14 1 There are others who think that the speaker has a function to perform, and the hearer none. They think it only right that the speaker shall come with his discourse carefully thought out and prepared, while they, without consideration or thought of their obligations, rush in and take their seats exactly as though they had come to dinner, to have a good time while others toil. And yet even a well-bred guest at dinner has a function to perform, much more a hearer; for he is a participant in the discourse and a fellow-worker with the speaker, and he ought not rigorously to examine the speaker’s little slips, applying his criticism to every word and action, while he himself, without being subject to any criticism, acts unhandsomely and commits many gross improprieties in the matter of listening. On the contrary, just as in playing ball it is necessary for the catcher to adapt his movements to those of the thrower and to be actively in accord with him, so with discourses, there is a certain accord between the speaker and the hearer, if each is heedful of his obligation.
[De aud. 15] 15 1 Then also the terms used in commendations must not be indiscriminate. For Epicurus himself is displeasing when he says of his friends’ letters that they give rise to hullabaloos. And those persons who nowadays introduce into our lecture-rooms outlandish expressions, who are wont to exclaim over a lecture “Divine,” and “Inspired,” and “Unapproachable,” as though it were no longer enough to say “Hear, Hear!” and “Good!” and “Right!” as Plato and Socrates and Hypereides and their friends used to do to show their commendation, behave in a most unseemly manner, and traduce the speakers, as though these desired such high-flown and excessive commendations. 46 Exceedingly displeasing also are those who use an oath in testifying to their approval of the speakers as though in a law court. No less so are those who fail to respect the quality of persons, and cry aloud to a philosopher “Smart!” or to an aged man “Clever!” or “Flowery!”, thus transferring to the philosophers the expressions of those who make a sport and an opportunity to show off out of their scholastic exercises, and applying meretricious commendation to sober discourse, as though they should put on an athlete’s head a crown of lilies or roses instead of laurel or wild olive! Once when Euripides the poet was going over for the members of his chorus a lyric passage set to music one of them burst out laughing; whereat Euripides remarked, “If you were not so stupid and ignorant, you would not have laughed while I was singing in most solemn measure.” And so, as I think, one who is a philosopher and statesman might repress the exuberance of a graceless hearer by saying, “You seem to me to be an ill-bred fool; else, while I am giving instruction or admonition, or discoursing upon the gods or the State or its government, you would not be whistling and dancing a jig to my words.” Just consider what it really means, if, when a philosopher is speaking, the people outside, by reason of the clamour and shouting of those within, are unable to make out whether the applause is for some flute-player, or harper, or dancer.
[De aud. 16] 16 1 Moreover, admonitions and rebukes must be listened to neither with stolid indifference nor with unseemly emotion. For those who can submit to being reproved by philosophers so light-heartedly and heedlessly as to laugh when being taken to task and to commend those who take them to task, as parasites do when abused by those at whose expense they live, are utterly froward and bold, and they give no good or genuine proof of manliness by their shameless behaviour. As for a pleasant scoff, wittily delivered and in pure fun, if a man know how to take it cheerfully and without offence, his conduct argues no ignoble or uncultured mind, but one altogether generous and Spartan. On the other hand, to hear a reprehension or admonition to reform character, delivered in words that penetrate like a biting drug, and not to be humbled at hearing it, not to run into a sweating and dizziness, not to burn with shame in the soul, but, on the contrary to listen unmoved, grinning, dissembling in the face of it all, is a notable sign of an illiberal nature in the young, dead to all modesty because of an habitual and continued acquaintance with wrongdoing, with a soul like hard and calloused flesh, upon which no lash can leave a weal.
[De aud. 16b] Such is the behaviour of those who belong to this class. But young men of the opposite temperament, if they ever hear a single word directed against themselves, run away without looking back, and try to desert philosophy; and, although the sense of modesty which Nature has bestowed upon them is an admirable beginning for their salvation, they lose it through effeminacy and weakness, since they display no firmness under reproof, nor do they accept corrections with the proper spirit, but they turn away their ears toward the agreeable and gentle converse of sundry flatterers or voluble talkers, who enchant them with useless and unprofitable but nevertheless pleasant utterances. Just as one who runs away from the physician after an operation, and will not submit to be bandaged, sustains all the pain of the treatment, but waits not for its benefits: so when the word has cut and wounded a man’s foolishness, if he give it no chance to heal and quiet the wound, he comes away from philosophy with a smart and pain but with no benefit. For not only the wound of Telephus, as Euripides says,
[De aud. 16c] Is soothed by fine-rasped filings from the spear,
[De aud. 16d] 47 but the smart from philosophy which sinks deep in young men of good parts is healed by the very words which inflicted the hurt. For this reason he who is taken to task must feel and suffer some smart, yet he should not be crushed or dispirited, but, as though at a solemn rite of novitiate which consecrates him to philosophy, he should submit to the initial purifications and commotions, in the expectation that something delectable and splendid will follow upon his present distress and perturbation. Indeed, even if the reproof seems to be given unjustly, it is an admirable thing to endure it with continued patience while the man is speaking; and when he has come to the end, to go to him with an explanation, band beg him to reserve for some real misconduct the frankness and earnestness that he has employed in the present instance.
[De aud. 17] 17 1 Moreover, just as in learning to read and write, or in taking up music or physical training, the first lessons are attended with much confusion, hard work, and uncertainty, but later, as the learner makes progress, by slow degrees, just as in his relations with human beings, a full familiarity is engendered and knowledge which renders everything attractive, feasible, and easy, both to say and to do, so also is it with philosophy, which undoubtedly has something knotty and unfamiliar in its terms and subject matter at the outset; yet one ought not to take fright at its beginnings, and to abandon it in timorous and craven fashion; rather should he examine each point, and persist and stick to the task of getting on, while awaiting that familiarity which makes every noble thing a pleasure. For come it will without long delay, bringing with it abundant light for the subject of study; it will inspire also a passionate love for virtue; and anyone who could endure to pass the rest of his life without this passion, because he has exiled himself from philosophy for want of true manliness, brands himself either as a very presumptuous man or else a coward.
[De aud. 17b] It is quite possible that the subject of philosophy contains some matter which is difficult for young and inexperienced students to apprehend at the outset. But, at the same time, they must hold themselves responsible for most of the uncertainty and misunderstanding in which they find themselves involved, since quite opposite characters come to fall into the same error. Some, because of a feeling of shame and a desire to spare the speaker, hesitate to ask questions and to get the argument firmly fixed in their minds, nodding their heads in assent as though they comprehended it; others, led by an unseasonable ambition and inane rivalry with their fellow students, to show off their acuteness and their ability to learn easily, avow that they have the meaning before they have grasped it, and so do not grasp it at all. Then the result is that those modest and silent persons, after leaving the lecture, distress themselves over their difficulties, and finally, driven by necessity, with even greater shame this time, they trouble the lecturers with questions which they should have asked before, and try to catch up; but with the ambitious and self-confident young men, the result is that they are all the time trying to cover up and conceal the ignorance that abides with them.
[De aud. 18] 18 1 Let us therefore put from us all such foolishness and pretension, and, as we go onward to the task of learning, let us take pains thoroughly to comprehend all profitable discourses; let us submit with patience to the laughter of those reputed to be clever, as did Cleanthes and Xenocrates, who, although they seemed to be slower than their schoolmates, yet did not try to escape learning or give it up in despair, but were the first to make jokes at themselves by comparing themselves to narrow-necked bottles and bronze tablets, as much as to say that they found great difficulty in taking in what was said, yet they kept it safely and securely. For not only is one bound, as Phocylides says,
[De aud. 18b] Many a time to be cheated of hope when he seeks to be noble,
[De aud. 18c] but he is bound also many a time to be laughed at and to be in disrepute, and to put up with joking and buffoonery as he struggles with might and main against his ignorance and overthrows it.
[De aud. 18d] On the other hand, however, we certainly must not neglect the mistake that leads to the opposite extreme, which some persons are led to commit by laziness, thus making themselves unpleasant and irksome. 48 For when they are by themselves they are not willing to give themselves any trouble, but they give trouble to the speaker by repeatedly asking questions about the same things, like unfledged nestlings always agape toward the mouth of another, and desirous of receiving everything ready prepared and predigested. There is another class, who, eager to be thought astute and attentive out of due place, wear out the speakers and loquacity and officiousness, by continually propounding some extraneous and unessential difficulty and asking for demonstrations of matters that need no demonstration, and so, as Sophocles puts it,
[De aud. 18e] Much time it takes to go a little way,
[De aud. 18f] not only for themselves but for the rest of the company too. For holding back the speaker on every possible occasion by their inane and superfluous questions, as in a company of persons travelling together, they impede the regular course of the lecture, which has to put up with halts and delays. Now such persons are, according to Hieronymus, like cowardly and persistent puppies which, at home, bite at the skins of wild animals, and tear off what bits they can, but never touch the animals themselves. But after those lazy persons whom we have mentioned, let us urge them that, when their intelligence has comprehended the main points, they put the rest together by their own efforts, and use their memory as a guide in thinking for themselves, and, taking the discourse of another as a germ and seed, develop and expand it. For the mind does not require filling like a bottle, but rather, like wood, it only requires kindling to create in it an impulse to think independently and an ardent desire for the truth. Imagine, then, that a man should need to get fire from a neighbour, and, upon finding a big bright fire there, should stay there continually warming himself; just so it is if a man comes to another to share the benefit of a discourse, and does not think it necessary to kindle from it some illumination for himself and some thinking of his own, but, delighting in the discourse, sits enchanted; he gets, as it were, a bright and ruddy glow in the form of opinion imparted to him by what is said, but the mouldiness and darkness of his inner mind he has not dissipated nor banished by the warm glow of philosophy.
[De aud. 18g] Finally, if there be need of any other instruction in regard to listening to a lecture, it is that it is necessary to keep in mind what has here been said, and to cultivate independent thinking along with our learning, so that we may acquire a habit of mind that is not sophistic or bent on acquiring mere information, but one that is deeply ingrained and philosophic, as we may do if we believe that right listening is the beginning of right living.

## How to tell a flatterer from a friend

[De adul. 1] 1 Plato is of opinion that it is very pardonable in a man to acknowledge that he has any extraordinary passion for himself; and yet the humor is attended with this ill consequent, besides several others, that it renders us incapable of making a right judgment of ourselves. For our affections usually blind our discerning faculties, unless we have learned to raise them above the sordid level of things congenial and familiar to us, to those which are truly noble and excellent in themselves. And hence it is that we are so frequently exposed to the attempts of a parasite, under the disguise and vizard of a friend. For self-love, that grand flatterer within, willingly entertains another from without, who will but soothe up and second the man in the good opinions he has conceived of himself. For he who deservedly lies under the character of one that loves to be flattered is doubtless sufficiently fond of himself: and through abundance of complaisance to his own person, not only wishes but thinks himself master of all those perfections which may recommend him to others. And though indeed it be laudable enough to covet such accomplishments, yet is it altogether unsafe for any man to fancy them inherent in him.
[De adul. 1b] Now, if truth be a ray of the divinity, as Plato says it is, and the source of all the good that derives upon either Gods or men, then certainly the flatterer must be looked upon as a public enemy to all the Gods, and especially to Apollo; for he always acts counter to that celebrated oracle of his, Know thyself, endeavoring to make every man his own cheat, by keeping him ignorant of the good and ill qualities that are in him; whereupon the good never arrive at perfection, and the ill grow incorrigible.
[De adul. 2] 2 Did flattery, indeed, as most other misfortunes do, generally or altogether wait on the debauched and ignoble part of mankind, the mischief were of less consequence, and might admit of an easier prevention. But, as worms breed most in sweet and tender woods, so usually the most obliging, the most brave and generous tempers readiliest receive and longest entertain the flattering insect that hangs and grows upon them. And since, to use Simonides’s expression, it is not for persons of a narrow fortune, but for gentlemen of estates, to keep a good stable of horses; so never saw we flattery the attendant of the poor, the inglorious and inconsiderable plebeian, but of the grandees of the world, the distemper and bane of great families and affairs, the plague in kings’ chambers, and the ruin of their kingdoms. Therefore it is a business of no small importance, and one which requires no ordinary circumspection, so to be able to know a flatterer in every shape he assumes, that the counterfeit resemblance some time or other bring not true friendship itself into suspicion and disrepute. For parasites, — like lice, which desert a dying man, whose palled and vapid blood can feed them no longer, — never intermix in dry and insipid business where there is nothing to be got; but prey upon a noble quarry, the ministers of state and potentates of the earth, and afterwards lousily shirk off, if the greatness of their fortune chance to leave them. But it will not be wisdom in us to stay till such fatal junctures, and then try the experiment, which will not only be useless but dangerous and hurtful; for it is a deplorable thing for a man to find himself then destitute of friends, when he most wants them, and has no opportunity either of exchanging his false and faithless friend for a fast and honest one. And therefore we should rather try our friend, as we do our money, whether or not he be passable and current, before we need him. For it is not enough to discover the cheat to our cost, but we must so understand the flatterer, that he put no cheat upon us; otherwise we should act like those who must needs take poison to know its strength, and foolishly hazard their lives to inform their judgment. And as we cannot approve of this carelessness, so neither can we of that too scrupulous humor of those who, taking the measures of true friendship only from the bare honesty and usefulness of the man, immediately suspect a pleasant and easy conversation for a cheat. For a friend is not a dull tasteless thing, nor does the decorum of friendship consist in sourness and austerity of temper, but its very port and gravity is soft and amiable, —
[De adul. 2b] Where Love and all the Graces do reside.
[De adul. 2c] For it is not only a comfort to the afflicted,
To enjoy the courtesy of his kindest friend,
[De adul. 2d] as Euripides speaks; but friendship extends itself to both fortunes, as well brightens and adorns prosperity as allays the sorrows that attend adversity. And as Evenus used to say that fire makes the best sauce, so friendship, wherewith God has seasoned the circumstances of our mortality, gives a relish to every condition, renders them all easy, sweet, and agreeable enough. And indeed, did not the laws of friendship admit of a little pleasantry and good humor, why should the parasite insinuate himself under that disguise? And yet he, as counterfeit gold imitates the brightness and lustre of the true, always puts on the easiness and freedom of a friend, is always pleasant and obliging, and ready to comply with the humor of his company. And therefore it is no way reasonable either, to look upon every just character that is given us as a piece of flattery; for certainly a due and seasonable commendation is as much the duty of one friend to another as a pertinent and serious reprehension; nay indeed, a sour querulous temper is perfectly repugnant to the laws of friendship and conversation; whereas a man takes a chiding patiently from a friend who is as ready to praise his virtues as to animadvert upon his vices, willingly persuading himself that mere necessity obliged him to reprimand, whom kindness had first moved to commend.
[De adul. 3] 3 Why then, some may say, it is infinitely difficult at this rate to distinguish a flatterer from a friend, since there is no apparent difference either betwixt the satisfaction they create or the praises they bestow. Nay, it is observable, that a parasite is frequently more obsequious and obliging than a friend himself. Well, the way then to discover the disparity? Why, I will tell you; if you would learn the character of a true subtle flatterer, who nicks his point secundum artem, you must not, with the vulgar, mistake those sordid smell-feasts and poor trencherslaves for your men, who begin to prate as soon as they have washed their hands in order to dinner, as one says of them, and ere they are well warmed with a good cut of the first dish and a glass of wine, betray the narrow soul that acts them by the nauseous and fulsome buffoonery they vent at table. For sure it needed no great sagacity to detect the flattery of Melanthius, the parasite of Alexander of Pherae, who, being asked how his master was murdered, made answer, With a thrust which went in at his side, but into my belly. Nor must we, again, confine our notions of flatterers to those sharping fellows who ply about rich men’s tables, whom neither fire nor sword nor porter can keep from supper; nor yet to such as were those female parasites of Cyprus, who going into Syria were nick-named Steps, because they cringed so to the great ladies of that country that they mounted their chariots on their backs.
[De adul. 4] 4 Well, but after all, who is this flatterer then, whom we ought so industriously to avoid?
I answer: He who neither professes nor seems to flatter; who never haunts your kitchen, is never observed to watch the dial that he may nick your supper-time; who won’t drink to excess, but will keep his brains about him; who is prying and inquisitive, would mix in your business, and wind himself into your secrets: in short, he who acts the friend, not with the air of a comedian or a satirist, but with the port and gravity of a tragedian. For, as Plato says, It is the height of injustice to appear just and be really a knave. So are we to look upon those flatterers as most dangerous who walk not barefaced but in disguise, who make no sport but mind their business; for these often personate the true and sincere friend so exactly, that it is enough to make him fall under the like suspicion of a cheat, unless we be extremely curious in remarking the difference betwixt them. It is storied of Gobryas (one of the Persian nobility, who joined with Darius against the Magi), that he pursued one of them into a dark room, and there fell upon him; during the scuffle Darius came in and drew upon the enemy, but durst not push at him, lest perhaps he might wound his confederate Gobryas with the thrust; whereupon Gobryas bade him, rather than fail, run both through together. But since we can by no means admit of that vulgar saying, Let my friend perish, so my enemy perish with him, but had rather still endeavor at the discovery of a parasite from a friend, notwithstanding the nearness of the resemblance, we ought to use our utmost care, lest at any time we indifferently reject the good with the bad, or unadvisedly retain the bad with the good, the friend and flatterer together. For as those wild grains which usually grow up with wheat, and are of the same figure and bigness with it, are not easily winnowed from it, — for they either cannot pass through the holes of the sieve, if narrow, or pass together with the wheat, if larger, — so is it infinitely difficult to distinguish flattery from friendship, because the one so exquisitely mixes with all the passions, humors, interests, and inclinations of the other.
[De adul. 5] 5 Now because the enjoyment of a friend is attended with the greatest satisfaction incident to humanity, therefore the flatterer always endeavors to entrap us by rendering his conversation highly pleasant and agreeable. Again, because all acts of kindness and mutual beneficence are the constant attendants upon true friendship (on which account we usually say, A friend is more necessary than fire or water), therefore the flatterer is ready upon every occasion to obtrude his service upon you, and will with an indefatigable bustle and zeal seek to oblige you if he can.
[De adul. 5b] In the next place, the parasite observes that all true friendship takes its origin from a concurrence of like humors and inclinations, and that the same passions, the same aversions and desires, are the first cement of a true and lasting friendship. He therefore composes his nature, like unformed matter, striving to fit and adapt it by imitation to the person on whom he designs, that it may be pliant and yielding to any impression that he shall think fit to stamp upon it; and, in fine, he so neatly resembles the original, that one would swear, —
[De adul. 5c] Sure thou the very Achilles art, and not his son.
[De adul. 5d] But the most exquisite fineness of a flatterer consists in his imitation of that freedom of discourse which friends particularly use in mutually reprehending each other. For finding that men usually take it for what it really is, the natural language of friendship, as peculiar to it as certain notes or voices are to certain animals, and that, on the contrary, a shy sheepish reservedness looks both rude and unfriendly, he lets not even this proper character of a friend escape his imitation. But as skilful cooks use to correct luscious meats with sharp and poignant sauce, that they may not be so apt to overcharge the stomach; so he seasons his flattery now and then with a little smartness and severity, lest the fulsomeness of repeated dissimulation should pall and cloy the company. And yet his reprehensions always carry something in them that looks not true and genuine; he seems to do it, but with a kind of a sneering and grinning countenance at the best; and though his reproofs may possibly tickle the ear, yet they never strike effectually upon the heart. On these accounts then it is as difficult to discern a flatterer from a friend, as to know those animals again which always wear the livery of the last thing they touch upon. And therefore, since he puts so easily upon us under the disguise and appearance of a friend, it will be our business at present to unmask the hypocrite, and show him in other men’s shapes and colors, as Plato speaks, since he has none properly his own.
[De adul. 6] 6 Well then, let us enquire regularly into this affair. We have already asserted, that friendship generally takes its rise from a conformity of tempers and dispositions, whereby different persons come to have the same taste of the like humors, customs, studies, exercises, and employs, as these following verses import: —
[De adul. 6b] Old men with old, and boys with boys agree; And women’s clack with women’s company. Men that are crazy, full of sores and pain, Love to diseased persons to complain. And they who labor under adverse fate, Tell their sad stories to th’ unfortunate.
[De adul. 6c] The flatterer then, observing how congenial it is to our natures to delight in the conversation of those who are, as it were, the counterpart of ourselves, makes his first approaches to our affections at this avenue, where he gradually advances (like one making towards a wild beast in a pasture, with a design to tame and bring it to hand) by accommodating himself to the same studies, business, and color of life with the person upon whom he designs, till at last the latter gives him an opportunity to catch him, and becomes tractable by the man who strokes him. All this while the flatterer falls foul upon those courses of life, persons, and things he perceives his cully to disapprove, and again as extravagantly commends those he is pleased to honor with his approbation, still persuading him that his choice and dislike are the results of a solid and discerning judgment and not of passion.
[De adul. 7] 7 Well, then, by what signs or tokens shall we be able to know this counterfeit copy of ourselves from a true and genuine likeness?
[De adul. 7b] In the first place, we must accurately remark upon the whole tenor of his life and conversation, whether or not the resemblance he pretends to the original be of any continuance, natural and easy, and all of a piece; whether he square his actions according to any one steady and uniform model, as becomes an ingenuous lover of conversation and friendship, which is all of one thread, and still like itself; for this is a true friend indeed. But the flatterer, who has no principles in him, and leads not a life properly his own, but forms and moulds it according to the various humors and caprices of those he designs to bubble, is never one and the same man, but a mere dapple or trimmer, who changes shapes with his company, like water that always turns and winds itself into the figure of the channel through which it flows. Apes, it seems, are usually caught by their antic mimicry of the motions and gesticulations of men; and yet the men themselves are trepanned by the same craft of imitation in a flatterer, who adapts himself to their several humors, fencing and wrestling with one, singing and dancing with another. If he is in chase of a spark that delights in a pack of dogs, he follows him at the heels, hollowing almost like Phaedra,
[De adul. 7c] O what a pleasure ‘tis, ye Gods, to wind The shrill-mouthed horn and chase the dappled hind;
[De adul. 7d] and yet the hunter himself is the game he designs for the toils. If he be in pursuit of some bookish young gentleman, then he is always a poring, he nourishes his reverend beard down to his heels, wears a tattered cloak, affects the careless indifference of a philosopher, and can now discourse of nothing under Plato’s triangles and rectangles. If he chance to fall into the acquaintance of a drunken, idle debauchee who has got an estate,
[De adul. 7e] Then sly Ulysses throws away his rags,
[De adul. 7f] puts off his long robe, mows down his fruitless crop of beard, drinks briskly, laughs modishly on the walks, and drolls handsomely upon the philosophical fops of the town. And thus, they say, it happened at Syracuse; for when Plato first arrived there and Dionysius was wonderfully hot upon the study of philosophy, all the areas in the king’s palace were full of nothing but dust and sand, by reason of the great concourse of geometricians who came to draw their figures and demonstrate there. But no sooner was Plato in disgrace at court, and Dionysius finally fallen from philosophy to wine and women, trifles and intemperance, than learning fell into a general disrepute, and the whole body of the people, as if bewitched by some Circe or other, became universally stupid, idle, and infatuated. Besides this, I appeal to the practices of men notorious for flattery and popularity to back my observation. Witness he who topped them all, Alcibiades, who, when he dwelt at Athens, was as arch and witty as any Athenian of them all, kept his stable of horses, played the good fellow, and was universally obliging; and yet the same man at Sparta shaved close to the skin, wore his cloak, and never bathed but in cold water. When he sojourned in Thrace, he drank and fought like a Thracian; and again, in Tissaphernes’s company in Asia, he acted the part of a soft, arrogant, and voluptuous Asiatic. And thus, by an easy compliance with the humors and customs of the people amongst whom he conversed, he made himself master of their affections and interests. So did not the brave Epaminondas nor Agesilaus, who, though they had to do with great variety of men and manners, and cities of vastly different politics, were still the same men, and everywhere, through the whole circle of their conversation, maintained a port and character worthy of themselves. And so was Plato the same man at Syracuse that he was in the Academy, the same in Dionysius’s court that he was in Dion’s.
[De adul. 8] 8 But he who will take the pains to act the dissembler himself, by interchangeably decrying and extolling the same things, discourses, and ways of living, will easily perceive that the opinions of a flatterer are as mutable and inconstant as the colors of a polypus, that he is never consonant to himself nor properly his own man; that all his passions, his love and hatred, his joy and sorrow, are borrowed and counterfeit; and that, in a word, like a mirror, he only receives and represents the several faces or images of other men’s affections and humors. Do but discommend one of your acquaintance a little in his company, and he will tell you it is a wonder you never found him out all this while, for his part he never fancied him in his life. Change but your style and commend him, he presently swears you oblige him in it, gives you a thousand thanks for the gentleman’s sake, and believes your character of him to be just. Tell him you have thoughts of altering your course of life, as for instance, to retire from all public employs to privacy and ease; he immediately wishes that he had retreated long ago from the hurry and drudgery of business and the odium that attends it. Seem but again inclinable to an active life; Why now, says he, you speak like yourself; leisure and ease are sweet, it is true, but withal mean and inglorious. When you have thus trepanned him, it would be proper to cashier him with some such reply as this: —
[De adul. 8b] How now, my friend! What, quite another man!
[De adul. 8c] I abhor a fellow who servilely complies with whatsoever I propose, and keeps pace with me in all my motions, — my shadow can do that better than yourself, — but my friend must deal plainly and impartially, and assist me faithfully with his judgment. And thus you see one way of discerning a flatterer from a friend.
[De adul. 9] 9 Another difference observable betwixt them in the resemblance they bear to each other is, that a true friend will not rashly commend nor imitate every thing, but only what really deserves it; for, as Sophocles says,
[De adul. 9b] He shares with him his loves, but not his hates,
[De adul. 9c] and will scorn to bear any part with him in any base and dishonorable actions, unless, as people sometimes catch blear eyes, he may chance insensibly to contract some ill habit or other by the very contagion of familiarity and conversation. Thus they say Plato’s acquaintance learned his stoop, Aristotle’s his lisp, and Alexander’s the inclination of his neck and the rapidity of his speech. For some persons, ere they are aware, get a touch of the humors and infirmities of those with whom they converse. But now as a true friend endeavors only to copy the fairest originals, so, on the contrary, the flatterer, like the chameleon, which puts on all colors but the innocent white, being unable to reach those strokes of virtue which are worth his imitation, takes care that no failure or imperfection escape him. As unskilful painters, when they cannot hit the features and air of a face, content themselves with the faint resemblance in a wrinkle, a wart, or a scar, so he takes up with his friend’s intemperance, superstition, cholericness, severity to his servants, distrust of his relations and domestics or the like. For, besides that a natural propensity to evil inclines him always to follow the worst examples, he imagines his assuming other men’s vices will best secure him from the suspicion of being disaffected towards them; for their fidelity is often suspected who seem dissatisfied with faults and wish a reformation. Which very thing lost Dion in the good opinion of Dionysius, Samius in Philip’s, Cleomenes in Ptolemy’s, and at last proved the occasion of their ruin. And therefore the flatterer pretends not only to the good humor of a companion, but to the faithfulness of a friend too, and would be thought to have so great a respect for you that he cannot be disgusted at the very worst of your actions, being indeed of the same make and constitution with yourself. Hence you shall have him pretend a share in the most common casualties that befall another, nay, in complaisance, feign even diseases themselves. In company of those who are thick of hearing, he is presently half deaf, and with the dim-sighted can see no more than they do. So the parasites about Dionysius at an entertainment, to humor his blindness, stumbled one upon another and jostled the dishes off his table.
[De adul. 9d] But there are others who refine upon the former by a pretended fellow-suffering in the more private concernments of life, whereby they wriggle themselves deeper into the affections of those they flatter; as, if they find a man unhappily married, or distrustful of his children or domestics, they spare not their own family, but immediately entertain you with some lamentable story of the hard fortune they have met with in their children, their wife, their servants, or relations. For, by the parallel circumstances they pretend to, they seem more passionately concerned for the misfortunes of their friends, who, as if they had already received some pawn and assurance of their fidelity, blab forth those secrets which they cannot afterwards handsomely retract, and dare not betray the least distrust of their new confidant for the future. I myself knew a man who turned his wife out of doors because a gentleman of his acquaintance divorced his, though the latter lady smelt the intrigue afterwards by the messages the flatterer sent to his wife after the pretended divorce and the private visits he was observed to make her. So little did he understand the flatterer who took these following verses for the description of a crab rather than his: —
[De adul. 9e] The shapeless thing’s all over paunch and gut: Who can the monster’s mighty hunger glut? It crawls on teeth, and with a watchful eye Does into every secret corner pry.
[De adul. 9f] For this is the true portraiture of those sharpers, who, as Eupolis speaks, sponge upon their acquaintance for a dinner.
[De adul. 10] 10 But we will reserve these remarks for a more proper place. In the mean time I must not omit the other artifice observable in his imitation, which is this: that if at any time he counterfeit the good qualities of his friend, he immediately yields him the pre-eminence; whereas there is no competition, no emulation or envy amongst true friends, but whether they are equally accomplished or not, they bear the same even unconcerned temper of mind towards each other. But the flatterer, remembering that he is but to act another’s part, pretends only to such strokes as fall short of the original, and is willing to confess himself outdone in any thing but his vices, wherein alone he claims the precedency to himself; as, if the man he is to wheedle be difficult and morose, he is quite overrun with choler; if something superstitious, he is a perfect enthusiast; if a little in love, for his part he is most desperately smitten. I laughed heartily at such a passage, says one; But I had like to have died with laughter, says the other. But now in speaking of any laudable qualities, he inverts his style; as, I can run fast enough, says he, but you perfectly fly. I can sit an horse tolerably well, but alas! what’s that to this Hippocentaur for good horsemanship? I have a tolerable good genius for poetry, and am none of the worst versifiers of the age;
[De adul. 10b] But thunder is the language of you Gods, not mine.
[De adul. 10c] And thus at the same time he obliges his friend both in approving of his abilities by his owning of them, and in confessing him incomparable in his way by himself coming short of his example. These then are the distinguishing characters of a friend and flatterer, as far as concerns the counterfeit resemblance betwixt them.
[De adul. 11] 11 But because, as we have before observed, it is common to them both to please (for a good man is no less taken with the company of his friends than an ill one is with a flatterer’s), let us discriminate them here too. And the way will be to have an eye to the end to which they direct the satisfaction they create, which may be thus illustrated. Your perfumed oils have a fine odoriferous scent, and so, it may be, have some medicines too; but with this difference, that the former are prepared barely for the gratification of the sense, whilst the other, besides their odor, purge, heal, and fatten. Again, the colors used by painters are certainly very florid and the mixture agreeable; and yet so it is in some medicinal compositions too. Wherein then lies the difference? Why, in the end or use for which they are designed, the one purely for pleasure the other for profit. In like manner the civilities of one friend to another, besides the main point of their honesty and mutual advantage, are always attended with an overplus of delight and satisfaction. Nay, they can now and then indulge themselves the liberty of an innocent diversion, a collation, or a glass of wine, and, believe me, can be as cheerful and jocund as the best; all which they use only as sauce, to give a relish to the more serious and weighty concernments of life. To which purpose was that of the poet,
[De adul. 11b] With pleasing chat they did delight each other;
as likewise this too,
Nothing could part our pleasure or our love.
[De adul. 11c] But the whole business and design of a flatterer is continually to entertain the company with some pastime or other, a little jest, a story well told, or a comical action; and, in a word, he thinks he can never overact the diverting part of conversation. Whereas the true friend, proposing no other end to himself than the bare discharge of his duty, is sometimes pleasant, and as often, it may be, disagreeable, neither solicitously coveting the one, nor industriously avoiding the other, if he judge it the more seasonable and expedient. For as a physician, if need require, will throw in a little saffron or spikenard to qualify his patient’s dose, and will now and then bathe him and feed him up curiously, and yet again another time will prescribe him castor,
[De adul. 11d] Or poley, which the strongest scent doth yield Of all the physic plants which clothe the field,
[De adul. 11e] or perhaps will oblige him to drink an infusion of hellebore, — proposing neither the deliciousness of the one nor the nauseousness of the other as his scope and design, but only conducting him by these different methods to one and the same end, the recovery of his health, — in like manner the real friend sometimes leads his man gently on to virtue by kindness, by pleasing and extolling him, as he in Homer,
[De adul. 11f] Dear Teucer, thou who art in high command, Thus draw the bow with thy unerring hand;
[De adul. 11g] and as another speaking of Ulysses,
How can I doubt, while great Ulysses stands To lend his counsel and assist our hands?
[De adul. 11h] and again, when he sees correction requisite, he will check him severely, as,
[De adul. 11i] Whither, O Menelaus, wouldst thou run, And tempt a fate which prudence bids thee shun?
[De adul. 11j] and perhaps he is forced another time to second his words with actions, as Menedemus reclaimed his friend Asclepiades’s son, a dissolute and debauched young gentleman, by shutting his doors upon him and not vouchsafing to speak to him. And Arcesilaus forbade Battus his school for having abused Cleanthes in a comedy of his, but after he had made satisfaction and an acknowledgment of his fault, took him into favor again. For we ought to grieve and afflict our friend with design merely of serving him, not of making a rupture betwixt us, and must apply our reprehensions only as pungent and acute medicines, with no other intent than the recovery of the patient. And therefore a friend — like a skilful musician who, to tune his instrument, winds up one string and lets down another — grants some things and refuses others according as their honesty or usefulness prompt him, whereby he often pleases, but is sure always to profit; whereas the parasite, who is continually upon the same humoring string, knows not how to let fall a cross word or commit a disobliging action, but servilely complies with all your desires, and is always in the tune you ask for. And therefore, as Xenophon reports of Agesilaus that he took some delight in being praised by those who would upon occasion dispraise him too, so ought we to judge that only he rejoices and pleases us really as a friend, who will, when need requires, thwart and contradict us; we must suspect their conversation who aim at nothing but our gratification, without the least intermixture of reprehension; and indeed we ought to have ready upon such occasions that repartee of a Lacedaemonian who, hearing King Charillus highly extolled for an excellent person, asked, How he could be so good a man, who was never severe to an ill one?
[De adul. 12] 12 They tell us that gad-flies creep into the ears of bulls, and ticks into those of dogs. But I am sure the parasite lays so close siege and sticks so fast to the ears of the ambitious with the repeated praises of their worth, that it is no easy matter to shake him off again. And therefore it highly concerns them to have their apprehensions awake and upon the guard, critically to remark whether the high characters such men lavish out are intended for the person or the thing they would be thought to commend. And we may indeed suppose them more peculiarly designed for the things themselves, if they bestow them on persons absent rather than present; if they covet and aspire after the same qualities themselves which they magnify in others; if they admire the same perfections in the rest of mankind as well as in us, and are never found to falter and belie, either in word or action, the sentiments they have owned.
[De adul. 12b] And, what is the surest criterion in this case, we are to examine whether or no we are not really troubled at or ashamed of the commission of those very things for which they applaud us, and could not wish that we had said or acted the quite contrary; for our own consciences, which are above the reach of passion and will not be put upon by all the sly artifices of flattery, will witness against us and spurn at an undeserved commendation. But I know not how it comes to pass, that several persons had rather be pitied than comforted in adversity; and when they have committed a fault, look upon those as enemies and informers who endeavor to chide and lecture them into a sense of their guilt, but caress and embrace them as friends who soothe them up in their vices. Indeed they who continue their applauses to so inconsiderable a thing as a single action, a wise saying, or a smart jest, do only a little present mischief; but they who from single acts proceed to debauch even the habits of the mind with their immoderate praises are like those treacherous servants who, not content to rob the common heap in the granary, filch even that which was chosen and reserved for seed.
[De adul. 12c] For, whilst they entitle vice to the name of virtue, they corrupt that prolific principle of action, the genius and disposition of the soul, and poison the fountain whence the whole stream of life derives. Thucydides observes, that in the time of war and sedition the names of good and evil are wont to be confounded according to men’s judgment of circumstances; as, fool-hardiness is called a generous espousal of a friend’s quarrel, a provident delay is nicknamed cowardice, modesty a mere pretext for unmanliness, a prudent slow inspection into things downright laziness. In like manner, if you observe it, a flatterer terms a profuse man liberal, a timorous man wary, a mad fellow quick and prompt, a stingy miser frugal, an amorous youngster kind and good-natured, a passionate proud fool stout, and a mean-spirited slave courteous and observing.
[De adul. 12d] As Plato somewhere remarks, that a lover who is always a flatterer of his beloved object styles a flat nose lovely and graceful, an hawk nose princely, the black manly, and the fair the offspring of the Gods; and observes particularly that the appellation of honey-pale is nothing but the daub of a gallant who is willing to set off his mistress’s pale complexion. Now indeed an ugly fellow bantered into an opinion that he is handsome, or a little man magnified into tall and portly, cannot lie long under the mistake nor receive any great injury by the cheat; but when vice is extolled by the name of virtue, so that a man is induced to sin not only without regret but with joy and triumph, and is hardened beyond the modesty of a blush for his enormities, this sort of flattery, I say, has been fatal even to whole kingdoms. It was this that ruined Sicily, by styling the tyranny of Dionysius and Phalaris nothing but justice and a hatred of villanous practices.
[De adul. 12e] It was this that overthrew Egypt, by palliating the king’s effeminacy, his yellings, his enthusiastic rants, and his beating of drums, with the more plausible names of true religion and the worship of the Gods. It was this that had very nigh ruined the stanch Roman temper, by extenuating the voluptuousness, the luxury, the sumptuous shows, and public profuseness of Antony, into the softer terms of humanity, good nature, and the generosity of a gentleman who knew how to use the greatness of his fortune. What but the charms of flattery made Ptolemy turn piper and fiddler? What else put on Nero’s buskins and brought him on the stage? Have we not known several princes, if they sung a tolerable treble, termed Apollos; when they drank stoutly, styled Bacchuses; and upon wrestling, fencing, or the like, immediately dubbed by the name of Hercules, and hurried on by those empty titles to the commission of those acts which were infinitely beneath the dignity of their character?
[De adul. 13] 13 And therefore it will be then more especially our concern to look about us when a flatterer is upon the strain of praising; which he is sensible enough of, and accordingly avoids all occasion of suspicion when he attacks us on that side. If indeed he meets with a tawdry fop, or a dull country clown in a leathern jacket, he plays upon him with all the liberty imaginable; as Struthias by way of flattery insulted and triumphed over the sottishness of Bias, when he told him that he had out drunk King Alexander himself, and that he was ready to die of laughter at his encounter with the Cyprian. But if he chance to fall upon an apprehensive man, who can presently smoke a design, especially if he thinks he has an eye upon him and stands upon his guard, he does not immediately assault him with an open panegyric, but first fetches a compass, and softly winds about him, till he has in some measure tamed the untractable creature and brought it to his hand. For he either tells him what high characters he has heard of him abroad (introducing, as the rhetoricians do, some third person), how upon the exchange the other day he happily overheard some strangers and persons of great gravity and worth, who spake extreme honorably of him and professed themselves much his admirers; or else he forges some frivolous and false accusation of him, and then coming in all haste, as if he had heard it really reported, asks him seriously, if he can call to mind where he said or did such a thing. And immediately upon his denial of the matter of fact, which he has reason enough to expect, he takes occasion to fall upon the subject of his commendation; I wondered indeed, says he, to hear that you should calumniate your friend, who never used to speak ill of your enemies; that you should endeavor to rob another man of his estate, who so generously spend your own.
[De adul. 14] 14 Others again, like painters who enhance the lustre and beauty of a curious piece by the shades which surround it, slyly extol and encourage men in their vices by deriding and railing at their contrary virtues. Thus, in the company of the debauched, the covetous, and the extortioner, they run down temperance and modesty as mere rusticity; and justice and contentment with our present condition argue nothing in their phrase but a dastardly spirit and an impotence to action. If they fall into the acquaintance of lubbers who love laziness and ease, they stick not to explode the necessary administration of public affairs as a troublesome intermeddling in other men’s business, and a desire to bear office as an useless empty thirst after a name. To wheedle in with an orator, they scout a philosopher; and who so gracious as they with the jilts of the town, by laughing at wives who are faithful to their husbands’ beds as impotent and country-bred? And, what is the most egregious stratagem of all the rest, the flatterer shall traduce himself rather than want a fair opportunity to commend another; as wrestlers put their body in a low posture, that they may the better worst their adversaries. I am a very coward at sea, says he, impatient of any fatigue, and cannot digest the least ill language; but my good friend here fears no colors, can endure all hardness, is an admirable good man, bears all things with great patience and evenness of temper. If he meets with one who abounds in his own sense and affects to appear rigid and singular in his judgment, and, as an argument of the rectitude and steadiness thereof, is always telling you of that of Homer,
[De adul. 14b] Let not your praise or dispraise lavish be,Good Diomedes, when you speak of me,
[De adul. 14c] he applies a new engine to move this great weight. To such a one he imparts some of his private concerns, as being willing to advise with the ablest counsel: he has indeed a more intimate acquaintance with others, but he was forced to trouble him at present: for to whom should we poor witless men have recourse (says he) when we stand in need of advice? Or whom else should we trust? And as soon as he has delivered his opinion, whether it be to the purpose or not, he takes his leave of him with a seeming satisfaction, as if he had received an answer from an oracle. Again, if he perceives a man pretends to be master of a style, he presently presents him with something of his own composing, requesting him to peruse and correct it. Thus Mithridates could no sooner set up for a physician, than some of his acquaintance desired to be cut and cauterized by him, — a piece of flattery that extended beyond the fallacy of bare words, — they imagining that he must needs take it as an argument of their great opinion of his skill, that they durst trust themselves in his hands.
[De adul. 14d] For things divine take many shapes.
[De adul. 14e] Now to discover the cheat which these insinuations of our own worth might put upon us (a thing that requires no ordinary circumspection), the best way will be to give him a very absurd advice, and to animadvert as impertinently as may be upon his works when he submits them to your censure. For if he makes no reply, but grants and approves of all you assert, and applauds every period with the eulogy of Very right! Incomparably well! — then you have trepanned him, and it is plain that, though
[De adul. 14f] He counsel asked, he played another game, To swell you with the opinion of a name.
[De adul. 15] 15 But to proceed. As some have defined painting to be mute poetry, so there is a sort of silent flattery which has its peculiar commendation. For as hunters are then surest of their game when they pass under the disguise of travellers, shepherds or husbandmen, and seem not at all intent upon their sport; so the eulogies of a parasite never take more effectually than when he seems least of all to commend you. For he who rises up to a rich man when he comes in company, or who, having begun a motion in the Senate, suddenly breaks off and gives some leading man the liberty of speaking his sense first in the point, such a man’s silence more effectually shows the deference he pays the other’s judgment than if he had avowedly proclaimed it. And hereupon you shall have them always placed in the boxes at the play-house, and perched upon the highest seats at other public entertainments; not that they think them suitable to their quality, but merely for the opportunity of gratifying great men by giving them place. Hence it is likewise, that they open first in all solemn and public assemblies, only that they may give place to another as an abler speaker, and they retract their opinion immediately, if any person of authority, riches, or quality contradict them. So that you may perceive all their concessions, cringes, and respects to be but mere courtship and complaisance, by this easy observation, that they are usually paid to riches, honor, or the like, rather than to age, art, virtue, or other personal endowments.
[De adul. 15b] Thus dealt not Apelles with Megabyzus (one of the Persian nobility), who pretending once to talk I know not what about lines, shades, and other things peculiar to his art, the painter could not but take him up, telling him that his apprentices yonder, who were grinding colors, gazed strangely upon him, admiring his gold and purple ornaments, while he held his tongue, but now could not choose but titter to hear him offer at a discourse upon an argument so much out of his sphere. And when Croesus asked Solon his opinion of felicity, he told him flatly, that he looked upon Tellus, an honest though obscure Athenian, and Biton and Cleobis, as happier than he. But the flatterer will have kings, governors, and men of estates, not only the most signally happy, but the most eminently knowing, the most virtuous, and the most prudent of mankind.
[De adul. 16] 16 And now some cannot endure to hear the Stoics, who centre all true riches, generosity, nobility, and royalty itself in the person of a wise man; but with the flatterer it is the man of money that is both orator and poet, and, if he pleases, painter and fiddler too, a good wrestler, an excellent footman, or any thing, for they never stand with him for the victory in those engagements; as Crisson, who had the honor to run with Alexander, let him designedly win the race, which the king being told of afterwards was highly disgusted at him. And therefore I like the observation of Carneades, who used to say that young princes and noblemen never arrived to a tolerable perfection in any thing they learned, except riding; for their preceptors spoil them at school by extolling all their performances, and their wrestling-masters by always taking the foil; whereas the horse, who knows no distinction betwixt a private man and a magistrate, betwixt the rich and the poor, will certainly throw his rider if he knows not how to sit him, let him be of what quality he pleases. And therefore it was but impertinently said of Bion upon this subject, that he who could praise his ground into a good crop were to blame if he bestowed any other tillage upon it. ‘Tis granted: nor is it improper to commend a man, if you do him any real kindness thereby. But here is the disparity: that a field cannot be made worse by any commendations bestowed upon it, whereas a man immoderately praised is puffed up, burst, and ruined by it.
[De adul. 17] 17 Thus much then for the point of praising; proceed we in the next place to treat of freedom in their reprehensions. And indeed, it were but reasonable that, — as Patroclus put on Achilles’s armor and led his war-horse out into the field, yet durst not for all that venture to wield his spear, — so, though the flatterer wear all the other badges and ensigns of a friend, he should not dare to counterfeit the plain frankness of his discourse, as being “a great, massy, and substantial weapon,” peculiar to him.
[De adul. 17b] But because, to avoid that scandal and offence which their drunken bouts, their little jests, and ludicrous babling humor might otherwise create, they sometimes put on the face of gravity, and flatter under the vizard of a frown, dropping in now and then a word of correction and reproof, let us examine this cheat too amongst the rest.
[De adul. 17c] And indeed I can compare that trifling insignificant liberty of speech to which he pretends to nothing better than that sham Hercules which Menander introduces in one of his comedies, with a light hollow club upon his shoulder; for, as women’s pillows, which seem sufficiently stuffed to bear up their heads, yield and sink under their weight, so this counterfeit freedom in a flatterer’s conversation swells big and promises fair, that when it shrinks and contracts itself it may draw those in with it who lay any stress upon its outward appearance. Whereas the genuine and friendly reprehension fixes upon real criminals, causing them grief and trouble indeed, but only what is wholesome and salutary; like honey that corrodes but yet cleanses the ulcerous parts of the body, and is otherwise both pleasant and profitable. But of this in its proper place. We shall discourse at present of the flatterer who affects a morose, angry, and inexorable behavior towards all but those upon whom he designs, is peevish and difficult towards his servants, animadverts severely upon the failures of his relations and domestics, neither admires nor respects a stranger but superciliously contemns him, pardons no man, but by stories and complaints exasperates one against another, thinking by these means to acquire the character of an irreconcilable enemy to all manner of vice, that he may be thought one who would not spare his favorites themselves upon occasion, and would neither act nor speak any thing out of a mean and dastardly complaisance.
[De adul. 17d] And if at any time he undertakes his friend, he feigns himself a mere stranger to his real and considerable crimes; but if he catch him in some petty trifling peccadillo, there he takes his occasion to rant him terribly and thunder him severely off; as, if he see any of his goods out of order, if his house be not very convenient, if his beard be not shaven or his clothes unfashionable, if his dog or his horse be not well looked after. But if he slight his parents, neglect his children, treat his wife scornfully, his friends and acquaintance disrespectfully, and squander away his estate, here he dares not open his mouth, and it is the safest way to hold his tongue. Just as if the master of a wrestling-school should indulge his young champion scholar in drinking and wenching, and yet rattle him about his oil-cruise and body-brush; or as if a schoolmaster should severely reprove a boy for some little fault in his pen or writing-book, but take no notice of the barbarisms and solecisms in his language. For the parasite is like him who hearing a ridiculous impertinent orator finds no fault with his discourse but delivery, blaming him only for having hurt his throat with drinking cold water; or like one who, being to peruse and correct some pitiful scribble, falls foul only upon the coarseness of the paper and the blots and negligence of the transcriber. Thus the parasites about Ptolemy, when he pretended to learning, would wrangle with him till midnight about the propriety of an expression, a verse, or a story; but not a word all this while of his cruelty, insults, superstition, and oppressions of the people. Just as if a chirurgeon should pare a man’s nails or cut his hair, to cure him of a fistula, wen, or other carnous excrescence.
[De adul. 18] 18 But there are others behind, who outdo all the subtlety of the former, such as can claw and please, even whilst they seem to reprehend. Thus when Alexander had bestowed some considerable reward upon a jester, Agis the Argive, through mere envy and vexation, cried out upon it as a most absurd action; which the king overhearing, he turned him about in great indignation at the insolence, saying, What’s that you prate, sirrah? Why truly, replied the man, I must confess, I am not a little troubled to observe, that all you great men who are descended from Jupiter take a strange delight in flatterers and buffoons; for as Hercules had his Cercopians and Bacchus his Silenuses about him, so I see your majesty is pleased to have a regard for such pleasant fellows too. And one time when Tiberius Caesar was present at the senate, there stood up a certain fawning counsellor, asserting that all free-born subjects ought to have the liberty of speaking their sense freely, and should not dissemble or conceal any thing that they might conceive beneficial to the public; who, having thus awakened the attention of his audience, silence being made, and Tiberius impatient to hear the sequel of the man’s discourse, pursued it in this manner: I must tell you of a fault, Caesar, said he, for which we universally blame you, though no man yet has taken the confidence to speak it openly. You neglect yourself, endanger your sacred person by your too much labor and care, night and day, for the public. And he having harangued several things to the same effect, it is reported that Cassius Severus the orator subjoined: This man’s freedom of speech will ruin him.
[De adul. 19] 19 Such artifices as these, I confess, are not very pernicious, but there remains one of a most dangerous consequence to weak men; and that is when a flatterer fastens those vices upon them which are directly contrary to those they are really guilty of. As Himerius, an Athenian parasite, upbraided one of the most miserable and stingy misers of the whole town with carelessness and prodigality, telling him he was afraid he should live to see the day when both he and his children should go a begging. Or, on the contrary, when they object niggardliness and parsimony to one that is lavish and profuse, as Titus Petronius did to Nero. Or when they advise arbitrary and tyrannical princes to lay aside their too much moderation and their unprofitable and unseasonable clemency. And like to these are they who shall pretend to be afraid of a half-witted idiot, as of some notable shrewd fellow; and shall tax an ill-natured censorious man, if at any time he speak honorably of a person of worth, of being too lavish in his commendations. You are always, say they, praising men that deserve it not; for who is he, or what remarkable thing did he ever say or do? But they have yet a more signal opportunity of exercising their talent, when they meet with any difference betwixt lovers or friends; for if they see brothers quarrel, or children despise their parents, or husbands jealous of their wives, they neither admonish them nor blame them for it, but inflame the difference. You don’t understand yourself, say they; you are the occasion of all this clutter by your own soft and submissive behavior. If there chance to have happened some little love-skirmish betwixt a miss and her gallant, then the flatterer interposes boldly and adds fresh fuel to the expiring flame, taking the gentleman to task, and telling him how many things he has done which looked a little hard, were not kind, and deserved a chiding.
[De adul. 19b] Ungrateful man! can you forget her charms, And former soft embraces in her arms?
[De adul. 19c] Thus Antony’s friends persuaded him, when he was smitten with his beloved Cleopatra, that she doted on him, still calling him haughty and hard-hearted man. She, said they, has stripped herself of the glories of a crown and former grandeur, and now languishes with the love of you, attending the motion of your camp in the poor sordid figure of a concubine.
[De adul. 19d] But you have steeled your heart, and can unmoved Behold her grief, whom once you so much loved.
[De adul. 19e] Now he was strangely pleased to hear of his little unkindness to his mistress, and was more taken with such a chiding than with the highest character they could have given him; but was not sensible that, under the color of a friendly admonition, they really corrupted and debauched him. For such a rebuke as this is just like the bites of a lecherous woman, for it only tickles and provokes, and pleases even whilst it pains you. And as pure wine taken singly is an excellent antidote against hemlock, but if mixed with it renders the poison incurable, because the heat of the wine quickens its circulation to the heart; so some rascally fellows, knowing very well that the liberty of reproving a friend is a quality very hardly compatible with flattery, and, as I may say, the best remedy against it, mix them both together, and flatter you under the very color and pretext of reprimanding you.
[De adul. 19f] Upon the whole thereof, Bias seems not to have answered him very pertinently, who asked him which he thought was the most hurtful animal, when he replied, Of wild creatures a tyrant, and of tame ones a flatterer. For he might have answered more accurately, that some flatterers indeed are tame creatures, those shirks who ply about your bath and your table; but they whose calumnies, malignity, and inquisitive meddling humor, like so many gins and snares, reach the ladies’ very closets and bed-chambers, are wild, savage, and untractable.
[De adul. 20] 20 Now one way of arming ourselves against these assaults will be always to remember that, — since our souls are made up of two different parts, the one sincere, honest, and reasonable, the other brutish, false, and governed by passion, — the friend always adapts his advice and admonitions to the improvement of the better part (like a good physician, who preserves and advances an healthful constitution where he finds it), whilst the flatterer claws and tickles the irrational part of the man only, debauching it from the rules of right reason by the repeated suggestion of soft and sensual delights. For as there are some sorts of meat which assimilate neither with the blood nor with the spirits, and invigorate neither the nerves nor the marrow, but only provoke lust, swell the paunch, and breed putrid flabby flesh; so he who shall give himself the labor to observe will find that the discourses of a flatterer contribute nothing to the improvement of our prudence and understanding, but either only entertain us with the pleasure of some love-intrigue, or make us indiscreetly angry or envious, or blow us up into an empty troublesome opinion of ourselves, or increase our sorrows by pretending to share in them; or else they exasperate any inbred naughtiness that is in us, or our illiberality or distrustfulness, making them harsh, timorous, and jealous, with idle malicious stories, hints, and conjectures of his own. For he always fastens upon and pampers some distemper of the mind, growing, like a botch or bile, upon its inflamed or putrid part only. Are you angry? Revenge yourself, says he. Covet you any thing? Have it. Are you afraid? Fly. Suspect you this or that? Believe it.
[De adul. 20b] But if we find it something difficult to discover him in these attempts upon our passions, because they often violently overpower all the forces of our reason to the contrary, we may then trace him in other instances of his knavery; for he always acts consonant to himself. As, if you are afraid of a surfeit and thereupon are in suspense about your bath and diet, a friend indeed will advise you to act cautiously and take care of your health; but the flatterer persuades you to the bath, bids you feed freely and not starve yourself with mortification. If he observes you want briskness and spirit for action, as being unwilling to undergo the fatigue of a journey or a voyage, he will tell you presently, there is no haste; the business may be well enough deferred, or else transacted by proxy. If at any time you have promised to lend or give a friend a sum of money, and upon second thoughts gladly would, and yet are ashamed to retract your word, the flatterer puts his advice in the worse scale, and inclines the balance to the saving side, and strips you of your squeamish modesty, telling you that you ought not to be so prodigal, who live at great expense and have others to relieve besides him. And therefore, unless we be mere strangers to ourselves, — to our own covetousness, shamelessness, or timidity, — the flatterer cannot easily escape our discovery; for he is the great patron of these disorderly passions, endeavoring always to wind us up to excesses of this kind. But enough of this.
[De adul. 21] 21 Let us in the next place discourse of the useful and kind offices which the flatterer seems cheerfully ready upon every occasion to perform, thereby rendering the disparity betwixt him and the true friend extremely perplexed and intricate.
[De adul. 21b] For the temper of a friend, like the language of truth, is (as Euripides says) sincere, natural, without paint or varnish; but that of a flatterer, as it is corrupt and diseased in itself, so stands in need of many curious and exquisite remedies to correct it. And therefore you shall have friends upon an accidental rencounter, without either giving or receiving a formal salute, content themselves to speak their mutual kindness and familiarity in a nod and a smile; but the flatterer pursues you, runs to meet you, and extends his hand long before he comes at you; and if you chance but to see and salute him first, he swears you must excuse his rudeness, and will produce you witness that he did not see you, if you please. Thus again, a friend dwells not upon every trifling punctilio, is not ceremonious and punctual in the transacting of business, is not inquisitive, and does not intrude into every piece of service; but the parasite is all obedience, all perpetual indefatigable industry, admits no rival in his services, but will wait your commands, which if you lay not upon him, he seems mightily afflicted, the unhappiest man in the world!
[De adul. 22] 22 Now these observations are argument enough to convince a man of any tolerable sense, that the friendship such men pretend to is not really virtuous and chaste, but rather a sort of impudent whorish love that obtrudes its embraces upon you.
[De adul. 22b] But, to be more particular, let us first examine the disparity betwixt their promises. For our forefathers well observed, that the offers of a friend run in such terms as these:
[De adul. 22c] If I can serve you, sir, if your request Be feasible by me, I’ll do my best;
but the flatterer’s thus:
Command me freely what you will, I’ll do it.
[De adul. 22d] For the comedians introduce such brave promises as these:
[De adul. 22e] Come, sir, let me but fight that fellow there;I’ll beat him soft as sponge or jellies are.
[De adul. 22f] Besides, no real friend will assist in the execution of a design, unless, being first advised with, he approve of it as either honest or useful. Whereas the flatterer, though permitted to consult and give his opinion about an undertaking, not only out of a paltry desire to comply with and gratify his friend at any rate, but lest he should be looked upon as disaffected to the business, servilely closes with and advances his proposal, how unreasonable soever. For there are few rich men or princes of this mind:
[De adul. 22g] Give me a friend, though a poor beggar he,Or meaner than the meanest beggar be,If he his thoughts but freely will impart, And boldly speak the language of his heart;
[De adul. 22h] for they, like actors in a tragedy, must have a chorus of their friends to join with them in the concert, or else the claps of the pit to encourage them. Whereupon Merope in the tragedy speaks thus:
[De adul. 22i] Make choice of those for friends, who never knew The arts of wheedling and betraying you; But those poor rascals never entertain, Who please you only with design to gain.
[De adul. 22j] But alas! they invert the counsel, and abominate those who deal freely with them and advise them obstinately for the best, whilst pitiful cringing cheats and impostors are admitted not only into their houses, but into their affections and the nearest concernments of their life. You shall have some of them indeed more plain and simple than the rest, who confess themselves unworthy to consult about such weighty affairs, but are ready to serve you in the executive part of a design. But the more subtle hypocrite comes in at the consult, knits his brows, declares his consent by the gravity of a look or a nod, but speaks never a word, unless perchance, when the great man delivers his opinion, he cries, Lord! sir, you prevented me; I was just going to say so. For, as the mathematicians tell us that surfaces and lines, which are incorporeal and creatures of the understanding only, are neither bended nor moved nor extended of themselves, but are so affected together with the bodies whose extremities they are; so you shall observe the flatterer attends only the motion of another’s sense, opinion, or passion, without any principle of action in himself. So that the disparity betwixt them thus far is easily discernible.
[De adul. 22k] And yet more easily in the manner they perform their good offices. For the kindness of a friend, like an animate creature, have their most proper virtues deep within, without any parade or pageantry on the outside. Nay, many times, as a faithful physician cures his patient when he least knows of it, so a true friend, either present or absent, as occasion serves, is solicitous about your concerns, when perhaps you know nothing of it. Such was the excellent Arcesilaus, as in his other actions, so particularly in his kindness to Apelles, native of Chios, whom finding extremely indigent in his sickness, he repeated his visit to him with twenty drachms in his pocket; and sitting by his bedside, You have got nothing here, said he, but Empedocles’s elements, fire, water, earth, and the surrounding air; neither, methinks, do you lie easily. And with that, stirring up his pillow, he put the money privately under his head; which when the good old woman his nurse found and in great wonder acquainted Apelles with, Aye, says he, smiling a little, this is a piece of Arcesilaus’s thievery. And the saying that children resemble their parents is found true also in philosophy. For when Cephisocrates was impeached of high treason, and Lacydes, an intimate acquaintance of Arcesilaus, with several others of his friends, stood by him at his trial, the counsel for the state desired that the prisoner’s ring, wherein lay the principal evidence against him, might be produced in court; which Cephisocrates hearing dropped it softly off his finger, and Lacydes observing it set his foot upon it and buried it in the ground. Whereupon being acquitted, and going afterwards to pay his respects and thanks to his judges, one of them (who, it seems, had taken notice of the passages) told him that his thanks were owing to Lacydes, and so related the whole story, when yet Lacydes had never mentioned it.
[De adul. 22l] Thus I am varily persuaded the Gods confer several benefits upon us which we are not sensible of, upon no other motive in the world than the mere pleasure and satisfaction they take in acts of kindness and beneficence.
[De adul. 22m] But on the contrary, the seemingly good offices of a flatterer have nothing of that sincerity and integrity, that simplicity and ingenuousness, which recommend a kindness, but are always attended with bustle and noise, hurry, sweat and contracting the brow, to enhance your opinion of the great pains he has taken for you; like a picture drawn in gaudy colors, with folded torn garments, and full of angles and wrinkles, to make us believe it an elaborate piece and done to the life.
[De adul. 22n] Besides, the flatterer is so extremely troublesome in recounting the weary steps he has taken, the cares he has had upon him, the persons he has been forced to disoblige, with a thousand other inconveniencies he has labored under upon your account, that you will be apt to say, The business was never worth all this din and clutter about it.
[De adul. 22o] For a kindness once upbraided loses its grace, turns a burden, and becomes intolerable. But the flatterer not only reproaches us with his services already past, but at the very instant of their performance; whereas, if a friend be obliged to speak of any civility done another, he modestly mentions it indeed, but attributes nothing to himself. Thus, when the Lacedaemonians supplied the people of Smyrna in great scarcity of provisions, and they gratefully resented and extolled the kindness; Why, replied the Spartans, it was no such great matter, we only robbed ourselves and our cattle of a dinner. For a favor thus bestowed is not only free and ingenuous, but more acceptable to the receiver, because he imagines his benefactor conferred it on him without any great prejudice to himself.
[De adul. 23] 23 But the temper of a flatterer is discernible from that of a friend not only in the easiness of his promises and the troublesome impertinence that attends his good offices, but more signally in this, that the one is ready to promote any base and unworthy action, the other those only which are fair and honest. The one labors to please, the other to profit you. For a friend must not, as Gorgias would have him, beg another’s assistance in a just undertaking, and then think to compensate the civility by contributing to several that are unjust.
[De adul. 23b] In wisdom, not in folly, should they join.
[De adul. 23c] And if, after all, he cannot prevail upon him, he may disengage himself with the reply of Phocion to Antipater; Sir, I cannot be both your friend and your flatterer, — that is, Your friend and not your friend at the same time. For we ought to be assistant to him in his honest endeavors indeed, but not in his knaveries; in his counsels, not in his tricks; in appearing as evidence for him, but not in a cheat; and must bear a share in his misfortunes, but not in his acts of injustice. For if a man ought not to be as much as conscious of any unworthiness in his friend, how much less will it become him to partake in it? Therefore, as the Lacedaemonians, defeated and treating of articles of peace with Antipater, prayed him to command them any thing, howsoever grievous and burthensome to the subject, provided it were not base and dishonorable; so a friend, if you want his assistance in a chargeable, dangerous, and laborious enterprise, embarks in the design cheerfully and without reserve; but if such as will not stand with his reputation and honor, he fairly desires to be excused. Whereas, on the contrary, if you offer to put a flatterer upon a difficult or hazardous employment, he shuffles you off and begs your pardon. For but sound him, as you rap a vessel to try whether it be whole or cracked, full or empty; and he shams you off with the noise of some paltry, frivolous excuses. But engage him in any mean, sordid, and inglorious service, abuse him, kick him, trample on him, he bears all patiently and knows no affront. For as the ape, who cannot keep the house like a dog or bear a burden like an horse or plough like an ox, serves to be abused, to play the buffoon, and to make sport; so the parasite, who can neither plead your cause nor be your counsel nor espouse your quarrel, as being averse from all painful and good offices, denies you in nothing that may contribute to your pleasure, turns pander to your lust, pimps for a whore, provides you an handsome entertainment, looks that your bill be reasonable, and sneaks to your miss; but he shall treat your relations with disrespect and impudently turn your wife out of doors, if you commission him. So that you may easily discover him in this particular. For put him upon the most base and dirty actions; he will not spare his own pains, provided he can but gratify you.
[De adul. 24] 24 There remains yet another way to discover him by his inclinations towards your intimates and familiars. For there is nothing more agreeable to a true and cordial acquaintance than to love and to be beloved with many; and therefore he always sedulously endeavors to gain his friend the affections and esteem of other men. For being of opinion that all things ought to be in common amongst friends, he thinks nothing ought to be more so than they themselves. But the faithless, the adulterate friend of base alloy, who is conscious to himself of the disservice he does true friendship by that false coin of it which he puts upon us, is naturally full of emulation and envy, even towards those of his own profession, endeavoring to outdo them in their common talent of babbling and buffoonry, whilst he reveres and cringes to his betters, whom he dares no more vie with than a footman with a Lydian chariot, or lead (to use Simonides’s expression) with refined gold. Therefore this light and empty counterfeit, finding he wants weight when put into the balance against a solid and substantial friend, endeavors to remove him as far as he can, like him who, having painted a cock extremely ill, commanded his servant to take the original out of sight; and if he cannot compass his design, then he proceeds to compliment and ceremony, pretending outwardly to admire him as a person far beyond himself, whilst by secret calumnies he blackens and undermines him. And if these chance to have galled and fretted him only and have not thoroughly done their work, then he betakes himself to the advice of Medius, that arch parasite and enemy to the Macedonian nobility, and chief of all that numerous train which Alexander entertained in his court. This man taught his disciples to slander boldly and push home their calumnies; for, though the wound might probably be cured and skinned over again, yet the teeth of slander would be sure to leave a scar behind them. By these scars, or (to speak more properly) gangrenes and cancers of false accusations, fell the brave Callisthenes, Parmenio, and Philotas; whilst Alexander himself became an easy prey to an Agnon, Bagoas, Agesias, and Demetrius, who tricked him up like a barbarian statue, and paid the mortal the adoration due to a God. So great a charm is flattery, and, as it seems, the greatest with those we think the greatest men; for the exalted thoughts they entertain of themselves, and the desire of a universal concurrence in the same opinion from others, both add courage to the flatterer and credit to his impostures. Hills and mountains indeed are not easily taken by stratagem or ambuscade; but a weak mind, swollen big and lofty by fortune, birth, or the like, lies naked to the assaults of every mean and petty aggressor.
[De adul. 25] 25 And therefore we repeat here what we advised at our entrance into this discourse, that we cashier every vain opinion of ourselves and all self-love. For their inbred flattery only disposes and prepares us to a more favorable reception of that from without. For, if we did but square our actions according to the famous oracular precept of knowing ourselves, rate things according to their true intrinsic value, and withal, reflecting upon our own nature and education, consider what gross imperfections and failures mix with our words, actions, and affections, we should not lie so open to the attempts of every flatterer who designs upon us. For even Alexander himself, being reminded of his mortality by two things especially, the necessity of sleep and the use of women, began to stagger in the opinion they had made him conceive of his godhead. And did we in like manner but take an impartial survey of those troubles, lapses, and infirmities incident to our nature, we should find we stood in no need of a friend to praise and extol our virtues, but of one rather that would chide and reprimand us for our vices. For first, there are but few who will venture to deal thus roundly and impartially with their friends, and fewer yet who know the art of it, men generally mistaking railing and ill language for a decent and friendly reproof. And then a chiding, like any other physic, if ill-timed, racks and torments you to no purpose, and works in a manner the same effect with pain that flattery does with pleasure. For an unseasonable reprehension may be equally mischievous with an unseasonable commendation, and force your friend to throw himself upon the flatterer; like water which, leaving the too precipitous and rugged hills, rolls down upon the humble valleys below. And therefore we ought to qualify and allay the sharpness of our reproofs with a due temper of candor and moderation, — as we would soften light which is too powerful for a distempered eye, — lest our friends, being plagued and ranted upon every trivial occasion, should at last fly to the flatterer’s shade for their ease and quiet. For all vice, Philopappus, is to be corrected by an intermediate virtue, and not by its contrary extreme, as some do who, to shake off that sheepish bashfulness which hangs upon their natures, learn to be impudent; to lay aside their country breeding, endeavor to be comical; to avoid the imputation of softness and cowardice, turn bullies; out of an abhorrence of superstition, commence atheists; and rather than be reputed fools, play the knave; forcing their inclinations, like a crooked stick, to the opposite extreme, for want of skill to set them straight.
[De adul. 25b] But it is highly rude to endeavor to avoid the suspicion of flattery by only being insignificantly troublesome, and it argues an ungenteel, unconversable temper in a man to show his just abhorrency of mean and servile ends in his friendship only by a sour and disagreeable behavior; like the freedman in the comedy, who would needs persuade himself that his railing accusation fell within the limits of that freedom in discourse which every one had right to with his equals. Since therefore it is absurd to incur the suspicion of a flatterer by an over-obliging and obsequious humor, and as absurd, on the other hand, in endeavoring to decline it by an immoderate latitude in our apprehensions, to lose the enjoyments and salutary admonitions of a friendly conversation, and since the measures of what is just and proper in this, as in other things, are to be taken from decency and moderation; the nature of the argument seems to require me to conclude it with a discourse upon this subject.
[De adul. 26] 26 Now seeing this liberty of animadverting on other men’s failures is liable to so many exceptions, let us in the first place carefully purge it from all mixture of self-love and interest, lest any private motive, injury, grudge, or dissatisfaction of our own should seem to incite us to the undertaking. For such a chiding as this would not pass for an effect of kindness but of passion, and looks more like complaint than an admonition; for the latter has always something in it that sounds kind and yet awful, whereas the other betrays only a selfish and narrow disposition. And therefore we usually honor and revere our monitor, but contemn and recriminate upon a querulous accuser. As Agamemnon could by no means digest the moderate censures of Achilles, yet bore well enough with the severer reprimand of Ulysses,
[De adul. 26b] O were thy sway the curse of meaner powers, And thou the shame of any host but ours!
[De adul. 26c] being satisfied of his wisdom and good intentions; for he rated him purely upon the account of the public, the other upon his own. And Achilles himself, though of a rough and untractable disposition and ready enough to find faults where there were none, yet heard Patroclus patiently when he ranted him thus:
[De adul. 26d] Unpitying man! no Peleus caused thy birth, Nor did the tender Thetis bring thee forth; But rocks, hard as thy heart, and th’ angry sea Clubbed to produce a monstrous man like thee.
[De adul. 26e] For as Hyperides the orator desired the Athenians to consider not only whether his reflections were sharp, but also whether his sharpness was disinterested and incorrupt; so the reproofs of a friend, if they proceed from a sincere and disinterested affection, create veneration, awe, and confusion in the criminal to whom they are addressed. And if he once perceive that his friend, waiving all offences against himself, chides him purely for those committed against others, he can never hold out against the force of so powerful a rebuke; for the sweet and obliging temper of his monitor gives a keener edge to his admonitions. And therefore it has been wisely said, that especially in heats and differences with our friends we ought to have a peculiar regard to their honor and interest. Nor is it a less argument of friendship, for a man who is laid aside and out of favor himself to turn advocate in behalf of another equally despised and neglected; as Plato being in disgrace with Dionysius begged audience of him, which he readily granting in expectation of being entertained with an account of his grievances, Plato addressed himself to him after this manner: Sir, said he, if you were informed there were a certain ruffian come over into your island of Sicily with design to attempt upon your majesty’s person, but for want of an opportunity could not execute the villany, would you suffer him to go off unpunished? No, by no means, Plato, replied the king; for we ought to detest and revenge not only the overt acts but the malicious intentions of our enemies. Well then, on the other hand, said Plato, if there should come a person to court out of pure kindness and ambition to serve your majesty, and you would not give him an opportunity of expressing it, were it reasonable to dismiss him with scorn and disrespect? Whom do you mean, said Dionysius? Why, Aeschines, replied Plato, as honest and excellent a person as any in the school of Socrates, and of a very edifying conversation; who, having exposed himself to the difficulties of a tedious voyage that he might enjoy the happiness of a philosophical converse with your majesty, has met with nothing but contempt in return to the kindness he intended. This friendly and generous temper of mind so strangely affected Dionysius, that he hugged and embraced Plato, and treated Aeschines with a great deal of honor and magnificence.
[De adul. 27] 27 In the next place, let us free our discourse from all contumelious language, all laughter, mockery, and scurrility, which spoil the relish of our reprehensions. For, as when a chirurgeon makes an incision in the flesh he uses decent neatness and dexterity in the operation, without the affected and superfluous gesticulations of a quack or mountebank, so the lancing the sores of a friend may admit indeed of a little humor and urbanity, but that so qualified that it spoil not the seriousness and gravity requisite to the work. For boldness, insolence, and ill language destroy its force and efficacy. And therefore the fiddler reparteed handsomely enough upon Philip, when he undertook to dispute with him about the touch upon his instrument: God forbid that your majesty should be so unhappy as to understand a fiddle better than I do. But Epicharmus was too blunt upon Hiero, who invited him to supper a little after he had put some of his acquaintance to death, when he replied, Aye, but you could not invite me the other day to the sacrifice of my friends. And so was Antiphon too rude in his reflection upon Dionysius, when, on occasion of a discourse about the best sort of bronze, he told him that was the best in his opinion of which the Athenians made statues of Harmodius and Aristogeiton. For these scurrilous abusive jests are most certainly disagreeable and pain to no purpose, being but the product of an intemperate wit, and betraying the enmity and ill-nature of him who takes the liberty to use them; and whosoever allows himself in them does but wantonly sport about the brink of that pit which one day will swallow him up. For Antiphon was afterward executed under Dionysius; and Timagenes was in disgrace with Angustus Caesar, not for any extravagant freedom in his discourse, but only because he had taken up a foolish custom of never talking seriously but always scurrilously at every entertainment and walk where the emperor desired his company, —
[De adul. 27b] Scorn all his joy, and laughter all his aim;
alleging the pleasantness of his humor as the cause of his favor at court.
[De adul. 27c] Thus you shall meet with several smart and satirical reflections in a comedy; but the mixture of jest and fool in the play, like ill sauce to good meat, abates their poignancy and renders them insignificant; so that, upon the whole, the poet acquires only the character of a saucy and foul-mouthed buffoon, and the auditors lose that advantage which they might otherwise reap from remarks of that nature.
[De adul. 27d] We may do well therefore to reserve our jollity and mirth for more suitable occasions, but we must by all means be serious and candid in our admonitions; which, if they be upon important points, must be so animated with our gestures, passion, and eagerness of voice, as to give them weight and credit and so awaken a tender concern in the persons to whom they are addressed.
[De adul. 27e] We are again to time our reproofs as seasonably as we can; for a mistake in the opportunities, as it is of ill consequence in all other things, is so peculiarly in our reprehensions. And therefore, I presume, it is manifest, we ought not to fall foul upon men in their drink. For first, he who broaches any sour disagreeable discourse amidst the pleasantry and good humor of friends casts a cloud over the serenity of the company, and acts counter to the God Lysius, who, as Pindar words it, unties the band of all our cares. Besides, such unseasonable remonstrances are not without danger; for wine is apt to warm men into passion, and make them quarrel at the freedom you take. And in short, it is no argument of any brave and generous, but rather of an unmanly temper, not to dare to speak one’s sense when men are sober, but to keep barking like a cowardly cur at table. And therefore we need not enlarge any further upon this topic.
[De adul. 28] 28 But because several persons neither will nor dare take their friends to task whilst they thrive and flourish in the world, looking upon prosperity as a state above the reach of a rebuke, but pour forth their invectives like a river that has overflown its banks, insulting and trampling upon them, when Fortune has already laid them at their feet, out of a sort of satisfaction to see their former state and grandeur reduced to the same level of fortune with themselves; it may not be improper to discourse a little upon this argument, and make some reply to that question of Euripides, —
[De adul. 28b] What need is there of friends when Fortune smiles?
[De adul. 28c] I answer, to lower those lofty and extravagant thoughts which are usually incident to that condition; for wisdom in conjunction with prosperity is a rare talent and the lot of but few. Therefore most men stand in need of a borrowed prudence, to depress the tumors that attend an exuberant felicity; but when the turn of Fortune itself has abated the swelling, a man’s very circumstances are sufficient of themselves to read him a lecture of repentance, so that all other grave and austere corrections are then superfluous and impertinent; and it is on the contrary more proper in such traverses of Fortune to enjoy the company of a compassionate friend, who will administer some comfort to the afflicted and buoy him up under the pressure of his affairs. So Xenophon relates that the presence of Clearchus, a person of a courteous and obliging aspect, gave new life and courage to his soldiers in the heat of a battle or any other difficult rencounter. But he who chides and upbraids a man in distress, like him who applies a medicine for clearing the sight to a distempered and inflamed eye, neither works a cure nor allays the pain, but only adds anger to his sorrows and exasperates the patient. A man in health indeed will digest a friendly lecture for his wenching, drinking, idleness, continual recreations and bathing, or unseasonable eating; but for a sick man to be told that all this comes of his intemperance, voluptuousness, high feeding, or whoring, is utterly insupportable and worse than the disease itself. O impertinent man! will such a one say, the physicians prescribe me castor and scammony, and I am just making my last will and testament, and do you lie railing and preaching to me lectures of philosophy? And thus men in adversity stand more in need of our humanity and relief than of sharp and sententious reprimands. For neither will a nurse immediately scold at her child that is fallen, but first help him up, wash him, and put him in order again, and then chide and whip him. They tell us a story to this purpose of Demetrius Phalereus, that, when he dwelt an exile at Thebes in mean beggarly circumstances, he was once extremely concerned to observe the philosopher Crates making towards him, expecting to be treated by him with all the roughness of a cynical behavior. But when Crates had addressed himself courteously to him, and discoursed him upon the point of exile, endeavoring to convince him that it had nothing miserable or uneasy in it, but on the contrary rather rescued him from the nice and hazardous management of public affairs, — advising him withal to repose his confidence in himself and his own conscience, — Demetrius was so taken and encouraged by his discourse, that he is reported to have said to his friends, Cursed be those employs which robbed me so long of the acquaintance of such an excellent person. For
[De adul. 28d] Soft, friendly words revive th’ afflicted soul; But sharp rebukes are only for a fool.
[De adul. 28e] And this is the way of generous and ingenuous friends. But they who servilely admire you in prosperity, — like old fractures and sprains, which (as Demosthenes speaks) always ache and pain us when some fresh disease has befallen the body, — stick close to you in the revolution of your fortune, and rejoice and enjoy the change. Whereas, if a man must needs have a remembrancer of a calamity which his own indiscretion hath pulled upon him, it is enough you put him in mind that he owes it not to your advice, for you often dissuaded him from the undertaking.
[De adul. 29] 29 Well then, you say, when is a keen reprehension allowable, and when may we chide a friend severely indeed? I answer, when some important occasion requires it, as the stopping him in the career of his voluptuousness, anger, or insolence, the repressing his covetous humor or any other foolish habit. Thus dealt Solon with Croesus, puffed up and debauched with the uncertain greatness of his fortune, when he bade him look to the end. Thus Socrates humbled Alcibiades, forced him into unfeigned tears, and turned his heart, when he argued the case with him. Such, again, were the remonstrances and admonitions of Cyrus to Cyaxares, and of Plato to Dion, who, when the lustre and greatness of his achievements had fixed all men’s eyes upon him, wished him to beware of arrogance and self-conceit, as the readiest way to make all men abandon him. And Speusippus wrote to him, not to pride himself in the little applauses of women and children, but to take care to adorn Sicily with religion, justice, and wholesome laws, that he might render the Academy great and illustrious. So did not Euctus and Eulaeus, two of Perseus’s favorites; who fawned upon and complied with him as obsequiously as any courtier of them all during the success of his arms, but after his defeat at Pydna by the Romans inveighed bitterly against him, reminding him of his past faults, till the man out of mere anger and vexation stabbed them both on the spot. And so much concerning the timing our reproofs in general.
[De adul. 30] 30 Now there are several other accidental occasions administered by our friends themselves, which a person heartily solicitous for their interest will lay hold of. Thus some have taken an opportunity of censuring them freely from a question they have asked, from the relation of a story, or the praise or dispraise of the same actions in other men which they themselves have committed.
[De adul. 30b] Thus, they tell us, Demaratus coming from Corinth into Macedonia when Philip and his queen and son were at odds, and being after a gracious reception asked by the king what good understanding there was among the Grecians, replied, as being an old friend and acquaintance of his, Aye, by all means, sir, it highly becomes your majesty to enquire about the concord betwixt the Athenians and Peloponnesians, when you suffer your own family to be the scene of so much discord and contention. And as pert was that of Diogenes, who, entering Philip’s camp as he was going to make war upon the Grecians, was seized upon and brought before the king, who not knowing him asked him if he was a spy. Why, yes truly, said he, I am a spy upon your folly and imprudence, who without any necessity upon you are come hither to expose your kingdoms and your life to the uncertain decision of the cast of a die. This may perhaps seem a little too biting and satirical.
[De adul. 31] 31 Another seasonable opportunity of reproving your friend for his vices is when some third person has already mortified him upon the same account. For a courteous and obliging man will dexterously silence his accuser, and then take him privately to task himself, advising him — if for no other reason, yet to abate the insolence of his enemies — to manage himself more prudently for the future. For how could they open their mouths against you, what could they have to reproach you with, if you would but reform such and such vices which render you obnoxious to their censure? And by this means the offence that was given lies at his door who roughly upbraided him; whilst the advantage he reaps is attributed to the person who candidly advised him. But there are some who have got yet a genteeler way of chiding, and that is, by chastising others for faults which they know their friends really stand guilty of. As my master Ammonius, perceiving once at his afternoon lecture that some of his scholars had dined more plentifully than became the moderation of students, immediately commanded one of his freedmen to take his own son and whip him. For what? says he. The youngster, forsooth, must needs have vinegar sauce to his meat; and with that casting his eye upon us, he gave us to understand that we likewise were concerned in the reprehension.
[De adul. 32] 32 Again, we must be cautious how we rebuke a friend in company, always remembering the repartee made upon Plato on that account. For Socrates having fallen one day very severely upon an acquaintance of his at table, Plato could not forbear to take him up, saying, Had it not been more proper, sir, to have spoken these things in private? To which Socrates instantly replied, And had it not been more proper for you to have told me so in private too? And they say, Pythagoras one time ranted a friend of his so terribly before company, that the poor young man went and hanged himself; from which time the philosopher would never chide any man in the presence of another. For the discovery and cure of a vice, like that of a scandalous disease, ought to be in secret, and not like a public show transacted upon the theatre; for it is no way the part of a friend, but a mere cheat and trick, for one man to recommend himself to the standers-by and seek for reputation from the failures of another, like mountebank chirurgeons, who perform their operations on a stage to gain the greater practice. But besides the disgrace that attends a reproof of this nature (a thing that will never work any cure), we are likewise to consider that vice is naturally obstinate and loves to dispute its ground. For what Euripides says is true not only of love,
[De adul. 32b] The more ‘tis checked, the more it presses on,
[De adul. 32c] but of any other imperfection. If you lay a man open publicly for it and tell all, you are so far from reforming him that you force him to brave it out. And therefore, as Plato advises that old men who would teach the younger fry reverence should learn to revere them first, so certainly modestly to reprimand is the way to meet with a modest return. For he who warily attacks the criminal works upon his good nature by his own, and so insensibly undermines his vices. And therefore it would be much more proper to observe the rule in Homer
[De adul. 32d] To whisper softly in the ear, Lest standers-by should chance to hear.
[De adul. 32e] But above all, we ought not to discover the imperfections of an husband before his wife, nor of a father before his children, nor of a lover in company of his mistress, nor of masters in presence of their scholars, or the like; for it touches a man to the quick to be rebuked before those whom he would have think honorably of him. And I verily believe that it was not so much the heat of the wine as the sting of too public a reprehension, that enraged Alexander against Clitus. And Aristomenes, Ptolemy’s preceptor, lost himself by awaking the king, who had dropped asleep one time at an audience of foreign embassadors; for the court parasites immediately took this occasion to express their pretendedly deep resentments of the disgrace done his majesty, suggesting that, if indeed the cares of the government had brought a little seasonable drowsiness upon him, he might have been told of it in private, but should not have had rude hands laid upon his person before so great an assembly; which so affected the king, that he presently sent the poor man a draught of poison, and made him drink it up. And Aristophanes says, Cleon blamed him for railing at Athens before strangers, whereby he incensed the Athenians against him. And therefore they who aim at the interest and reformation of their friends rather than ostentation and popularity, ought amongst other things to beware of exposing them too publicly.
[De adul. 32f] Again, what Thucydides makes the Corinthians say of themselves, that they were persons every way qualified for the reprehension of other men, ought to be the character of every one who sets up for a monitor. For, as Lysander replied upon a certain Megarian, who in a council of allies and confederates had spoken boldly in behalf of Greece, This style of yours, sir, needs a state to back it; so he who takes upon him the liberty of a censor must be a man of a regular conversation himself, — one like Plato, whose life was a continued lecture to Speusippus, or Xenocrates, who, casting his eye one time upon the dissolute Polemon at a disputation, reformed him with the very awfulness of his looks. Whereas the remonstrance of a lewd whiffling fellow will certainly meet with no better entertainment than that of the old proverbial repartee,
[De adul. 32g] Physician, heal thyself.
[De adul. 33] 33 But because several accidental emergencies in conversation will now and then invite a man, though bad enough himself, to correct others, the most dexterous way of doing it will be to involve ourselves in the same guilt with those we reprehend; as in this passage of Homer,
[De adul. 33b] Fie, what’s the matter, Diomede, that weHave now forgot our former gallantry?
[De adul. 33c] and in this other,
We are not worth one single Hector all.
[De adul. 33d] Thus Socrates would handsomely twit the young men with their ignorance by professing his own, pretending for his part he had need with them to study morality and make more accurate enquiries into the truth of things. For a confession of the same guilt, and a seeming endeavor to reform ourselves as well as our friends, gives credit to the reprimand and recommends it to their affections. But he who gravely magnifies himself, whilst he imperiously detracts from others, as being a man forsooth of no imperfections, unless his age or a celebrated reputation indeed commands our attention, is only impertinent and troublesome to no purpose. And therefore it was not without reason that Phoenix, checking Achilles for his intemperate anger, confessed his own unhappiness in that particular, how he had like once to have slain his own father through a transport of passion had not the scandalous name of parricide held his hands; that the hero might not imagine he took that liberty with him because he had never offended in the like kind himself. For such inoffensive reproofs leave a deeper impress behind them, when they seem the result of sympathy rather than contempt.
[De adul. 33e] But because a mind subject to the disorders of passion, like an inflamed eye that cannot bear a great and glaring light, is impatient of a rebuke, without some temperament to qualify and allay its poignancy, therefore the best remedy in this case will be to dash it with a little praise, as in the following:
[De adul. 33f] Think, and subdue! on dastards dead to fameI waste no anger, for they feel no shame; But you, the pride, the flower of all our host, My heart weeps blood to see your glory lost! Where, Pandarus, are all thy honors now, Thy winged arrows and unerring bow, Thy matchless skill, thy yet unrivall’d fame, And boasted glory of the Lycian name!
[De adul. 33g] And such rebukes as these are also most effectual in reclaiming those that are ready to fall into gross enormities:
[De adul. 33h] O where are Oedipus and all his riddles now?
[De adul. 33i] and
Is this the speech of daring Hercules?
[De adul. 33j] For a mixture of both together not only abates and takes off from that roughness and command which a blunt reprehension seems to carry along with it, but raises in a man a generous emulation of himself, whilst the remembrance of his past virtues shames him out of his present vices and makes him propose his former actions for his future example. But if you compare him with other men, as with his fellow-citizens, his contemporaries, or relations, then vice, which loves to dispute the victory, renders him uneasy and impatient under the comparison, and will be apt to make him grumble, and in an huff bid you be gone then to his betters and not trouble him any longer. And therefore we ought not to fall upon other men’s commendations before him whom we take the liberty to rebuke, unless indeed they be his parents; as Agamemnon in Homer, —
[De adul. 33k] Ah! how unlike his sire is Tydeus’ son!
[De adul. 33l] and Ulysses in the tragedy called the Scyrians, speaking to Achilles, —
[De adul. 33m] Dost thou, who sprang from a brave Grecian race By spinning thy great ancestors disgrace?
[De adul. 34] 34 It is in the next place very improper for a man immediately to retort or recriminate upon his monitor; for this is the way to occasion heats and animosities betwixt them, and will speak him rather impatient of any reproof at all than desirous to recompensate the kindness of one with another. And therefore it is better to take his chiding patiently for the present; and if he chance afterwards to commit a fault worth your remarking upon, you have then an opportunity of repaying him in his own coin. For being reminded, without the least intimation of a former pique or dissatisfaction, that he himself did not use to overlook the slips of his friend, he will receive the remonstrance favorably at your hands, as being the return of kindness rather than of anger and resentment.
[De adul. 35] 35 Moreover, as Thucydides says that he is a wise man who will not venture to incur odium except for matters of the highest concernment, so, when we do undertake the ungrateful office of censor, it ought to be only upon weighty and important occasions. For he who is peevish and angry at everybody and upon every trivial fault, acting rather with the imperious pedantry of a schoolmaster than the discretion of a friend, blunts the edge of his reprehensions in matters of an higher nature, by squandering, like an unskilful physician, that keen and bitter but necessary and sovereign remedy of his reproofs upon many slight distempers that require not so exquisite a cure. And therefore a wise man will industriously avoid the character of being a person who is always chiding and delights in finding faults. Besides that, whosoever is of that little humor that animadverts upon every trifling peccadillo only affords his friend a fairer occasion of being even with him one time or another for his grosser immoralities. As Philotimus the physician, visiting a patient of his who was troubled with an inflammation in his liver, but showed him his forefinger, told him: Sir, your distemper is not a whitlow. In like manner we may take occasion now and then to reply upon a man who carps at trifles in another, — his diversions, pleasantries, or a glass of wine, — Let the gentleman rather, sir, turn off his whore and leave off his dicing; for otherwise he is an admirable person. For he who is dispensed with in smaller matters more willingly gives his friend the liberty of reprimanding him for greater. But there is neither child nor brother nor servant himself able to endure a man of a busy inquisitive humor, who brawls perpetually, and is sour and unpleasant upon every inconsiderable occasion.
[De adul. 36] 36 But since a weak and foolish friend, as Euripides says of old age, has its strong as well as its feeble part, we ought to observe both, and cheerfully extol the one before we fall foul upon the other. For as we first soften iron in the fire and then dip it in water, to harden it into a due consistence; so, after we have warmed and mollified our friend by a just commendation of his virtues, we may then safely temper him with a moderate reprehension of his vices. We may then say, Are these actions comparable to the other? Do you not perceive the advantages of a virtuous life? This is what we who are your friends require of you. These are properly your own actions, for which nature designed you; but for the other,
[De adul. 36b] Let them for ever from you banished be,To desert mountains or the raging sea.
[De adul. 36c] For as a prudent physician had rather recover his patient with sleep and good diet than with castor and scammony, so a candid friend, a good father or schoolmaster, will choose to reform men’s manners by commendations rather than reproofs. For nothing in the world renders our corrections so inoffensive and withal so useful as to address ourselves to the delinquent in a kind, affectionate manner. And therefore we ought not to deal roughly with him upon his denial of the matter of fact, nor hinder him from making his just vindication; but we should rather handsomely help him out in his apology and mollify the matter. As Hector to his brother Paris,
[De adul. 36d] Unhappy man, by passion overruled;
[De adul. 36e] suggesting that he did not quit the field, in his encounter with Menelaus, out of cowardice, but mere anger and indignation. And Nestor speaks thus to Agamemnon:
[De adul. 36f] You only yielded to the great impulse.
[De adul. 36g] For to tell a man that he did such a thing through ignorance or inadvertency is, in my opinion, a much more genteel expression than bluntly to say, “You have dealt unjustly or acted basely by me.” And to advise a man not to quarrel with his brother is more civil than to say, “Don’t you envy and malign him.” And “Keep not company with that woman who debauches you” is softer language than “Don’t you debauch her.”
[De adul. 36h] And thus you see with what caution and moderation we must reprehend our friends in reclaiming them from vices to which they are already subjected; whilst the prevention of them doth require a clear contrary method. For when we are to divert them from the commission of a crime, or to check a violent and headstrong passion, or to push on and excite a phlegmatic lazy humor to great things, we may then ascribe their failings to as dishonorable causes as we please.
[De adul. 36i] Thus Ulysses, when he would awaken the courage of Achilles, in one of the tragedies of Sophocles, tells him, that it was not the business of a supper that put him in such a fret, as he pretended, but because he was now arrived within sight of the walls of Troy. And when Achilles, in a great chafe at the affront, swore he would sail back again with his squadron and leave him to himself, Ulysses came upon him again with this rejoinder:
[De adul. 36j] Come, sir, ‘tis not for this you’d sail away; But Hector’s near, it is not safe to stay.
[De adul. 36k] And thus, by representing to the bold and valiant the danger of being reputed a coward, to the temperate and sober that of being thought a debauchee, and to the liberal and magnificent the chance of being called stingy and sordid, we spur them on to brave actions and divert them from base and ignominious ones.
[De adul. 36l] Indeed, when a thing is once done and past remedy, we ought to qualify and attemperate our reproofs, and commiserate rather than reprimand. But if it be a business of pure prevention, of stopping a friend in the career of his irregularities, our applications must be vehement, inexorable, and indefatigable; for this is the proper season for a man to show himself a true monitor and a friend indeed. But we see that even enemies reprove each other for faults already committed. As Diogenes said pertinently enough to this purpose, that he who would act wisely ought to be surrounded either with good friends or flagrant enemies; for the one always teach us well, and the other as constantly accuse us if we do ill.
[De adul. 36m] But certainly it is much more eligible to forbear the commission of a fault by hearkening to the good advice of our friends, than afterwards to repent of it by reason of the obloquy of our enemies. And therefore, if for no other reason, we ought to apply our reprehensions with a great deal of art and dexterity, because they are the most sovereign physic that a friend can prescribe, and require not only a due mixture of ingredients in the preparation of them but a seasonable juncture for the patient to take them in.
[De adul. 37] 37 But because, as it has been before observed, reproofs usually carry something of trouble and vexation along with them, we must imitate skilful physicians, who, when they have made an incision in the flesh, leave it not open to the smart and torment that attends it, but chafe and foment it to assuage the pain. So he who would admonish dexterously must not immediately give a man over to the sting and anguish of his reprehensions, but endeavor to skin over the sore with a more mild and diverting converse; like stone-cutters, who, when they have made a fracture in their statues, polish and brighten them afterwards. But if we leave them in pain with their wounds and resentments, and (as it were) with the scars of our reproofs yet green upon them, they will hardly be brought to admit of any lenitive we shall offer for the future. And therefore they who will take upon them to admonish their friends ought especially to observe this main point, not to leave them immediately upon it, nor abruptly break off the conference with disobliging and bitter expressions.

## How a man may become aware of his progress in virtue

[De prof. virt. 1] In the study of music or grammar, I am sure, such a conclusion would be very absurd; for the scholar could never be certain that he had made any improvement in those sciences, if all the while he is a learning he did not exhaust by little and little his former ignorance about them, but remained during the whole progress of his application under the same degree of unskilfulness as at first setting out.
[De prof. virt. 1b] The like may be said of those that are under the hands of a physician. According to this assertion, if the patient take physic which does not recruit his strength or give him ease by abating the severity of the distemper, it is absolutely impossible that he should discern any alteration in himself, before the contrary habit is perfectly and in the highest degree induced, and his body thoroughly sound and well. As in these instances you cannot say the persons have advanced any thing, so long as they perceive no sensible change in themselves by the abatement of the contrary weight, and do not find that their minds are elevated, as it were, in the opposite scale; just so, in truth, is it with those that profess philosophy. They cannot be assured of any progress or improvement, if the soul do not gradually advance and purge off the rest of its former imperfections, but still lie under the like equal pressure and grievance of pure, absolute, unmixed evil, till it have attained the state of perfect, supreme good; for the truth of it is, a wise man cannot in a moment of time change from the lowest degree of vice imaginable to the most heroic perfection of virtue, if he only make a brisk attempt to throw off vice all at once, and do not constantly and resolutely endeavor by little and little to lighten the burthen and dispossess the evil habit of it.
[De prof. virt. 1c] You know very well how much trouble those give themselves who maintain this assertion, and what strange questions they raise with regard to it, — for instance, why a wise virtuous man should never perceive how he became such, but should either be quite ignorant, or at least doubt, that ever by little and little, now adding something, now subtracting and removing others, he advanced to the aggregate perfection of virtue. Now if (as they affirm) the change from bad to good were either so quick and sudden, as that he that was extremely vicious in the morning may become eminently virtuous at night, or that any one going to bed wicked might chance to rise a virtuous man next morning, and, having all the former day’s errors and imperfections absolutely removed out of his mind, might say to them, as it is in the poet,
[De prof. virt. 1d] Vain dreams! farewell, like spectres haste away, At the new light of virtue’s glorious day;
[De prof. virt. 1e] do you think that any one in the world could be ignorant of so extraordinary a conversion, and perfectly shut his eyes upon the beams of virtue and wisdom so fully and manifestly breaking in upon his soul? In my opinion, if any person should have Caeneus’s foolish wish, and be changed (as it is reported he was) from one sex to the other, it is more probable that such a one should be altogether ignorant of the metamorphosis, than that any should, from a lazy, unthinking, debauched fellow, commence a wise, prudent, and valiant hero, and from a sottish bestiality advance to the perfection of divine life, and yet know nothing at all of the change.
[De prof. virt. 2] 2 It is very good advice, Measure the stone by your rule, and not your rule by the stone. But the Stoics have not observed it; for they, not applying principles to things, but forcing things which have no foundation of agreement in nature to agree to their principles, have filled philosophy with a number of difficulties. One of the hardest to be solved is this, that all men whatsoever (except him who is absolutely perfect) are equally vicious. Hence is that enigma, called progress or proficiency, which, though it has puzzled the learned to solve, is in my opinion very foolish; for it represents those that have advanced a little, and are partly free from inordinate passions and distempers of mind, to be as unhappy as those that are guilty of the most heinous enormities. And indeed the assertion is so absurd, that their own actions are enough to confute it; for while they maintain in their schools that Aristides and Phalaris are equally unjust, that Brasidas and Dolon are equal cowards, and that Plato and Meletus are equally senseless, still in all affairs of life they seem to reject and avoid the latter of these, as too harsh and severe to be softened into compliance, but credit and quote the former in all their writings, as persons of extraordinary worth and esteem. This is what the Stoics assert.
[De prof. virt. 3] 3 But we, who can better agree with Plato in this point, finding by observation that in all kinds of evils, especially that of a weak and unmanaged disposition of mind, there are several degrees of more and less (for herein one advance differs from another, that the miserable darkness which the soul lies under begins more sensibly to abate, when reason by little and little illuminates and purges the soul), may be bold to affirm that the change from bad to good is very easily and manifestly discernible; not as if one were drawn out of a pit on a sudden, and could give no account of the degrees of the ascent, but so plain that the several steps and advances may be computed.
[De prof. virt. 3b] The first argument that comes in my mind is this, by way of simile; pray examine it. You know the art of navigation; when the seamen hoist sail for the main ocean, they give judgment of their voyage by observing together the space of time and the force of the wind that driveth them, and compute that, in all probability, in so many months, with such a gale, they have gone forward to such or such a place. Just so it is in the study of philosophy; one may, if he mind it, give a probable conjecture of a scholar’s proceedings. He that is always at his business, constantly upon the road, never makes any steps or halts, nor meets with obstacles and lets in the way, but under the conduct of right reason travels smoothly, securely, and quietly along, may be assured that he has one true sign of a proficient. This of the poet,
[De prof. virt. 3c] Add many lesser numbers in account, Your total will to a vast sum amount,
[De prof. virt. 3d] not only holds true as to the increase of money, but also may serve as a rule to the knowledge of the advance of every thing else, especially of proficiency in virtue. Reason, besides its ordinary influence, requires the constancy of application and address which is necessary and usual in all other affairs. Whereas, on the contrary, the irregular proceedings and inconsistent silly assertions of some philosophers do not only lay rubs in the way, and break the measures of a virtuous improvement, but seem to give great advantage to vice, during their lingering and idling upon their journey, to tempt them into by-paths, or over persuade them to return whence they set out.
[De prof. virt. 3e] Astronomers tell us that planets, after they have finished their progressive motion, for some small time acquiesce and become stationary, as they term it. Now in the study of philosophy it is not so; there is no point of rest or acquiescence during the whole procedure, for the nature of progress is to be always advancing, more or less. The scales in which our actions are, as it were, weighed cannot at all stand in equilibrio, but our soul is continually either raised by the addition of good, or cast with the counterpoise of evil.
[De prof. virt. 3f] Therefore, as the oracle told the Cirrhaeans that they ought to fight continually, day and night; so you and every wise man ought to be perpetually upon your guard, and if you can be assured that you maintain a constant combat with vice, that you are always at enmity with it and never so much as come to terms, or receive any diversions, applications, or avocations, as so many heralds from the enemies’ camp, in order to a treaty with it; then you may, with a great deal of confidence and alacrity, go on with the management of your warlike expedition, and very reasonably at last expect a conquest, and enjoy a crown of righteousness for your reward.
[De prof. virt. 4] 4 It is another very good argument to prove that by labor and exercise you have shaken off all stupidity and sluggishness of temper, and that you are arrived at a perfection of virtue, if for the future your resolutions be more firm and your application more intense than they were when you first set out. This appears true, if you but observe its contrary; for it is a very bad sign if, after a small time spent in trial, you find many and repeated intermissions, or your affections yielding or cool in the pursuit. This may be illustrated by what is observable in the growth of a cane. At first it appears above ground with a full and pleasing sprout, which by little and little, taper-wise, by a continued and equal distribution of matter, rises to a very great height. Towards the root you may observe that there are formed certain steps and joints, which are at a considerable distance from one another, because (there) the juice is plentiful and strong. But toward the top the nutrimentive particles vibrate and palpitate, as if they were quite spent with the length of their journey, and thereupon, you see, they form themselves many small, weak, and tender joints, as so many supports and breathing-places. So it happens with those that study philosophy: at first setting out they take long steps and make great advances; but if, after some attempts, they perceive not in themselves any alteration for the better, but meet with frequent checks and avocations the further they go, ordinarily they faint, make any excuses to be off from their engagement, despond of ever going through with it, and thereupon proceed no farther. But, on the contrary, he that is winged with desire flies at the proposed advantage, and by a stout and vigorous pursuit cuts off all pretences of delay from crowding in upon him or hindering his journey.
[De prof. virt. 4b] In love, it is a sign the passion is predominant, if the lover be not only pleased in the enjoyment of the beloved object (for that’s ordinary), but also troubled and grieved at the absence of it. After a manner not unlike this, many youngsters (as I’ve observed) stand affected at the study of philosophy. At first, they buckle to their work with the greatest concern and emulation imaginable; but as soon as ever they are diverted, either by business or any little pretences, the heat of their affection immediately flies off, and they sit down ignorant and very well content. But
[De prof. virt. 4c] He that perceives the pleasing sting of love, Whose poignant joy his trembling heart doth move,
[De prof. virt. 4d] will not only show that he is a proficient by his virtuous demeanor and agreeableness in all company and discourse; but if he be called from his business, you may perceive him all on fire, in pain, and uneasy in whatsoever he does, whether alone or in company, and so concerned that he is unmindful of his best friends till he is restored to the quest of his beloved philosophy. All of us ought to imitate such a noble example in all our studies. We must not be affected with good discourse only while we are in place, as we are with rich fragrant perfumes (which we never mind, but while we are a smelling to them); but if by chance marriage, an estate, love, or a campaign take us from our business, we must still hunger and thirst after virtue; and the more our proficiency is advanced, by so much the more ought our desire to know what we have not attained disquiet and excite us to the further pursuit and knowledge of it.
[De prof. virt. 5] 5 The grave account which Hesiod gives of proficiency is, in my judgment, either the very same, or comes very near to this which I have now set down. Proficiency is (says he) when all difficulties are removed, all unevenness smoothed and cleared, and the way made easy and passable. It must be smoothed by frequent exercise, cleared by beams of divine light that guide the way to true philosophy, nothing at all of the clouds of doubt, error, or inconstancy in good resolutions remaining, which are as usually incident to learners in their first attempts upon philosophy, as distraction and solicitudes are to those who, sailing from a known land, cannot yet discover the place whither they are bound. Thus I have known impatient sophisters skip over common and ordinary notions, before they have learned or attained better, and lose themselves in the middle of their journey in so troublesome a maze, that they would be willing to return (if they could) to their primitive state of quiet, inactive ignorance. Sextius, a nobleman of Rome, may serve for an instance of this. He quitted all offices and places of honor, that he might more freely and undisturbedly apply himself to the study of philosophy. At first he met with many difficulties; and finding himself unable to encounter or conquer them, out of very despair and despondency, he had thoughts of throwing himself out of a little boat into the river Tiber. Parallel to this is a merry story told of Diogenes of Sinope; when he first put on his gown, it happened to be at a time when the Athenians celebrated a festival with extraordinary banquets, night-drinking, sports, and pageantry usual at great solemnities. The philosopher, as he lay in the holidays in the corner of the street, muffled up in his clothes, to try if he could take a nap, had some running thoughts in his head, which checked the resolutions he had taken as to a philosophical life, and troubled him extremely. He reasoned with himself, that there was no necessity for his entering into so troublesome and singular a way of living, that he thereby deprived himself of all the sweets and pleasures of life, and the like. While he was thinking thus with himself, he espied (as the story goes) a mouse venturing toward him, and now and then nibbling at a mouldy crust that he had in his pouch. This sight (which is much) turned his thoughts, and made him vexed and troubled at himself as much on the other side. What (says he) is the matter with thee, Diogenes? Thou seest this tiny mouse lives well, and is very glad of thy scraps; but thou, who must needs be a person of quality, forsooth, art extremely sorry and out of humor, because thou dost not feast upon down-beds, and canst not have the genteel privilege at this merry time to be drunk as well as others.
[De prof. virt. 5b] Another rational argument of gradual proficiency is when avocations are not frequent upon us, and when they happen, very short; while the substantial rules and precepts of wisdom, as if they had been violently driven out, presently return upon our minds, and dispossess all empty trouble and disconsolate thoughts.
[De prof. virt. 6] 6 And because scholars do not only fancy to themselves difficulties big enough to divert their weak resolutions, but also often meet with serious persuasions from their friends to leave their studies, and because sometimes such smart jests and drolls are put upon them as have often discouraged, frequently quite converted, the endeavors of some; it may seem to you a very good argument of a proficient, if you find yourself indifferent and unconcerned in that point. As, for example, not to be cut to the heart and repine, when you are told that such and such persons by name, your equals once, live splendidly at court, have married great fortunes, or have appeared publicly at the head of a great many freeholders, that are ready to vote for them for some great office or representative’s place. He that is neither discomposed nor very much affected by such news as this is manifestly in the right, and has philosophy by the surer handle. For it is impossible we should leave admiring things which most men esteem, if the habit of virtue were not deeply rooted in us. To avoid passionately what every one cries down may be in some persons the effect of anger and ignorance; but utterly to despise what is admired abroad is a certain sign of true and solid wisdom and resolution. With what satisfaction and complacency many persons advanced to such a height of virtue compare themselves with others, and break out in these verses of Solon!
[De prof. virt. 6b] We will not change Virtue’s immortal crown For a whole mine of gold. Gold is uncertain; but what we possess Is still our own, and never can be less.
[De prof. virt. 6c] None can deny but that it was very great in Diogenes to compare his shifting from the city of Corinth to Athens, and from Thebes to Corinth, to the king of Persia’s taking his progress in the spring to Susa, in winter to Babylon, and to Media in summer. Nor was it an argument of a much less spirit in Agesilaus, who, hearing this same king of Persia styled the Great, presently asked, In what is he greater than I, if he be not juster than I am? Aristotle himself had exactly such notions in the like case; for, writing to Antipater about his scholar Alexander, he says of him, that he ought not to value himself in this respect, that he was advanced above others; for whoever had a true notion of God was really as great as he. And Zeno too deserves to be mentioned, who, hearing Theophrastus commended above any of the philosophers for his number of scholars, put it off thus: His choir is indeed larger than mine, but mine has the sweeter voices.
[De prof. virt. 7] 7 From all these instances you may collect this great truth, that whenever you do, by setting the comforts of virtue and the difficulties and errors of study one against the other, perceive that you have utterly expelled all emulation, jealousy, and every thing else that uses to disturb or discourage young men, you may then assuredly conclude with yourself that you have made very laudable progress.
[De prof. virt. 7b] Another argument of proficiency in virtue is the alteration of your very style of writing, and of your way of managing any argument or discourse. Most of those that nowadays design for scholars (in ordinary speaking) do prosecute almost none but popular studies; to furnish out discourse, and make themselves, as the phrase is, plausible men; some few of them there are who, like silly larks, are taken with the glaring light of natural philosophy, and, measuring themselves by their own levity and conceit, think they are able presently to attain the height of that science. Others like young whelps (‘tis Plato’s simile) love to snap and bite at one another, only to gratify a contentious, sceptical, and sophistical humor, which they at first got by bad tuition and ill-managed studies. Some again, as soon as ever they are initiated in the principles of logic, presently commence sophisters. Others spend their whole time in collecting sentences and historical narrations. These (as Anacharsis said of the Grecians, that he saw no occasion they had for money, but only to count and tell it over) have nothing at all to do, but go about singing and repeating what they have collected into commonplace books, without any other benefit or satisfaction from their labors. To these you may apply that of Antiphanes, which one ingeniously turned to Plato’s scholars. This Antiphanes said merrily, that in a certain city the cold was so intense that words were congealed as soon as spoken, but that after some time they thawed and became audible, so that the words spoken in winter were articulated next summer. Even so, the many excellent precepts of Plato, which he instilled into the tender ears of his scholars, were scarce perceived and distinguished by many of them, till they grew men and attained the warm vigorous summer of their age.
[De prof. virt. 7c] Such a cool disposition to virtue and philosophy, as that philosopher said was in Plato’s scholars when young, often lasts in the most of us (as was hinted before) till our judgments grow to a solid firmness and maturity, and we begin to value those precepts that are able to beget a composure and greatness of mind, and diligently to trace and follow those discourses and precepts whose tracks (as it is in Aesop’s fables) rather look inward than outward, to ourselves rather than others. Sophocles said of himself, that in writing his tragedies he first of all abated and pricked the tumor of Aeschylus’s invention, then corrected the harshness and over artifice of his composition, and, last of all, changed his very style and elocution, the thing which is most considerably persuasive, and which most of all conduces to good manners. Even so, young students, when they pass from the fulness and luxuriancy of panegyric and declamation to that more solid part of philosophy that regulates manners and smooths all rugged and disorderly passions, then begin really to attain true and solid proficiency.
[De prof. virt. 8] 8 Hereupon let me advise you this, — whenever you read the writings or hear the orations of the philosophers, attend always things more than words, and be not taken with what is curious and of a delicate thread and contexture, more than that which is strong, nervous, and beneficial. So also, in perusing poems or histories, be sure that nothing escape you that is appositely said, in relation to the cultivating of manners or the calming turbulent, immoderate passions; but always give it a note, and make it surely your own. Simonides said that a student in philosophy should be like a bee. That laborious creature, when it is amongst flowers, makes it its business industriously to extract the yellow honey out of them all; while others care and seek for nothing else except the smell and the color. So, while some others employ their time in reading the poets only for diversion, or for the wit and fancy which usually adorn their works, you (my dear friend) like a bee amongst a swarm of drones, observe and collect what is sweet, palatable, and worthy your pains, and seem already, by your constant custom and application, to have attained a perfect knowledge of what is eminently good and proper.
[De prof. virt. 8b] As to those that peruse the works of Plato and Xenophon only for the style’s sake, and do cull out what is elegant and Attic, as the cream and flower of those authors, pray what do they do but as it were admire the fragrancy and flavor of medicinal drugs, yet, at the same time, neither understand nor enquire after their healing and purgative qualities? Whereas, those that have advanced to a higher degree of perfection can extract benefit, not only from philosophical discourses, but also from every thing they see or do, and thence draw something that may be proper and fit for their purpose. I will give you some examples of Aeschylus and other very eminent men, which may be very pat to this purpose. Aeschylus chanced to be a spectator at the Isthmian games, where some were engaged at sword play; seeing one of the combatants wounded, and observing that the theatre immediately made a great shouting and hollowing upon it, he jogged one Ion, an inhabitant of the island Chios, who sat next to him, and whispered him thus, Do you see what exercise can do? He that is wounded holds his peace, and the spectators cry out.
[De prof. virt. 8c] Brasidas, the Lacedaemonian captain, by chance caught a mouse among some dry figs; and, being bit by her, let her go, with this exclamation, By Hercules! there is no creature so little or so weak, that it cannot preserve its life if it dares but defend it.
[De prof. virt. 8d] Diogenes may serve for a thousand instances; when he saw a boy drink out of the palm of his hand, he threw away his dish, which he used to carry always with him in his wallet. Thus sedulity and application have a singular virtue to make us knowing and able to extract motives to virtue from every thing that we meet with.
[De prof. virt. 8e] Nor is it a difficult matter to attain such a temper of mind, if the candidates for virtue intermix discourse and reading with their actions; not only “exercising themselves amidst dangers” (as Thucydides said to some), but also engaging pleasures, disputing hard questions, examining precedents, pleading causes, and so (to try themselves thoroughly) undertaking some magistracy or public office, giving thereby demonstration of their opinions and resolution, or rather establishing their resolution by exercise. Whereas, those that are not bred to it, but like novices spy out and catch at any thing that is curious in books, and pragmatically run away with it either to the Exchange, the College, or some club or tavern, deserve no more the name of philosophers, than those quacks that only truck off vile drugs and potions merit the character and value of physicians. Those sophisters seem to me not unlike the bird mentioned in Homer, and to have something of its quality. Whatsoever they catch abroad they presently bring home with them, and cram it into their unfledged chicks, their illiterate scholars, starving their own empty crops the while, as the poet has it; for they neither digest nor convert what they take into true nourishment.
[De prof. virt. 9] 9 It is then indispensably our duty so to manage our discourse, that it may be beneficial both to ourselves and others, we not incurring the censure of being thought vain-glorious or arrogant by any; to be always readier to hear than to teach; and, especially, so to abate and moderate all vehemency and passionate quarrelling about trivial questions, as that we may cease to attend and manage disputations with the same indifferency as you may have seen some exercise hurlbats and cudgelling, — that is, so as to leave the stage with more satisfaction for having had a true hit or coming off conqueror, than for having either learned ourselves or taught our antagonist any manner of skill by the engagement.
[De prof. virt. 9b] An evenness and mildness of temper in all such affairs, which never will suffer us to enter the lists with vehemency and passion, nor to be hot and concerned in settling an argument, nor to scold and give bad words when we have vanquished our adversary, nor to be very much dejected if we chance to be quite baffled, is (I think) a true sign of a great proficient in virtue. Aristippus was a great example of this; for when in a set disputation he was baffled by the sophistry and forehead of an impudent, wild, and ignorant disputant, and observed him to be flushed and high with the conquest; Well! says the philosopher, I am certain, I shall sleep quieter to-night than my antagonist.
[De prof. virt. 9c] Not only upon the close and event of our philosophical contests, but even in the midst of disputation, we may (privately) take an estimate of this good quality in us, which is a sign of a true proficient; for example, if, upon a greater appearance of auditors than was expected, we be not afraid nor in confusion; if, at the thinness of the congregation, when there are but a few to hear us, we be not dejected and troubled; and lastly, if, when we are to speak before a numerous or honorable assembly, we do not, for want of fitting preparation, miss the opportunity for ever.
[De prof. virt. 9d] It is reported that two as famous orators as ever were, Demosthenes and Alcibiades, were somewhat weak and faulty in this point. The timorousness of the former is known to every school-boy; and as for Alcibiades, though he was (as must be confessed) as sagacious and happy in his thoughts as any man whatever, yet, for want of a little assurance in speaking a thing, he very often miserably lost himself in his pleadings; for he would falter and make pauses in the very middle of his orations, purely for want of a single word or some neat expression, that he had in his papers but could not presently remember. To give you another instance of the prince of poets, Homer; he was so blinded with an over-confidence of his abilities in poetry, that he has slipped a false quantity, and left it on record, in the very first verse of his Iliads.
[De prof. virt. 9e] Seeing then the learnedest men and greatest artists have failed and may fail for want of caution or confidence, it ought more nearly to concern those that earnestly follow virtue, not to slip the least opportunity of improvement, either by company or otherwise; and not overmuch to regard the throng or applause of the theatre, when they do exercise or make any solemn harangue.
[De prof. virt. 10] 10 Nor is it enough that one take care of all his discourses and orations; but he ought also to observe that the whole tenor of his actions be guided by profit rather than vain pomp, and by truth rather than ostentation. For if a passionate lover who has placed his affection upon any beloved object seeks no witnesses to attest its sincerity, but has such an eager desire when alone and in private, that, like a covered flame, it burns more vigorously and insensibly for being shut up; much more ought a moralist and a philosopher who has attained both the habit and exercise of virtue sit down self-contented, and applaud himself in private, neither needing nor desiring encomiasts or auditors from abroad.
[De prof. virt. 10b] There is an humor in some of the poets, of an old peevish housekeeper, that calls to his maid aloud: Do you see, Dionysia (that is his maid’s name), I am now pleased, and have laid by all choler and passion. Just such like is the practice of some, who, as soon as they have done any thing which is obliging and civil, presently blaze it abroad, and turn their own heralds. Such men show plainly that they look beyond themselves for satisfaction; that they are desirous of praise and applause; and that they never were admitted near spectators of virtue, never saw her in her noble, royal dress, but only had some transient sight of her in a dream or an empty airy phantasm; and indeed, that they expose their actions to the public, as painters do their pictures, to be gazed at and admired by the gaping multitude.
[De prof. virt. 10c] Another sign of a proficient in virtue is, when the proficient has given any thing to his friend or done any kindness for any one, if he keeps it to himself and does not blab it to anybody; and (which is more) if he hath voted right against a majority of biassed suffragans, withstood the dishonest attempts of some rich and powerful man, generously rejected bribes when offered, abstained from inordinate drinking when athirst and alone, or at night, when none sees or knows what he does, lastly, if he hath conquered the briskest attempts of love (as is said of Agesilaus); if (I say) he contain himself from speaking of such actions, and do not in company boast of his performances. This I affirm, — such a one as can prove and try himself by himself, and be fully satisfied in the verdict of his conscience, as of an unexceptionable witness and spectator of what is right and good, shows plainly that his reason looks inward and is well rooted within him, and that the man (as Democritus said) is accustomed to take satisfaction from himself.
[De prof. virt. 10d] To borrow a simile from husbandmen and those that are concerned in the business of the fields, they are always best pleased to see those ears of corn which decline and by reason of their fulness bend downwards to the earth, but look upon those as empty, deceitful, and insignificant, which, because they have nothing in them, grow bolt upright and appear above the rest. So it is amongst students in philosophy; those that are most empty-headed, and have least firmness and solidity, have always the greatest share of confidence, formality, and stiffness in their address, look biggest, walk with the most state, and top upon and condemn others, with the highest arrogance and severity of any living. But when once their brains begin to fill and become well poised with solid notions, they look down into themselves, and quite lay aside that insolent and arrogant humor, which is proper only to youngsters. Give me leave to illustrate this by one simile more. When you pour water into bottles or any other vessels, upon its being instilled into them, the air that was in them before presently flies out and gives place to the more substantial body. Even so it is with those that have had many good precepts instilled into them, and their minds replenished with solid truths. They presently find that all empty vanity flies off; that the imposthume of pride breaks; that they do not value themselves for beard and gown only, but bend their actions and endeavors to the bettering of their rational faculties; and, lastly, that when they reprove they begin at home, turning the edge of their satire and invective upon themselves, even when at the same time they are civil and complaisant to all others beside. It is indeed an argument of a generous and truly brave disposition in a scholar, not to assume the name and character of one, and, as some use to do, to put the philosopher amongst his titles; but if any out of respect chance to give him that compellation, to be surprised, blush, and with a modest smile answer him in that of the poet,
[De prof. virt. 10e] You compliment your friend; he whom you so commend Must needs be more than man, — far more than I pretend.
[De prof. virt. 10f] Aeschylus says of a young woman that, if ever she have played the wanton, you may discover it in her eyes, and read her affections in amorous glances which she cannot conceal; so a young scholar, if he be once entered in the mysteries and have tasted the sweets of philosophy, cannot possibly suppress the passion and concern for it; as Sappho says, his tongue falters when he would speak its praise; his heart is warm with affection;
[De prof. virt. 10g] A secret flame does run through every part.
[De prof. virt. 10h] You would admire and love the assurance and composedness of his looks, the affectionateness of his eyes, and especially the winning decency and agreeableness of his words and expressions.
[De prof. virt. 10i] Those that are to be initiated in the ceremonies of the Gods run to their temples at first with a great deal of noise, clamor, and rudeness; but as soon as the solemnity is seen and over, they attend with a profound silence and religious fear. So it is with the candidates in philosophy; you may perceive a throng, noise, and pother about the school-doors, by reason that several press thither eagerly, rudely, and violently for reputation, more than learning; but when you are once in, and manifestly see the great light, as if some royal shrine were opened unto you, you are presently possessed with a quite different notion of things; are struck with silence and admiration, and begin, with humility and a reverend composure, to comply with and follow the divine oracle. That which Menedemus said in another case is very apposite to this sort of men. Those that went to the school of Athens were first of all (sofoi) wise, next (filosofoi) lovers of wisdom, then orators, and at last, in course of time, plain common men; for the longer they applied themselves to study and philosophy, so much the more all vanity, pride, and pedantry abated in them, and the nearer they came to plain, downright, honest men.
[De prof. virt. 11] 11 Again, as it is with those that are indisposed and out of order, — some, if a tooth or finger do but ache, presently run to a physician; others send for one to their houses, if they find themselves but the least feverish and desire his advice and assistance; but those that are either melancholical, or but any ways crazed in their heads, cannot endure so much as the looks of a physician, but either keep out of sight when he comes or command him to be gone, being altogether insensible of their condition, — so, in persons that commit any heinous crime or fall into any error, I look upon those as perfectly incurable, who take it ill to be admonished of their fault and look upon reproof and admonition as the greatest rudeness and incivility in the world, whereas those that can quietly hearken and submit to the advice of friends and superiors deserve a more favorable opinion, and may be thought to be of a much better disposition. But the greatest character of hopeful men, and such as may be probably excellent proficients in time, belongs to those who, upon a commission of a fault, immediately apply themselves to such as will reprove and correct them; who plainly disclose their grief and open their malady; who do not rejoice in concealing their distemper, and are not content to have their troubles unknown; lastly, who make a full confession of what they have done amiss, and desire the help of a friend to examine and direct them for the future. Diogenes, I am sure, was of this opinion. He said, that whosoever would be certainly and constantly in the right must get either a virtuous good friend or an incensed ill-natured enemy to his monitor; the one by gentle admonition to reprove and persuade him, the other to work upon him by severity, and awe him into a virtuous course of life.
[De prof. virt. 11b] There is a sort of men in the world, that are so vain and foolish as to take a pride in being the first discoverers of their own imperfections; if they have but a rent or spot in their clothes, or have got a torn pair of shoes on, they are the most forward of any to tell it in company; and (which is more) they are very apt, out of a silly, empty, arrogant humor, to make themselves the subject of their drollery, if they are of a dwarfish stature or any way deformed; yet (which is strange) these very men, at the very same time, endeavor to excuse and palliate the internal imperfections of the mind and the more ugly deformities of the soul, as envy, evil-custom, detraction, voluptuousness, &c., and will not suffer any one either to see or probe them. These are, as it were, so many sore places, and they cannot endure to have them touched and meddled with. Such men as these (I may be bold to say) have very few signs of proficiency, or rather none at all.
[De prof. virt. 11c] Now, on the contrary, he that examines his own failings with the greatest severity, that impartially blames or corrects himself as often as he does amiss, or (which is almost as commendable) grows firmer and better by present advice, as well as more able and ready to endure a reprimand for the future, seems to me truly and sincerely to have rejected and forsaken vice.
[De prof. virt. 11d] It is certainly our duty to avoid all appearance of evil, and to be ashamed to give occasion even to be reputed vicious; yet evil reports are so inconsiderable to a wise man, that, if he have a greater aversion to the nature of evil than to the infamy that attends it, he will not fear what is said of him abroad, nor what calumnies are raised, if so be he be made the better by them. It was handsomely said of Diogenes, when he saw a young spark coming out of a tavern, who at the sight of him drew back: Do not retire, says he, for the more you go backward, the more you will be in the tavern. Even so every vicious person, the more he denies and palliates vice, the more aggravates and confirms it, and with surer footing goes farther into wickedness; like some persons of ordinary rank and quality, who, while they assume above themselves, and out of arrogance would be thought rich, are made really poor and necessitous, by pretending to be otherwise.
[De prof. virt. 11e] Hippocrates, a man of wonderful skill in physic, was very ingenuous in this point, and fit to be imitated by the greatest proficients in philosophy. He confessed publicly, that he had mistaken the nature of the sutures in the skull, and has left an acknowledgment of his ignorance upon record, under his own hand; for he thought it very unworthy a man of his profession not to discover where he was in the wrong, seeing others might suffer and err by his authority. And, indeed, it had been very unreasonable, if he, whose business and concern it was to save others and to set them right, should not have had the courage to cure himself, and to discover his weakness and imperfections in his own faculty.
[De prof. virt. 11f] Pyrrhon and Bion (two eminent philosophers) have given rules of proficiency; but they seem rather signs of a complete habit of virtue, than a progressive disposition to it. Bion told his friend, that they then might be assured of their proficiency, when they could endure a reproof from anybody with the same indifferency and unconcernedness as they could hear the highest encomiums, even such a one as this of the poet:
[De prof. virt. 11g] Sir,Some heavenly flame inspires your breast; Live great, rejoice, and be for ever blest.
[De prof. virt. 11h] The other, to wit, Pyrrhon, being at sea and in great danger, by reason of a tempest that arose, took particular notice (as the story goes) of a hog that was on board, which all the while very unconcernedly fed upon some corn which lay scattered about; he showed it to his companions, and told them that they ought to acquire by reading and philosophy such an apathy and unconcernedness in all accidents and dangers as they saw that poor creature naturally have.
[De prof. virt. 12] 12 The opinion which is said to be Zeno’s may deserve our consideration. He said that any one might give a guess at his proficiency from the observation of his dreams, if when asleep he fancied nothing that was immodest, nor seemed to consent to any wicked actions or dishonest intentions, but found his fancy and passions of his mind undisturbed, in a constant calm, as it were, always serene, and enlightened with the beams of divine reason. This very notion was hinted by Plato (as I interpret his words), where he is describing and delineating the soul which is tyrannical in its nature, and showing what manner of operations its fantasy and irrational appetite exert. When a man is asleep, he says, a vicious person designs the satisfying incestuous lust, has a longing for all sorts of meat indifferently, whether allowed or prohibited, and satisfies his appetite and desire in all manner of intemperance which is loose and unregarded, which, in the day-time, either the laws shame him out of, or fear to offend restrains
[De prof. virt. 12b] As now those brute beasts that are accustomed to labor will not, if the reins be let loose, either turn aside or offer to leave the track or stumble in it, so it is with the brutal faculty of the mind; when it is once made tame and manageable by the strength of reason, then it is unwilling carelessly to transgress or saucily to disobey its sovereign’s commands or to comply with any inordinate lusts, either in sleep or sickness; but it carefully observes and maintains its dictates to which it is accustomed, and by frequent exercise advances to perfect strength and intention of virtue.
[De prof. virt. 12c] We find even in our own nature the strange effects of custom. Man is naturally able, by much exercise and the use of a stoical apathy, to bring the body and all its members into subjection, so that not one organ shall perform its operation, — the eyes shall not burst out with tears upon the sight of a lamentable object, the heart shall not palpitate upon the apprehension of fear, and the passions shall not be roused at the sight of any beautiful person, whether man or woman. Now it is much more probable that the faculties of the sense may be so brought in subjection by undergoing such exercise as we speak of, that all its imaginations and motions may be smoothed and made agreeable to right reason, even when we are asleep and keep not sentry. It is reported of Stilpo the philosopher, that he thought he saw Neptune in his sleep, and that he seemed very much displeased with him, because he had not (as was usual with his priests) sacrificed an ox in honor of him. Not in the least daunted at the apparition, he thus boldly accosted it: Neptune! what’s this business you here complain of? You come hither like a child, and are angry with me, because I did not borrow money and run in debt to please you, and fill the city with costly odors, but privately sacrificed to you in my own house such ordinary victims as I could get. At this confident reply, Neptune smiled, and (as the story goes) reached him his hand, as an assurance of his good-will to him, and told him that for his sake he would send the Megarians abundance of fish that season.
[De prof. virt. 12d] In the main we may conclude thus much, that those that have clear and pleasant dreams, and are not troubled with any frightful, strange, vicious, or irregular apparitions in their sleep, may assure themselves that they have some indications and dawnings of proficiency; whereas, on the contrary, those dreams which are mixed with any pain, fear, cowardly aversions from good, childish exultation, or silly grief, so that they are both frightful and unaccountable, are like the breaking waves or the billows of the sea; for the soul, not having attained a perfect evenness of temper, but being under the formation of laws and precepts from whose guidance and discovery it is free in time of sleep, is then slacked from its usual intenseness, and laid open to all passions whatever.
[De prof. virt. 12e] Whether this temper we speak of be an argument of proficiency, or an indication of some other habit which has taken deep root in the soul, grown strong and immovable by all the power of reason, I leave to you to consider and determine.
[De prof. virt. 13] 13 Seeing then an absolute apathy or freedom from all passions whatsoever is a great and divine perfection, and, withal, considering that progress seems to consist in a certain remission and moderation of those very passions we carry about us, it unavoidably follows, that if we will observe our passions, with relation to one another and also to themselves, we may easily find out their differences. For example, first, we may observe from the passions compared with themselves whether our desires be now more moderate than they used to be, fear and anger less and more calm, and whether or no we are more able to quench the heat and flame of our passions than we used to be.
[De prof. virt. 13b] Secondly, by comparing them with one another, we may observe whether we now have a greater share of shame than of fear, whether emulation be without any mixture of envy, whether we have greater desire of glory than of riches, whether we offend (as the musicians term it) in the Dorian or base or in the Lydian or treble notes, — that is, whether we are more inured to abstinence and hardship than otherwise, — whether we are unwilling rather than forward to appear in public, and, lastly, whether we are undue admirers of the persons or performances of others, or despisers both of them and what they can do.
[De prof. virt. 13c] As it is a good sign of recovery of a sick person if the distemper lie in the less principal parts of the body; so in proficiency, if vicious habits be changed into more tolerable passions, it is a symptom that they are going off and ready to be quenched. Phrynis the musician, to his seven strings adding two more, was asked by the magistrates, whether he had rather they should cut the upper or lower of them, the base or treble. Now it is our business to cut off (as it were) both what is above and below, if we would attain to the true medium and equality; for proficiency in the first place remits the excess, and sweetens the harmony of the evil affections, which is (according to Sophocles)
[De prof. virt. 13d] The madman’s greatest pleasure and disease.
[De prof. virt. 14] 14 We have already said that we ought to transfer our judgment to action, and not to suffer our words to remain bare and naked words, but to reduce them to deeds; and that this is the chiefest sign of a proficient. Now another manifest indication is a desire of those things we commend, and a readiness to perform those things which we admire, but whatsoever we discommend, neither to will or endure it. It is probable that all the Athenians highly extolled the courage and valor of Miltiades. But Themistocles (who professed that the trophies of Miltiades broke his sleep, and often forced him out of his bed) did not only praise and admire what he had done, but was manifestly struck with a zeal and emulation of his performances. Therefore we may be assured that we have profited little, while we think it a vanity to admire those that have done well, and cannot possibly be raised to an imitation of them.
[De prof. virt. 14b] To love the person of any man is not sufficient, except it have a mixture of emulation; no more is that love of virtue ardent and exciting, which does not put us forward, and create in our breasts (instead of envy to them) a zealous affection for all good men, and a desire of equal perfection with them. For it is not enough (as Alcibiades was wont to say) that the heart should be turned upside down by hearing the discourses of a philosopher, and that the tears should gush from the eyes; but he that is a proficient indeed, comparing himself with the designs and actions of a good perfect man, is pricked at the same with the consciousness of his own weakness, and transported with hope and desire, and big with irresistible assurance; and indeed such a one is (as Simonides says) like a little sucking foal running by the mother’s side, and desires to be incorporated into the very same nature with a good man. For this is an especial sign of true proficiency, to love and affect their way of life whose actions we emulate, and, upon account of an honorable opinion we always entertain for them, to do as they do. But whosoever he is that entertains a contentious or malicious design against his betters, let him be assured that he is possessed with a greedy desire of honor or greatness, but has neither a true respect nor admiration for virtue.
[De prof. virt. 15] 15 When therefore we once begin so to love good men, as not only (according to Plato) to esteem the wise man himself happy, and him who hears his discourses sharer in his felicity, but also to admire and love his habit, gait, look, and very smile, so as to wish ourselves to be that very person, then we may be assured that we have made very good proficiency.
[De prof. virt. 15b] This assurance will be advanced, if we do not only admire good men in prosperity, but like lovers, who are taken ever with the lisping and pale looks of their mistresses (as Araspes is said to have been smitten with the tears and dejected looks of a mournful and afflicted Panthea), have an affection for virtue in its most mournful dress, so as not at all to dread the banishment of Aristides, the imprisonment of Anaxagoras, the poverty of Socrates, nor the hard fate of Phocion, but to embrace and respect their virtues, even under such injustice, and upon thoughts of it, to repeat this verse of Euripides, —
[De prof. virt. 15c] How do all fortunes decently becomeA generous, well-tuned soul!
[De prof. virt. 15d] This is certain, if any one addresses himself to virtue with this resolution, not to be dejected at the appearance of difficulty, but heartily admires and prosecutes its divine perfection, none of the evil we have spoken of can divert his good intentions. To what I have said I may add this, that when we go upon any business, undertake any office, or chance upon any affair whatever, we must set before our eyes some excellent person, either alive or dead; and consider with ourselves what Plato for the purpose would have done in this affair, what Epaminondas would have said, how Lycurgus or Agesilaus would have behaved themselves, that, addressing ourselves and adorning our minds at these mirrors, we may correct every disagreeing word and irregular passion. It is commonly said, that those that have got by heart the names of the Idaei Dactyli make use of them as charms to drive away fear, if they can but confidently repeat them one by one; so the consideration and remembrance of good men, being present and entertained in our minds, do preserve our proficiency in all affections and doubts regular and immovable; wherefore you may judge that this is also a token of a proficient in virtue.
[De prof. virt. 16] 16 You may observe further, that not to be in a confusion, not to blush, not to hide or correct your clothes or any thing about you, at the unexpected appearance of an honorable and wise person, but to have an assurance as if you were often conversant with such, is almost a perfect demonstration of a very intelligent person.
[De prof. virt. 16b] It is reported of Alexander, that one night seeing a messenger joyfully running towards him and stretching out his hand, as if he had something to deliver to him, he said to the apparition, Friend, what news do you bring me? Is Homer risen from the dead? That admirable monarch thought that nothing was wanting to his great exploits but such a herald as Homer.
[De prof. virt. 16c] Consider this, if a young man thrive in the world, it is customary for him to desire nothing more than to be seen in the company of virtuous and good men, to show them his whole furniture, his table, his wife and children, his study, his diary or collections; and he is so pleased with himself, that he wishes his father or tutor were alive, that they might see him in so good a way of living; and he could heartily pray that they were alive, to be spectators of his life and actions. But, on the contrary, those that have neglected their business, or lost themselves in the world, cannot endure the sight or company of their relations without a great deal of fear and confusion.
[De prof. virt. 17] 17 Join this, if you please, to what we said before; for it is no small sign, if the proficient thus esteem every little fault a great one, and studiously observe and avoid all. For, as those persons who despair of ever being rich make little account of small expenses, thinking that little added to a little will never make any great sum, but when they come once to have got a competency, and hope to be at last very rich, it advances their desires, so it happens in the affairs of virtue; — he that does not quiet his mind by saying with himself, “What matters it what comes after? if for the present it be so and so, yet better days will come,” but who attends every thing, and is not careless if the least vice pass uncondemned, but is troubled and concerned at it, such a one makes it appear that he has attained something that is pure, which he brightens by use and will not suffer to corrupt. For a preconceived opinion that nothing we have is valuable (according to Aeschylus) makes us careless and indifferent about every thing.
[De prof. virt. 17b] If any one be to make a dry wall or an ordinary hedge, it matters not much if he makes use of ordinary wood or common stone, any old gravestones, or the like; so wicked persons, who confusedly mix and blend all their designs and actions in one heap, care not what materials they put together. But the proficients in virtue, who have already laid the golden solid foundation of a virtuous life, as of a sacred and royal building, take especial care of the whole work, examine and model every part of it according to the rule of reason, believing that it was well said by Polycletus, that the hardest work remained for them to do whose nails must touch the clay; — that is, to lay the top stone is the great business and masterpiece of the work. The last stroke gives beauty and perfection to the whole piece.

## How to profit by one’s enemies

[De cap. ex inim. 1] 1 1 I observe, my dear Cornelius Pulcher, that you have chosen the mildest form of official administration, in which you are as helpful as possible to the public interests while at the same time you show yourself to be very amiable in private to those who have audience with you. Now it may be possible to find a country, in which, as it is recorded of Crete, there are no wild animals, but a government which has not had to bear with envy or jealous rivalry or contention — emotions most productive of enmity — has not hitherto existed. For our very friendships, if nothing else, involve us in enmities. This is what the wise Chilon had in mind, when he asked the man who boasted that he had no enemy whether he had no friend either. Therefore it seems to me to be the duty of a statesman not only to have thoroughly investigated the subject of enemies in general, but also in his reading of Xenophon to have given more than passing attention to the remark that it is a trait of the man of sense “to derive profit even from his enemies.” Some thoughts, therefore, on this subject, which I recently had occasion to express, I have put together in practically the same words, and now send them to you, with the omission, so far as possible, of matter contained in my Advice to Statesmen, since I observe that you often have that book close at hand.
[De cap. ex inim. 2] 2 1 Primitive men were quite content if they could escape being injured by strange and fierce animals, and this was the aim and end of their struggles against the wild beasts; but their successors, by learning, as they did, how to make use of them, now profit by them through using their flesh for food, their hair for clothing, their gall and colostrum as medicine, and their skins as armour, so that there is good reason to fear that, if the supply of wild beasts should fail man, his life would become bestial, helpless, and uncivilized. Since, then, it is enough for most people if they can avoid suffering ill-treatment at the hands of their enemies, and since Xenophon asserts that men of sense will even derive profit from those who are at variance with them, we must not refuse him credence, but rather try to discover the system and the art through which this admirable advantage is to be gained by those who find it impossible to live without an enemy.
[De cap. ex inim. 2b] The farmer cannot domesticate every tree, nor can the huntsman tame every beast; and so they have sought to derive profit from these in ways to meet their other needs: the farmer from the trees that bear no fruit and the huntsman from the wild animals. The water of the sea is unfit to drink and tastes vile; yet fish thrive in it, and it is a medium for the dispatch and conveyance of travellers everywhere. The Satyr, at his first sight of fire, wished to kiss and embrace it, but Prometheus said,
[De cap. ex inim. 2c] You, goat, will mourn your vanished beard,
[De cap. ex inim. 2d] for fire burns him who touches it, yet it furnishes light and heat, and is an instrument of every craft for those who have learned to use it. So look at your enemy, and see whether, in spite of his being in most respects harmful and difficult to manage, he does not in some way or other afford you means of getting hold of him and of using him as you can use no one else, and so can be of profit to you. 87 Many of the circumstances of life are unkindly and hateful and repellent to those who have to meet them; yet you observe that some have employed their attacks of bodily illness for quiet resting, and trials which have fallen to the lot of many have but strengthened and trained them. Some, too, have made banishment and loss of property a means of leisure and philosophic study, as did Diogenes and Crates. And Zeno, on learning that the ship which bore his venture had been wrecked, exclaimed, “A real kindness, O Fortune, that thou, too, dost join in driving us to the philosopher’s cloak!” For just as those animals which have the strongest and soundest stomachs can eat and digest snakes and scorpions, band there are some even that derive nourishment from stones and shells (for they transmute such things by reason of the vigour and heat of their spirit), while fastidious and sickly persons are nauseated if they partake of bread and wine, so fools spoil even their friendships, while wise men are able to make a fitting use even of their enmities.
[De cap. ex inim. 3] 3 1 In the first place, then, it seems to me that the most harmful element in enmity may be made most profitable to those who give heed. What is this? Your enemy, wide awake, is constantly lying in wait to take advantage of your actions, and seeking to gain some hold on you, and keeping a constant patrol about your life; and not only does his sight, like the sight of Lynceus, penetrate the oak-tree and stones and tiles, but your enemy, through every friend and servant and acquaintance as well, so far as possible, plays the detective on your actions and digs his way into your plans and searches them through and through. Oftentimes we do not learn, until too late, of the illness or the deaths of our friends, so careless are we and neglectful; but our curiosity about our enemies all but prompts us to pry into their dreams; sickness, debts, and conjugal disagreements are more likely to be unknown to the very persons affected than to their enemy. Especially does he try to get hold of their failings and ferret them out. And just as vultures are drawn to the smell of decomposed bodies, but have no power to discover those that are clean and healthy, so the infirmities, meannesses, and untoward experiences of life rouse the energies of the enemy, and it is such things as these that the malevolent pounce upon and seize and tear to pieces. Is this then profitable? Assuredly it is, to have to live circumspectly, to give heed to one’s self, and not to do or say anything carelessly or inconsiderately, but always to keep one’s life unassailable as though under an exact regimen. For the circumspection which thus represses the emotions and keeps the reasoning power within bounds gives practice and purpose in living a life that is fair and free from reproach. For just as states which are chastened by border warfare and continual campaigning become well content with good order and a sound government, so persons who have been compelled on account of enmities to practise soberness of living, to guard against indolence and contemptuousness, and to let some good purpose prompt each act, are insensibly led by force of habit to make no mistakes, and are made orderly in their behaviour, even if reason co-operate but slightly. For when men keep always ready in mind the thought that
[De cap. ex inim. 3b] Priam and Priam’s sons would in truth have cause for rejoicing,
[De cap. ex inim. 3c] it causes them to face about and turn aside and abandon such things as give their enemies occasion for rejoicing and derision. Furthermore, we observe that the Dionysiac artists often play their parts in the theatres in a listless, dispirited, and inaccurate way when they are by themselves; but when there is rivalry and competition with another company, then they apply not only themselves but their instruments more attentively, picking their strings and tuning them and playing their flutes in more exact harmony. So the man who knows that his enemy is his competitor in life and repute is more heedful of himself, 88 and more circumspect about his action, and brings his life into a more thorough harmony. For it is a peculiar mark of vice, that we feel more ashamed of our faults before our enemies than before our friends. This is the ground of Nasica’s remark, when some expressed their belief that the power of the Romans was now secure, inasmuch as the Carthaginians had been annihilated and the Achaeans reduced to subjection. “Nay,” he said, “now is our position really dangerous, since we have left for ourselves none to make us either afraid or ashamed.”
[De cap. ex inim. 4] 4 1 Moreover, as a supplement to this take the declaration of Diogenes, which is thoroughly philosophic and statesmanlike: “How shall I defend myself against my enemy?” “By proving yourself good and honourable.” Men are much distressed when they see their enemies’ horses winning renown or their dogs gaining approval. At the sight of a well-tilled field or a flourishing garden they groan. What, think you, would be their state of mind if you were to show yourself to be an honest, sensible man and a useful citizen, of high repute in speech, clean in actions, orderly in living,
[De cap. ex inim. 4b] Reaping the deep-sown furrow of your mind
From which all goodly counsels spring?
[De cap. ex inim. 4c] Pindar says,
The vanquished are bound
In the fetters of silence profound,
[De cap. ex inim. 4d] not absolutely or universally, however, but only those who realize that they are outdone by their enemies in diligence, goodness, magnanimity, kindly deeds, and good works. These are the things which, as Demosthenes puts it, “retard the tongue, stop the mouth, constrict the throat, and leave one with nothing to say.”
[De cap. ex inim. 4e] Be thou unlike the base; this thou canst do.
[De cap. ex inim. 4f] If you wish to distress the man who hates you, do not revile him as lewd, effeminate, licentious, vulgar, or illiberal, but be a man yourself, show self-control, be truthful, and treat with kindness and justice those who have to deal with you. And if you are led into reviling, remove yourself as far as possible from the things for which you revile him. Enter within the portals of your own soul, look about to see if there be any rottenness there, lest some vice lurking somewhere within whisper to you the words of the tragedian:
[De cap. ex inim. 4g] Wouldst thou heal others, full of sores thyself?
[De cap. ex inim. 4h] If you call your enemy uneducated, strive to intensify in yourself the love of learning and industry; if you call him a coward, rouse even more your self-reliance and manliness; if you call him unchaste and licentious, obliterate from your soul whatever trace of devotion to pleasure may be lurking there unperceived. For there is nothing more disgraceful or painful than evil-speaking that recoils upon its author. So reflected light appears to be the more troublesome in cases of weak eyesight, and the same is true of censures that by the truth are brought back upon the very persons who are responsible for them. For as surely the north-east wind brings the clouds, so surely does a bad life bring revilings upon itself.
[De cap. ex inim. 5] 5 1 As often as Plato found himself in the company of persons whose conduct was unseemly, he was wont to say to himself, “Is it possible that I am like them?” But if the man who reviles another’s life will at once carefully inspect his own, and readjust it by directing and turning it aside into the opposite course, he will have gained something useful from this reviling, which, otherwise, not only gives the impression of being useless and inane, but is so in fact.
[De cap. ex inim. 5b] Now most people laugh if a man who is bald or hump-backed reviles and jeers at others for being in such case; for it is altogether ridiculous to indulge in reviling and jeering at anything that affords to another the opportunity for a caustic retort. For example, Leo of Byzantium, being reviled by a humpback for the weakness of his eyes, said, “You reproach me with that which can happen to any man, while you bear on your back the mark of God’s wrath!” Do not therefore ever revile an adulterer when you yourself are given to unnatural lust, nor a profligate when you yourself are stingy.
[De cap. ex inim. 5c] Own kin are you of her who slew her spouse
[De cap. ex inim. 5d] are the words of Alcmeon to Adrastus. What then does Adrastus say? He reproaches the speaker with a shameful deed which is not another’s but all his own:
[De cap. ex inim. 5e] 89 But you yourself slew her who gave you birth.
[De cap. ex inim. 5f] Domitius remarked to Crassus, “Did you not weep at the death of a lamprey which was being kept for you in a fish-pond?” And the other replied, “Did you not bury three wives and not shed a tear?” The man who is going to indulge in reviling need not be smart and loud-voiced and aggressive, but he must be irreproachable and unimpeachable. For upon nobody does the divine power seem so to enjoin the precept, “Know thyself,” as upon him who purposes to censure another, so that such persons may not, by saying what they want to say, have to hear what they do not want to hear. For a person of this type, as Sophocles puts it,
[De cap. ex inim. 5g] By babbling thoughtless talk is wont to hear
Against his will the words he willing speaks.
[De cap. ex inim. 6] 6 1 There may be, then, so much that is profitable and useful in reviling one’s enemy; but no less profit lies in the alternative of being reviled oneself and ill spoken of by one’s enemies. Hence Antisthenes was quite right in saying that, as a matter of self-preservation, men have need of true friends or else of ardent enemies; for the first by admonition, and the second by reviling, turn them from error. But since friendship’s voice has nowadays become thin and weak when it comes to frank speaking, while its flattery is voluble and its admonition mute, we have to depend upon our enemies to hear the truth. For as Telephus, unable to find a suitable physician, subjected his wound to his enemy’s spear, so those who are cut off from benevolent admonition must submit with patience to the remarks of a malevolent enemy if he exposes and reprehends their vice, and they must give consideration to the facts only, and not to what is in the mind of the detractor.
[De cap. ex inim. 6b] Another parallel is the case of the man who, with intent to kill the Thessalian Prometheus, smote with his sword a tumour which Prometheus had, and opened it so that the man’s life was saved, and he obtained relief from his tumour through its bursting; so oftentimes reviling launched upon a man by the prompting of anger or enmity cures some evil in his soul which either was not recognized or was disregarded by him. But most persons on being reviled do not stop to think whether the reproach is applicable to themselves, but they try to think what other form of reproach is applicable to the reviler, and, just as wrestlers do not wipe the dust from off their own bodies, so these persons do not wipe off the revilings from themselves, but they besmear one another, and in consequence get besmirched and begrimed by each other as they grapple together.
[De cap. ex inim. 6c] But it is most imperative that the man who is ill spoken of by an enemy should rid himself of the attribute in question, than that he should get rid of a stain on his clothes to which his attention has been called; and if anybody mentions things which are not really attributes of ours, we should nevertheless seek to learn the cause which has given rise to such slanderous assertions, and we must exercise vigilance, for fear that we unwittingly commit some error either approximating or resembling the one mentioned. For example, an unwarranted suspicion of unmanliness was aroused against Lacydes, king of the Argives, by a certain arrangement of his hair and a mincing gait, and Pompey suffered in the same way on account of his habit of scratching his head with one finger, although he was very far removed from effeminacy and licentiousness. Crassus incurred the charge of being too intimate with one of the Vestal virgins, when he only wanted to buy from her a piece of good land, and for this reason had many private interviews with her and paid her much attention.
[De cap. ex inim. 6d] Again, Postumia’s ready laughter and overbold talk in men’s company put her under unjust suspicion, that she was tried for unchastity. She was found innocent of the charge, but in dismissing her the Pontifex Maximus, Spurius Minucius, reminded her that the language she used should have no less dignity than her life. And again Pausanias inflicted on Themistocles, who was doing nothing wrong, the suspicion of treason by treating him as a friend, and by writing and sending messages to him continually.
[De cap. ex inim. 7] 7 1 Whenever, then, anything untrue has been said, you must not despise and disregard it just because it is false, but rather consider what word or act of yours, which of your pursuits or associations, 90 has given colour to the calumny, and then be studiously careful to avoid it. For if others by becoming involved in undesired situations thereby learn a useful lesson — just as Merope says that
[De cap. ex inim. 7b] Inconstant Fortune took from me,
To pay her fee, the dearest that I had,
But she for that hath made me wise —
[De cap. ex inim. 7c] what is to hinder a man from taking his enemy as his teacher without fee, and profiting thereby, and thus learning, to some extent, the things of which he was unaware? For there are many things which an enemy is quicker to perceive than a friend (for Love is blind regarding the loved one, as Plato says), and inherent in hatred, along with curiosity, is the inability to hold one’s tongue. Hiero was reviled by one of his enemies for his offensive breath; so when he went home he said to his wife, “What do you mean? Even you never told me of this.” But she being virtuous and innocent said, “I supposed that all men smelt so.” Thus it is that things which are perceptible, material, and evident to all the world, may sooner be learned from our enemies than from our friends and close associates.
[De cap. ex inim. 8] 8 1 But, quite apart from this, control over the tongue, which is no small part of virtue, is something which it is impossible to keep always in subjection and obedience to the reasoning faculties, unless a man by training, practice, and industry has mastered the worst of his emotions, such as anger, for example. For the “voice that slips out unintended,” and the
[De cap. ex inim. 8b] Word that has ‘scaped the lips’ prison,
and
Some of the sayings that flit forth of themselves,
[De cap. ex inim. 8c] are all incident to temperaments that are quite untrained, and are unsteady and fluctuating, so to speak, owing to weakness of will, headstrong opinions, and a reckless way of living. Just for a word, the lightest thing in the world, is ordained, according to the divine Plato, heaviest punishment, coming from both gods and men. But silence cannot under any circumstances be called to an accounting (it is more than a preventive of thirst, as Hippocrates says of it), and in the midst of reviling it is dignified and Socratic, or rather Heraclean, if it be true that Heracles
[De cap. ex inim. 8d] Not so much as to a fly gave heed to words of hatred.
[De cap. ex inim. 8e] Indeed, there is nothing more dignified and noble than to maintain a calm demeanour when an enemy reviles one,
[De cap. ex inim. 8f] Passing by a man’s scoffs
Just as swimmers swim past a precipitous rock,
but far more important is the practice. If you once acquire the habit of bearing an enemy’s abuse in silence, you will very easily bear up under a wife’s attack when she rails at you, and without discomposure will patiently hear the most bitter utterances of a friend or a brother; and when you meet with blows or missiles at the hands of a father or mother, you will show no sign of passion or wrath. For instance, Socrates bore with Xanthippe, who was irascible and acrimonious, for he thought that he should have no difficulty in getting along with other people if he accustomed himself to bear patiently with her; but it is much better to secure this training from the scurrilous, angry, scoffing, and abusive attacks of enemies and outsiders, and thus accustom the temper to be unruffled and not even impatient in the midst of reviling.
[De cap. ex inim. 9] 9 1 In this manner, then, it is possible for us to display the qualities of gentleness and forbearance in connexion with our enmities, and also straightforwardness, magnanimity, and goodness better than in our friendships. For it is not so honourable to do a good turn to a friend as it is disgraceful not to do it when he is in need; but even to forgo taking vengeance on an enemy when he offers a good opportunity is a handsome thing to do. But in case a man shows compassion for an enemy in affliction, and gives a helping hand to him when he has come to be in need, and displays some concern and zeal in behalf of his children and his household affairs when they come to want, I say that whosoever does not feel affection for such a man because of his kindliness, or does not commend his goodness,
[De cap. ex inim. 9b] Hath a black heart
91 Forged from adamant or else from steel.
[De cap. ex inim. 9c] When Caesar gave orders that the statues in honour of Pompey, which had been thrown down, should be restored, Cicero said to him, “You have restored Pompey’s statues, but you have made your own secure.” Wherefore there must be no scanting of commendation or due honour in the case of an enemy who has justly gained a fair repute. For such an attitude wins greater commendation for those who bestow it, and inspires confidence, when later a man makes a complaint that he does so, not because he hates the person, but because he disapproves of the action. But best of all, and most advantageous, is the fact that a man is farthest removed from envying the good fortune of his friends or the success of his relatives, if he has acquired the habit of commending his enemies, and feeling no pang and cherishing no grudge when they prosper. And yet what other process of training produces greater benefit to our souls or a better disposition, than does that which takes from us all our jealousy and our proneness to envy?
[De cap. ex inim. 9d] Just as many of the things which are necessary in war, but bad under other conditions, when they once acquire the sanction of custom and law, cannot easily be abolished by the people even though the people are being injured by them, so enmity introduces envy along with hatred, and leaves as a residue jealousy, joy over others’ misfortunes, and vindictiveness. Moreover, knavery, deceit, and intrigue, which seem not bad or unjust when employed against an enemy, if once they find a lodgement, acquire a permanent tenure, and are hard to eject. The next thing is that men of themselves employ these against their friends through force of habit, unless they are on their guard against using them against their enemies. If then Pythagoras was right when, in trying to accustom men to refrain from cruelty and rapacity in connexion with dumb animals, he used to intercede with fowlers, and buy up catches of fish and direct that they be released, and forbid the killing of any domesticated animal, it is surely a grander achievement by far, din disagreements and contentions with human beings, for a man to be a noble, honest, and ingenuous enemy, and to repress and put down his base, ignoble, and knavish propensities, so that in his dealings with his friends he may be always steadfast and may keep himself from wrongdoing.
[De cap. ex inim. 9e] Scaurus was an enemy of Domitius and his accuser before the law. Now a servant of Domitius came to Scaurus before the trial, claiming to have information on some matters that had escaped Scaurus’s knowledge, but Scaurus would not let him speak, and caused the man to be arrested and taken back to his master. When Cato was prosecuting Murena for corrupt political practices and was getting together his evidence, there followed him, in accordance with the usage of the time, men who watched what was being done. Very often they would ask him if he was intending that day to gather evidence or to do any work on the case, and if he said “No,” they believed him and went away. In these facts may be found the greatest proof of Cato’s repute; but it is a greater thing, and indeed the noblest, that, if we acquire the habit of practising honesty in dealing even with our enemies, we shall never deal dishonestly and knavishly with our intimate associates and friends.
[De cap. ex inim. 10] 10 1 But since
On every lark a crest must grow,
as Simonides puts it, and since all human nature bears its crop of contention, jealousy, and envy,
Boon comrade of rattle-brained men,
as Pindar says, a man would profit in no moderate degree by venting these emotions upon his enemies, and turning the course of such discharges, so to speak, as far away from his associates and relatives. This fact, as it seems, a statesman, Demus by name, apprehended: when he found himself on the winning side in a civic strife in Chios, he advised his party associates not to banish all their opponents, but to leave some of them behind, 92”in order,” he said, “that we may not begin to quarrel with our friends, through being completely rid of our enemies.” So also in our own case, if our emotions of this sort are expended upon our enemies, they will cause less annoyance to our friends. For “a potter” must not “envy potter,” nor “a minstrel a minstrel,” as Hesiod puts it, nor must there be any feeling of rivalry against a neighbour or relative or brother who is “winning his way towards riches” and meeting with prosperity. But if there is no other way of getting rid of strifes, and contentions, accustom yourself to feel the sting of resentment when your enemies enjoy health and happiness, and whet your contentiousness to a sharp jagged edge on these. Just as skilled gardeners believe that they improve their roses and violets by planting beside them garlic and onions (since whatever pungency and malodorousness there is in what the plants feed on is all drawn off into the vegetables), thus also your enemy, by taking up and diverting to himself your malice and jealousy, will render you more kindly and less disagreeable to your friends in their prosperity. For this reason it is with our enemies that we must also engage in rivalry for repute or office or honest money-getting, not only feeling the sting of resentment if they get the advantage of us, but also watching carefully every means by which they get the advantage, and trying to surpass them in painstaking, diligence, self-control, and self-criticism: after the manner of Themistocles, who said that Miltiades’ victory at Marathon would not let him sleep. For he who thinks that it is by mere good luck that his enemy surpasses him in public offices, in pleading cases, in state administration, or in his standing with friends and leading men, and who from activity and emulation sinks down into a state of utter jealousy and discouragement, has abiding with him an envy that is inert and ineffectual. If, however, a man is not blind in regard to the object of his hatred, but makes himself an honest observer of the other’s life, character, words, and deeds, he will discover that most of the successes which excite the envy of others come to those who have won them as the result of painstaking, forethought, and fair conduct, and so, bending all his energies in this direction, he will put into practice his own ambitions and high aspirations, and will eradicate his listlessness and indolence.
[De cap. ex inim. 11] 11 But even if our enemies by flattery, knavery, bribery, or hireling service appear to reap their reward in the form of dishonourable and sordid influence at court or in the government, they will not be a source of annoyance but rather of joy to us when we compare our own freedom, the simplicity of our life, and its immunity from scurrilous attack. For “all the gold on earth and beneath the earth is not worth so much as virtue,” as Plato says, and we must always keep ready in mind the sentiment of Solon:
[De cap. ex inim. 11b] But we will not take in exchange All of their wealth for our virtue,
[De cap. ex inim. 11c] nor yet the acclamations of spectators who have dined at our expense, nor honours such as front seats among eunuchs and concubines, and royal governorships; for nothing enviable or noble ever springs from dishonour. But since “love is blind regarding the loved one,” as Plato says, and it is rather our enemies who by their unseemly conduct afford us an opportunity to view our own, neither our joy at their failures nor our sorrow at their successes ought to go without being employed to some purpose, but we should take into account both their failures and successes in studying how by guarding against the former we may be better than they, and by imitating the latter no worse.

## On having many friends

[De amic. mult. 1] 93 1 1 Meno, the Thessalian, who felt that he had had a good training in debating, and, to quote Empedocles’ familiar expression, was
[De amic. mult. 1b] Haunting the lofty heights of wisdom,
was asked by Socrates what virtue is; and when he replied impulsively and promptly that there is a virtue appropriate to a child and to an old man, to a grown man and to a woman, to a public official and to a private citizen, to a master and to a servant, Socrates exclaimed, “A fine answer! for when asked for one virtue you have stirred up a whole swarm of virtues,” inferring, not badly, that it was because the man knew not a single virtue that he was naming so many. And might not we also be subject to ridicule because we, who are not yet in secure possession of one friendship, are afraid that we may unwittingly become involved in a multitude of friendships? We hardly differ at all from a man who, being maimed or blind, is afraid that he may become a Briareus of the hundred hands or an Argus all-seeing. And yet we commend above measure the youth in Menander’s play who says that any man counts it a marvellous good thing
[De amic. mult. 1c] If he but have the shadow of a friend.
[De amic. mult. 2] 2 1 One thing which stands out among many others, as particularly antagonistic to our acquisition of friendship, is the craving for numerous friends, which is like that of licentious women, for because of our frequent intimacies with many different persons we cannot keep our hold on our earlier associates, who are neglected and drift away. A better comparison, perhaps, is the nursling of Hypsipyle, who seated himself in the meadow, and
[De amic. mult. 2b] One after another caught up
Handfuls of flowers with joyful heart,
But with childhood’s yearning unsated.
[De amic. mult. 2c] So it is with all of us: because anything new attracts us but soon palls on us, it is always the recent and freshly blooming friend that allures us and makes us change our minds, even while we are busy with many beginnings of friendship and intimacy at the same time, which go but little further, since, in our longing for the person we pursue, we pass over the one already within our grasp.
[De amic. mult. 2d] In the first place, then, let us begin at the hearth-stone, as the saying is, with the story of men’s lives which history has left us regarding steadfast friends, and let us take as witness and counsellor in our discussion the long and distant ages in which are mentioned, as paired in the bond of friendship, Theseus and Peirithoüs, Achilles and Patroclus, Orestes and Pylades, Phintias and Damon, Epameinondas and Pelopidas. For friendship is a creature that seeks a companion; it is not like cattle and crows that flock and herd together, and to look upon one’s friend as another self and to call him “brother” as though to suggest “th’other,” is nothing but a way of using duality as a measure of friendship. It is impossible to acquire either many slaves or many friends with little coin. What then is the coin of friendship? It is goodwill and graciousness combined with virtue, than which nature has nothing more rare. It follows, then, that a strong mutual friendship with many persons is impossible, but, just as rivers whose waters are divided among branches and channels flow weak and thin, so affection, naturally strong in a soul, if portioned out among many persons become utterly enfeebled. This is the reason why, in the case of animals, love for their young is more strongly implanted by nature in those that give birth to but one at a time; 94 and Homer’s name for a beloved son is “the only one, child of our eld,” that is to say, born to parents who neither have nor can ever have another child.
[De amic. mult. 3] 3 1 We do not maintain that our friend should be “the only one,” but along with others let there be some “child of our eld” and “late-begotten,” as it were, who has consumed with us in the course of time the proverbial bushel of salt, not as is the fashion nowadays, by which many get the name of friend by drinking a single glass together, or by spending a night under the same roof, and so pick up a friendship from inn, gymnasium, or market-place.
[De amic. mult. 3b] In the houses of rich men and rulers, the people see a noisy throng of visitors offering their greetings and shaking hands and playing the part of armed retainers, and they think that those who have so many friends must be happy. Yet they can see a far greater number of flies in those persons’ kitchens. But the flies do not stay on after the good food is gone, nor the retainers after their patron’s usefulness is gone. But true friendship seeks after three things above all else: virtue as a good thing, intimacy as a pleasant thing, and usefulness as a necessary thing, for a man ought to use judgement before accepting a friend, and to enjoy being with him and to use him when in need of him, and all these things stand in the way of one’s having many friends; but most in the way is the first (which is the most important) — the approval through judgement. Therefore we must, in the first place, consider whether it is possible in a brief period of time to test dancers who are to dance together, or rowers who are to pull together, or servants who are to be guardians of property or attendants of children, let alone the testing of a multitude of friends who are to strip for a general contest with every kind of fortune, each one of whom
[De amic. mult. 3c] Puts his successes with the common store,
And shares in bad luck, too, without distress.
[De amic. mult. 3d] For no ship is launched upon the sea to meet so many storms, nor do men, when they erect protecting walls for strongholds, and dams and moles for harbours, anticipate perils so numerous and so great as those from which friendship, rightly and surely tried, promises a refuge and protection. But when some thrust their friendship upon us without being tried, and are found to be like bad coins when put to the test,
[De amic. mult. 3e] Those who are bereft rejoice,
And those who have them pray for some escape.
[De amic. mult. 3f] But here is the difficulty — that it is not easy to escape or to put aside an unsatisfactory friendship; but as harmful and disquieting food can neither be retained without causing pain and injury, nor ejected in the form in which it was taken in, but only as a disgusting and repulsive mess, so an unprincipled friend either causes pain and intense discomfort by his continued association, or else with accompanying enmity and hostility is forcibly ejected like bile.
[De amic. mult. 4] 4 1 We ought therefore not to accept readily chance acquaintances, or attach ourselves to them, nor ought we to make friends of those who seek after us, but rather we should seek after those who are worthy of friendship. For one should by no means take what can easily be taken. In fact we step over or thrust aside bramble and brier, which seize hold upon us, and make our way onward to the olive and the vine. Thus it is always an excellent thing not to make an intimate acquaintance of the man who is ready with his embraces, but rather, of our own motion, to embrace those of whom we approve as worthy of our attention and useful to us.
[De amic. mult. 5] 5 1 Just as Zeuxis, when some persons charged him with painting slowly, retorted by saying, “Yes, it takes me a long time, for it is to last long,” so it is necessary to preserve friendship and intimacy by adopting them only after spending a long time in passing judgement upon them. Is it, then, true that while it is not easy to pass judgement on a large number of friends, yet it is easy to associate with a large number at the same time, or is this also impossible? Now it is a fact that the enjoyment of friendship lies in its intimacy, and the pleasantest part of it is found in association and daily companionship:
[De amic. mult. 5b] Never in life again shall we take counsel together
Sitting apart from our comrades.
[De amic. mult. 5c] 95 And in regard to Odysseus, Menelaus says:
Else there were nothing
Which could have parted us twain in the midst of our love and enjoyment;
No, not till Death’s dark cloud had wrapped its shadow around us.
[De amic. mult. 5d] Now what is commonly called having a multitude of friends apparently produces the opposite result. For friendship draws persons together and unites them and keeps them united in a close fellowship by means of continual association and mutual acts of kindness —
[De amic. mult. 5e] Just as the fig-juice fastens the white milk firmly and binds it,
[De amic. mult. 5f] as Empedocles puts it (for such is the unity and consolidation that true friendship desires to effect); but, on the other hand, having a multitude of friends causes disunion, separation, and divergence, since, by calling one hither and thither, and transferring one’s attention now to this person, now to that, it does not permit any blending or close attachment of goodwill to take place in the intimacy which moulds itself about friendship and takes enduring form. This at once suggests also the inequality there must be and embarrassment about rendering services, since the very useful elements in friendship are rendered practically useless by having many friends. For
[De amic. mult. 5g] In divers men solicitude excites conduct diverse.
[De amic. mult. 5h] For neither do our natures tend in the same direction as our impulses, nor do we, day in and day out, meet with the same sort of fortune; and the occasions which prompt our various actions, like the winds, help some friends on their way, and are adverse to others.
[De amic. mult. 6] 6 1 But if all our friends want the same things at the same time, it is hard to satisfy all, in either their counsels, their public life, their ambitions, or their dispensing of hospitality. And if at one and the same time they chance to be occupied in diverse activities and experiences, and call upon us at the same instant, one to join him on a voyage to foreign parts, another to help him in defending a suit, another to sit with him as judge, another to help him in managing his buying and selling, another to help him celebrate his wedding, another to mourn with him at a funeral,
[De amic. mult. 6b] The city is with burning incense filled;
Full too of joyous hymns and doleful groans
[De amic. mult. 6c] is the possession of a host of friends. It is impossible to be with them all, and unnatural to be with none, and yet to do a service to one alone, and thus to offend many, is a source of vexation:
[De amic. mult. 6d] For fond affection does not brook neglect.
[De amic. mult. 6e] Yet people are more tolerant of acts of negligence and remissness on the part of their friends, and they accept from them without anger such excuses as “I forgot,” “I didn’t know.” But the man who says, “I did not appear with you when your case was in court, for I was appearing with another friend,” and “I did not come and see you when you had fever, for I was busy helping so-and so to entertain some friends,” thus alleging, as the reason for his inattention, his attention to others, does not absolve himself from blame, but only aggravates the trouble by arousing jealousy. But most people, apparently, look at the possession of a host of friends merely from the point of view of what such friendships are able to bestow, and overlook what these demand in return, forgetting that he who accepts the services of many for his needs must in turn render like service to many in their need. Therefore, just as Briareus in purveying for fifty bellies with an hundred hands had no advantage over us who manage one stomach with what two hands provide, so in making use of many friends is involved also serving many, and sharing in their anxieties, preoccupations, and troubles. For no credence is to be given to Euripides when he says:
[De amic. mult. 6f] In the friendship which mortals with each other form
Moderation should rule, and it never should reach
To the souls’ inmost marrow; and easy to loose
Should the spells ever be that are laid on the mind
So to thrust them aside or to draw them close,
[De amic. mult. 6g] thus easing off one’s friendship or hauling it close according to exigencies, like the sheet of a ship’s sail. But let us, my dear Euripides, turn the application of this advice to our enmities, and advise the use of “moderation” in our disagreements, “not reaching the souls’ inmost marrow,” and that hatred, anger, complainings, and suspicions be “easy to loose,” 96 and commend rather to us the Pythagorean maxim, “not to clasp hands with many”; that is, not to make many friends nor to welcome a common and indiscriminate friendship, or even a friendship with one person, if the coming of any friendship into one’s life brings with it many afflictions, wherein refusal to share the other’s anxieties, burdens, toils, and dangers is altogether intolerable for free-born and generous persons.
[De amic. mult. 7] There is truth in the remark of the wise Chilon, who, in answer to the man who boasted of having no enemy, said, “The chances are that you have no friend either.” For enmities follow close upon friendships, and are interwoven with them, inasmuch as 7 bit is impossible for a friend not to share his friend’s wrongs or disrepute or disfavour; for a man’s enemies at once look with suspicion and hatred upon his friend, and oftentimes his other friends are envious and jealous, and try to get him away. As the oracle given to Timesias about his colony prophesied:
[De amic. mult. 7b] Soon shall your swarms of honey-bees turn out to be hornets,
[De amic. mult. 7c] so, in like manner, men who seek for a swarm of friends unwittingly run afoul of hornet’s nests of enemies.
[De amic. mult. 7d] Besides, the resentment of an enemy and the gratitude of a friend do not weigh equally in the balance. See what treatment Alexander meted out to the friends and family of Philotas and Parmenio, Dionysius those of Dion, Nero those of Plautus, and Tiberius those of Sejanus, torturing and killing them. For as the golden crown and the robe of Creon’s daughter did not help Creon, but, as he suddenly ran to her and clasped her in his arms, the fire, fastening upon him, burned him up and destroyed him as well as his daughter, so some persons without deriving any benefit from their friends’ good fortunes, perish with them in their misfortunes. This is the experience especially of men of culture and refinement, as Theseus, for example, shared with Peirithoüs his punishment and imprisonment,
[De amic. mult. 7e] Yoked fast in duty’s bonds not forged by man,
and Thucydides asserts that in the pestilence those who had the highest claim to virtue perished with their friends who were ill; for they did not spare themselves in going, as they did, to visit those who had claims on their friendship.
[De amic. mult. 8] 8 1 For these reasons it is not a fit thing to be thus unsparing of our virtue, uniting and intertwining it now with one and now with another, but rather only with those who are qualified to keep up the same participation, that is to say, those who are able, in a like manner, to love and participate. For herein plainly is the greatest obstacle of all to having a multitude of friends, in that friendship comes into being through likeness. Indeed, if even the brute beasts are made to mate with others unlike themselves only by forcible compulsion, and crouch aside, and show resentment as they try to escape from each other, while with animals of their own race and kind they consort with mutual satisfaction, and welcome the participation with a ready goodwill, how then is it possible for friendship to be engendered in differing characters, unlike feelings, and lives which hold to other principles? It is true that the harmony produced on harp and lyre gets its consonance through tones of dissonant pitch, a likeness being somehow engendered between the higher and the lower notes; but in our friendship’s consonance and harmony there must be no element unlike, uneven, or unequal, but all must be alike to engender agreement in words, counsels, opinions, and feelings, and it must be as if one soul were apportioned among two or more bodies.
[De amic. mult. 9] 9 1 What man is there, then, so indefatigable, so changeable, so universally adaptable, that he can assimilate and accommodate himself to many persons, without deriding the advice of Theognis when he says:
[De amic. mult. 9b] Copy this trait of the cuttle-fish, which changes its colour
So as to seem to the eye like to the rock where it clings?
[De amic. mult. 9c] However, the changes in the cuttle-fish have no depth, but are wholly on the surface, which, owing to its closeness or looseness of texture, takes up the emanations from objects which come near to it; whereas friendships seek to effect a thorough-going likeness in characters, feelings, language, pursuits, and dispositions. Such varied adaptation were the task of a Proteus, not fortunate and not at all scrupulous, who by magic can change himself often on the very instant from one character to another, reading books with the scholarly, rolling in the dust with wrestlers, following the hunt with sportsmen, getting drunk with topers, and taking part in the canvass of politicians, possessing no firmly founded character of his own. And as the natural philosophers say of the formless and colourless substance band material which is the underlying basis of everything and of itself turns into everything, that it is now in a state of combustion, now liquefied, at another time aeriform, and then again solid, so the possession of a multitude of friends will necessarily have, as its underlying basis, a soul that is very impressionable, versatile, pliant, and readily changeable. But friendship seeks for a fixed and steadfast character which does not shift about, but continues in one place and in one intimacy. For this reason a steadfast friend is something rare and hard to find.

## On Fortune

[De fort. 1] 97) MAN’S WAYS are chance and not sagacity.
[De fort. 1b] Is it true that man’s ways are not justice either, or equality, or self-control, or decorum, but was it the result of chance and because of chance that Aristeides persevered in his poverty when he could have made himself master of great wealth, and that Scipio, having captured Carthage, neither took nor saw any of the spoil? Was it the result of chance and because of chance that Philocrates, having received money from Philip, “proceeded to spend it on trulls and trout,” and was it due to chance that Lasthenes and Euthycrates lost Olynthus, “measuring happiness by their bellies and the most shameless deeds”? Was it the result of chance that Alexander, the son of Philip, forbore to touch the captive women himself and punished those who offered them insult, and, on the other hand, was it because the Alexander who was the son of Priam yielded to the dictates of an evil genius or of chance that he lay with the wife of his host, and by her abduction filled two of our three continents with war and woes? For if these things happen because of chance, what is to hinder our saying that cats, goats, and apes because of chance are given over to greediness, lustfulness, and mischievous tricks?
[De fort. 2] 2 1 If self-control, justice, and bravery exist, how is it possible to reason that intelligence does not exist; and if intelligence exists, must not sagacity exist also? For self-control is a kind of intelligence, they say, and justice requires the presence of intelligence. Or rather, that particular sagacity and intelligence which render men virtuous in the midst of pleasures we call continence and self-control, in perils and labours we call it perseverance and fortitude, in private dealings and in public life we call it equity and justice. Wherefore, if we impute the works of sagacity to chance, let the works of justice and of self-control be also ascribed to chance, and, by Heaven, let thieving, stealing purses, and licentious living all be ascribed to chance, and let us abandon all our reasoning processes and resign ourselves to chance, to be driven and carried, as dust or rubbish by a violent wind, hither and thither. If, then, sagacity does not exist, it is a fair inference that there can be no sagacious planning about what is to be done, and no consideration of searching for what is to the best advantage, but Sophocles indulged in idle talk when he said:
[De fort. 2b] 98 Whatever is pursued
May be achieved; neglected it escapes;
[De fort. 2c] and so too in another place where he tries to distinguish different classes of actions:
[De fort. 2d] What can be taught I learn; what can be found
I seek; but God I ask to answer prayer.
[De fort. 2e] For what is there which can be found out or learned by mankind if the issue of all things is determined by chance? And what deliberative assembly of a State can there be which is not abolished, or advisory council of a king which is not dissolved, if all things are under the dominion of chance, which we reproach for being blind because we, like blind men, stumble against it? How can we help doing so when we pluck out sagacity, as it were our own eyes, and take as our guide in life a blind leader?
[De fort. 3] 3 1 Yet, suppose someone among us should say that the act of seeing is chance and not vision nor the use of “light-bringing orbs,” as Plato calls the eyes, and that the act of hearing is chance and not a faculty apperceptive of a vibration in the air which is carried onward through ear and brain. If such were the case, it were well for us, as it appears, to beware of trusting our senses! But, as a matter of fact, Nature has conferred upon us sight, hearing, taste, smell, and our other members and their faculties to be ministers of sagacity and intelligence, and
[De fort. 3b] Mind has sight and mind has hearing; all the rest is deaf and blind.
Precisely as would be our case if the sun did not exist, and we, for all the other stars, should be passing our life in a continual night, as Heracleitus affirms, so man, for all his senses, had he not mind and reason, would not differ at all in his life from the brutes. But as it is, we excel them and have power over them, not from chance or accidentally, but the cause thereof is Prometheus, or, in other words, the power to think and reason,
[De fort. 3c] Which gives the foal of horse and ass, and get
Of bull, to serve us, and assume our tasks,
[De fort. 3d] as Aeschylus puts it. Certainly, in so far as chance and nature’s endowment at birth are concerned, the great majority of brute animals are better off than man. For some are armed with horns, or teeth, or stings, and Empedocles says,
[De fort. 3e] But as for hedgehogs
Growing upon their backs sharp darts of spines stand bristling,
[De fort. 3f] and still others are shod and clad with scales or hair, with claws or horny hoofs. Man alone, as Plato says, “naked, unarmed, with feet unshod, and with no bed to lie in,” has been abandoned by Nature.
[De fort. 3g] Yet by one gift all this she mitigates,
the gift of reasoning, diligence, and forethought.
[De fort. 3h] Slight, of a truth, is the strength of man; and yet
By his mind’s resourcefulness
Doth he subjugate the monsters
Of the deep, and the purposes
Of the denizens of earth and air.
[De fort. 3i] Horses are the lightest and swiftest of foot, yet they run for man. The dog is pugnacious and spirited, yet it watches over man. Fish is most savoury, and the pig very fat, yet for man they are nourishing and appetizing food. What is bigger than an elephant or more terrible to behold? But even this creature has been made the plaything of man, and a spectacle at public gatherings, and it learns to posture and dance and kneel. Such presentations are not without their use; indeed, they serve a purpose fin that we may learn to what heights man’s intelligence raises him, above what it places him, and how he is master of all things, and in every way superior.
[De fort. 3j] No, we are not invincible either in boxing or wrestling,
Nor are we swift in the race.
[De fort. 3k] Indeed, in all these matters we are not so fortunate as the animals; yet we make use of experience, memory, wisdom, and skill, as Anaxagoras says, which are ours, and ours only, and we take their honey, and milk them, and carry and lead them at will, taking entire control over them. In all this, therefore, there is no element of chance at all, but solely and wholly sagacity and forethought.
[De fort. 4] 4 1 99 Moreover, under the head of “man’s ways” would fall, no doubt, the activities of carpenters, copper-smiths, builders, and statuaries, wherein we see nothing brought to a successful conclusion accidentally or as it chances. That chance may sometimes contribute slightly to their success, but that the arts through themselves bring to perfection the most and greatest of their works, in plainly suggested by this poet:
[De fort. 4b] Into the highway come, all craftsmen folk,
Who worship Labour, stern-eyed child of Zeus,
With sacred baskets placed about.
[De fort. 4c] For the arts have Labour, that is Athena, and not Chance as their coadjutor. Of just one artist, however, it is related that in painting a horse he had succeeded in nearly every respect in the drawing and colours, but the frothy appearance of the foam from champing the bit, and the rush of the foam-flecked breath, he had tried again and again to paint, but without success, and each time had wiped it out, until finally, in a rage, he threw his sponge, just as it was, full of pigments, at the canvas, and this, as it struck, transferred its contents in some amazing manner to the canvas, and effected the desired result. This is the only recorded instance of a technical achievement due to chance. Rulers, weights, measures, and numbers are everywhere in use, so that the random and haphazard may find no place in any production. Indeed, the arts are said to be minor forms of intelligence, or rather offshoots of intelligence, and detached fragments of it interspersed amid life’s common necessities, as it is said in the allegory regarding fire, that it was divided into portions by Prometheus and scattered some here and some there. For thus, when intelligence is finely broken and divided, small portions and fragments of it have gone to their several stations.
[De fort. 5] 5 1 It is therefore amazing how, if the arts have no need of chance to accomplish their own ends, the greatest and most perfect art of all, the consummation of the high repute and esteem to which man can attain, can count for nothing! But in the tightening and loosening of strings there is involved a certain sagacity, which men call music, and also in the preparation of food, to which we give the name of cookery, and in the cleaning of clothes, which we call fulling; and we teach our children to put on their shoes and clothes, and to take their meat with the right hand and hold their bread in the left, on the assumption that even these things do not come by chance, but require oversight and attention. But can it be that those things which are most important and most essential for happiness do not call for intelligence, nor have any part in the processes of reason and forethought? But nobody wets clay with water and leaves it, assuming that by chance and accidentally there will be bricks, nor after providing himself with wool and leather does he sit down with a prayer to Chance that they turn into a cloak and shoes for him; and when a man has amassed much gold and silver and a multitude of slaves, and has surrounded himself with spacious suites of rooms, and, in addition, has furnished them with costly couches and tables, does he imagine that these things, without the presence of intelligence in himself, will be happiness and a blissful life, free from grief and secure from change?
[De fort. 6] Somebody asked Iphicrates the general, as though undertaking to expose him, who he was, since he was “neither a man-at arms, nor archer, nor targeteer”; and he answered, “I am the man who commands and makes use of all these.” 6 Intelligence is not gold or silver or repute or wealth or health or strength or beauty. What then is it? It is the something which is able to make good use of all these, and something through whose agency each of these is made pleasant, noteworthy, and profitable. Without it they are unserviceable, fruitless, and harmful, and they burden and disgrace their possessor. It is surely excellent advice that Hesiod’s Prometheus gives to Epimetheus:
[De fort. 6b] Never to welcome
Any gifts from Zeus of Olympus, but always return them,
[De fort. 6c] 100 meaning the gifts of chance and external advantages; as if he were advising him not to play the flute if ignorant of music, nor to read if illiterate, nor to ride if unused to horses, thus advising him not to hold public office if a fool, nor to be rich if miserly, nor to marry if ruled by a woman. For not only is it true, as Demosthenes has said, that “undeserved success becomes a source of misconception for fools,” but undeserved good fortune also becomes a source of misery for the unthinking.

## Virtue and Vice

[De virt. et vit. 1] 1 1 100 Clothes are supposed to make a man warm, not of course by warming him themselves in the sense of adding their warmth to him, because each garment by itself is cold, and for this reason very often persons who feel hot and feverish keep changing from one set of clothes to another; but the warmth which a man gives off from his own person the clothing, closely applied to the body, confines and enwraps, and does not allow it, when thus imprisoned in the body, to be dissipated again. Now the same condition existing in human affairs deceives most people, who think that, if they surround themselves with vast houses, and get together a mass of slaves and money, they shall live pleasantly. But a pleasant and happy life comes not from external things, but, on the contrary, man draws on his own character as a source from which to add the element of pleasure and joy to the things which surround him.
[De virt. et vit. 1b] Bright with a blazing fire a house looks far more cheerful,
[De virt. et vit. 1c] and wealth is pleasanter, and repute and power more resplendent, if with them goes the gladness which springs from the heart; and so too men bear poverty, exile, and old age lightly and gently in proportion to the serenity and mildness of their character.
[De virt. et vit. 2] 2 1 As perfumes make coarse and ragged garments fragrant, but the body of Anchises gave off a noisome exudation,
[De virt. et vit. 2b] Damping the linen robe adown his back,
[De virt. et vit. 2c] so every occupation and manner of life, if attended by virtue, is untroubled and delightful, while, on the other hand, any admixture of vice renders those things which to others seem splendid, precious, in imposing, only troublesome, sickening, and unwelcome to their possessors.
[De virt. et vit. 2d] This man is happy deemed ‘mid public throng,
But when he opes his door he’s thrice a wretch;
His wife controls, commands, and always fights.
[De virt. et vit. 2e] Yet it is not difficult for any man to get rid of a bad wife if he be a real man and not a slave; but against his own vice it is not possible to draw up a writing of divorcement and forthwith to be rid of troubles and to be at peace, having arranged to be by himself. No, his vice, a settled tenant of his very vitals always, both at night and by day,
[De virt. et vit. 2f] Burns, but without e’er a brand, and consigns to an eld all untimely.
[De virt. et vit. 2g] For in travelling vice is a troublesome companion because of arrogance, at dinner an expensive companion owing to gluttony, and a distressing bedfellow, since by anxieties, cares and jealousies it drives out and destroys sleep. For what slumber there may be is sleep and repose for the body only, but for the soul terrors, dreams, and agitations, because of superstition.
[De virt. et vit. 2h] When grief o’ertakes me as I close my eyes,
I’m murdered by my dreams.
[De virt. et vit. 2i] says one man. In such a state do envy, fear, temper, and licentiousness put a man. For by day vice, looking outside of itself and conforming its attitude to others, 101 is abashed and veils its emotions, and does not give itself up completely to its impulses, but oftentimes resists them and struggles against them; but in the hours of slumber, when it has escaped from opinion and law, and got away as far as possible from feeling fear or shame, it sets every desire stirring, and awakens its depravity and licentiousness. It “attempts incest,” as Plato says, partakes of forbidden meats, abstains from nothing which it wishes to do, but revels in lawlessness so far as it can, with images and visions which end in no pleasure or accomplishment of desire, but have only the power to stir to fierce activity the emotional and morbid propensities.
[De virt. et vit. 3] 3 1 Where, then, is the pleasure in vice, if in no part of it is to be found freedom from care and grief, or contentment or tranquillity or calm? For a well-balanced and healthy condition of the body gives room for engendering the pleasures of the flesh; but in the soul lasting joy and gladness cannot possibly be engendered, unless it provide itself first with cheerfulness, fearlessness, and courageousness as a basis to rest upon, or as a calm tranquillity that no billows disturb; otherwise, even though some hope or delectation lure us with a smile, anxiety suddenly breaks forth, like a hidden rock appearing in fair weather, and the soul is overwhelmed and confounded.
[De virt. et vit. 4] 4 1 c Heap up gold, amass silver, build stately promenades, fill your house with slaves and the city with your debtors; unless you lay level the emotions of your soul, put a stop to your insatiate desires, and quit yourself of fears and anxieties, you are but decanting wine for a man in a fever, offering honey to a bilious man, and preparing tid-bits and dainties for sufferers from colic or dysentery, who cannot retain them or be strengthened by them, but are only brought nearer to death thereby. Does not your observation of sick persons teach you that they dislike and reject and decline the finest and costliest viands which their attendants offer and try to force upon them; and then later, when their whole condition has changed, and good breathing, wholesome blood, and normal temperature have returned to their bodies, they get up and have joy and satisfaction in eating plain bread with cheese and cress? It is such a condition that reason creates in the soul. You will be contented with your lot if you learn what the honourable and good is. You will be luxurious in poverty, and live like a king, and you will find no less satisfaction in the care-free life of a private citizen than in the life connected with high military or civic office. If you become a philosopher, you will live not unpleasantly, but you will learn to subsist pleasantly anywhere and with any resources. Wealth will give you gladness for the good you will do to many, poverty for your freedom from many cares, repute for the honours you will enjoy, and obscurity for the certainty that you shall not be envied.

## Letter of condolence to Apollonius

[Cons. ad Apoll. 1] 101 F even before this time, Apollonius, I felt for you in your sorrow and trouble, when I heard of the untimely passing from life of your son, who was very dear to us all — a youth who was altogether decorous and modest, and unusually observant of the demands of religion and justice both toward the gods and towards his parents and friends. 102 In those days, close upon the time of his death, to visit you and urge you to bear your present lot as a mortal man should have been unsuitable, when you were prostrated in both body and soul by the unexpected calamity; and, besides, I could not help sharing in your feeling. For even the best of physicians do not at once apply the remedy of medicines against acute attacks of suppurating humours, but allow the painfulness of the inflammation, without the application of external medicaments, to attain some assuagement of itself.
[Cons. ad Apoll. 2] 2 1 Now since time, which is wont to assuage all things, has intervened since the calamity, and your present condition seems to demand the aid of your friends, I have conceived it to be proper to communicate to you some words that can give comfort, for the mitigation of grief and the termination of mournful and vain lamentations. For
[Cons. ad Apoll. 2b] Words are physicians for an ailing mind,
When at the fitting time one soothes the heart.
[Cons. ad Apoll. 2c] Since, according to the wise Euripides,
For divers ills are remedies diverse:
The kindly speech of friends for one in grief,
And admonitions when one plays the fool.
[Cons. ad Apoll. 2d] Indeed, though there are many emotions that affect the soul, yet grief, from its nature, is the most cruel of all. They say:
[Cons. ad Apoll. 2e] To many there doth come because of grief
Insanity and ills incurable,
And some for grief have ended their own life.
[Cons. ad Apoll. 3] 3 1 The pain and pang felt at the death of a son has in itself good cause to awaken grief, which is only natural, and over it we have no control. For I, for my part, cannot concur with those who extol that harsh and callous indifference, which is both impossible and unprofitable. For this will rob us of the kindly feeling which comes from mutual affection and which above all else we must conserve. But to be carried beyond all bounds and to help in exaggerating our griefs I say is contrary to nature, and results from our depraved ideas. Therefore this also must be dismissed as injurious and depraved and most unbecoming to right-minded men, but a moderate indulgence is not to be disapproved. “Pray that we be not ill,” says Crantor of the Academy, “but if we be ill, pray that sensation be left us, whether one of our members be cut off or torn out.” For this insensibility to pain is attained by man only at a great price; for in the former case, we may suppose, it is the body which has been brutalized into such insensibility, but in the latter case the soul.
[Cons. ad Apoll. 4] 4 1 Reason therefore requires that men of understanding should be neither indifferent in such calamities nor extravagantly affected; for the one course is unfeeling and brutal, the other lax and effeminate. Sensible is he who keeps within appropriate bounds and is able to bear judiciously both the agreeable and the grievous in his lot, and who has made up his mind beforehand to conform uncomplainingly and obediently to the dispensation of things; just as in a democracy there is an allotment of offices, and he who draws the lot holds office, while he who fails to do so must bear his fortune without taking offence. For those who cannot do this would be Funable sensibly and soberly to abide good fortune either.
[Cons. ad Apoll. 4b] Among the felicitous utterances the following piece of advice is to the point:
Let no success be so unusual
That it excite in you too great a pride,
Nor abject be in turn, if ill betide;
But ever be the same; preserve unchanged
Your nature, like to gold when tried by fire.
[Cons. ad Apoll. 4c] It is the mark of educated and disciplined men to keep the same habit of mind toward seeming prosperity, 103 and nobly to maintain a becoming attitude toward adversity. For it is the take of rational prudence, either to be on guard against evil as it approaches, or, if it have already happened, to rectify it or to minimize it or to provide oneself with a virile and noble patience to endure it. For wisdom deals also with the good, in a fourfold way — either acquiring a store of goods, or conserving them, or adding to them, or using them judiciously. These are the laws of wisdom and of the other virtues, and they must be followed for better fortune or for worse. For
[Cons. ad Apoll. 4d] No man exists who’s blest in everything,
and truly
What thou must do cannot be made “must not.”
[Cons. ad Apoll. 5] 5 1 For as there are in plants at one time seasons of fruitage and at another time seasons of unfruitfulness, and in animals at one time fecundity and at another time barrenness, and on the sea both fair weather and storm, so also in life many diverse circumstances occur which bring about a reversal of human fortunes. As one contemplates these reversals he might say not inappropriately:
[Cons. ad Apoll. 5b] Not for good and no ill came thy life from thy sire,
Agamemnon, but joy
Thou shalt find interwoven with grief;
For a mortal man thou art. Though against thy desire
Yet the plans of the gods will so have it.
[Cons. ad Apoll. 5c] and the words of Menander:
If you alone, young master, at your birth
Had gained the right to do whate’er you would
Through your life, and ever be in luck,
And if some god agreed to this with you,
Then you have right to feel aggrieved. He has
Deceived and strangely treated you. But if
Upon the selfsame terms as we, you drew
The primal breath of universal life
D(To speak you somewhat in the tragic style),
You must endure this better, and use sense,
To sum up all I say, you are a man,
Than which no thing that lives can swifter be
Exalted high and straight brought low again.
[Cons. ad Apoll. 5d] And rightly so; for though of puny frame,
He yet doth handle many vast affairs,
And, falling, ruins great prosperity.
[Cons. ad Apoll. 5e] But you, young master, have not forfeited
Surpassing good, and these your present ills
But moderate are; so bear without excess
What Fortune may hereafter bring to you.
[Cons. ad Apoll. 5f] But, in spite of this condition of affairs, some persons, through their foolishness, are so silly and conceited, that, when only a little exalted, either because of abundance of money, or importance of office, or petty political preferments, or because of position and repute, they threaten and insult those in lower station, not bearing in mind the uncertainty and inconstancy of fortune, nor yet the fact that the lofty is easily brought low and the humble in turn is exalted, transposed by the swift-moving changes of fortune. Therefore to try to find any constancy in what is in constant is a trait of people who do not rightly reason about the circumstances of life. For
[Cons. ad Apoll. 5g] The wheel goes round, and of the rim now one
And now another part is at the top.
[Cons. ad Apoll. 6] 6 1 Reason is the best remedy for the cure of grief, reason and the preparedness through reason for all the changes of life. For one ought to realize that, not merely that he himself is mortal by nature, but also that he is allotted to a life that is mortal and to conditions which readily reverse themselves. 104 For men’s bodies are indeed mortal, lasting but a day, and mortal is all they experience and suffer, and, in a word, everything in life; and all this
[Cons. ad Apoll. 6b] May not be escaped nor avoided by mortals
at all, but
The depths of unseen Tartarus hold you fast by hard-forged necessities,
[Cons. ad Apoll. 6c] as Pindar says. Whence Demetrius of Phalerum was quite right when, in reference to a saying of Euripides:
[Cons. ad Apoll. 6d] Wealth is inconstant, lasting but a day,
and also:
Small things may cause an overthrow; one day
Puts down the mighty and exalts the low,
[Cons. ad Apoll. 6e] he said that it was almost all admirably put, but it would have been better if he had said not “one day,” but “one second of time.”
[Cons. ad Apoll. 6f] Alike the cycle of earth’s fruitful plants
And mortal men. For some life grows apace,
While others perish and are gathered home.
[Cons. ad Apoll. 6g] And elsewhere Pindar says:
Somebody? Nobody? Which is which?
[Cons. ad Apoll. 6h] A dream of a shadow is man.
[Cons. ad Apoll. 6i] Very vividly and skilfully did he use this extravagance of expression in making clear the life of mankind. For what is feebler than a shadow? And a dream of it! — that is something which defies any clear description. In similar strain Crantor, endeavouring to comfort Hippocles upon the death of his children, says: “All our ancient philosophy states this and urges it upon us; and though there be therein other things which we do not accept, yet at any rate the statement that life is oftentimes toilsome and hard is only too true. For even if it is not so by nature, yet through our own selves it has reached this state of corruption. From a distant time, yes from the beginning, this uncertain fortune has attended us to no good end, and even at our birth there is conjoined with us a portion of evil in everything. For the very seed of life, since it is mortal, participates in this causation, and from this there steal upon us defectiveness of soul, diseases of body, loss of friends by death, and the common portion of mortals.”
[Cons. ad Apoll. 6j] For what reason have we turned our thoughts in this direction? It is that we may know that misfortune is nothing novel for man, but that we all have had the same experience of it. For Theophrastus says: “Fortune is heedless, and she has a wonderful power to take away the fruits of our labours and to overturn our seeming tranquillity, and for doing this she has no fixed season.” These matters, and others like them, it is easy for each man to reason out for himself, and to learn them from wise men of old besides; of whom the first is the divine Homer, who said:
[Cons. ad Apoll. 6k] Nothing more wretched than man doth the earth support on its bosom,
Never, he says to himself, shall he suffer from evil hereafter,
Never, so long as the gods give him strength and his knees are still nimble;
Then when the blessed gods bring upon him grievous affliction,
Still he endures his misfortune, reluctant but steadfast in spirit.
[Cons. ad Apoll. 6l] And:
Such is the mood of the men who here on the earth are abiding,
E’en as the day which the father of men and of gods brings upon them.
[Cons. ad Apoll. 6m] And in another place:
Great-hearted son of Tydeus, why do you ask of my fathers?
[Cons. ad Apoll. 6n] As is the race of the leaves, such too is that of all mortals.
[Cons. ad Apoll. 6o] Some of the leaves doth the winds scatter earthward, and others the forest
Budding puts forth in profusion, and springtime is coming upon us.
[Cons. ad Apoll. 6p] Thus is man’s race: one enters on life, and another’s life ceases.
[Cons. ad Apoll. 6q] That he has admirably made use of this image of human life is clear from what he says in another place, in these words:
[Cons. ad Apoll. 6r] To fight for the sake of mortals
Wretched, who like to the leaves, at the one time all ardent
Come to their fitting perfection, and eat of the fruit of their acres;
Then again helpless they perish, nor is there aught that can help them.
[Cons. ad Apoll. 6s] 105 Pausanias, king of the Lacedaemonians, who persistently boasted of his own exploits, mockingly urged the lyric poet Simonides to rehearse for him some wise saying, whereupon the poet, being fully cognizant of his conceit, advised him to remember that he was only human.
[Cons. ad Apoll. 6t] Philip, the king of the Macedonians, happened to have three pieces of good news reported to him all at once: the first, that he was victor at the Olympic games in the race of the four-horse chariots; the second, that Parmenio, his general, had vanquished the Dardanians in battle, and the third, that Olympias had borne him a male child; whereupon, stretching out his hands toward the heavens, he said: “O God, offset all this by some moderate misfortune!” For he well knew that in cases of great prosperity fortune is wont to be jealous.
[Cons. ad Apoll. 6u] While Theramenes, who afterwards became one of the Thirty Tyrants at Athens, was dining with several others, the house, in which they were, collapsed, and he was the only one to escape death; but as he was being congratulated by everybody, he raised his voice and exclaimed in a loud tone, “O Fortune, for what occasion are you reserving me?” And not long afterward he came to his end by torture at the hands of his fellow tyrants.
[Cons. ad Apoll. 7] 7 1 The Poet is regarded as extraordinarily successful in bestowing consolation, where he represents Achilles as speaking to Priam, who has come to ransom Hector, as follows:
[Cons. ad Apoll. 7b] Come then and rest on a seat; let us suffer our sorrows to slumber
Quietly now in our bosoms, in spite of our woeful afflictions;
Nothing is ever accomplished by yielding to chill lamentation.
[Cons. ad Apoll. 7c] Thus, then, the gods have spun the fate of unhappy mortals,
Ever to live in distress, but themselves are free from all trouble.
[Cons. ad Apoll. 7d] Fixed on Zeus’ floor two massive urns stand for ever,
Filled with gifts of all ills that he gives, and another of blessings;
He on whom Zeus, god of thunder, bestows their contents commingled
Sometimes meets with the good, and again he meets only with evil.
[Cons. ad Apoll. 7e] Him upon whom he bestows what is baneful he makes wholly wretched;
Ravenous hunger drives him o’er the earth’s goodly bosom,
Hither and thither he goes, unhonoured of gods or of mortals.
[Cons. ad Apoll. 7f] Hesiod, who, although he proclaimed himself the disciple of the Muses, is nevertheless second to Homer in reputation as well as in time, also confines the evils in a great urn and represents Pandora as opening it and scattering the host of them over the whole land and sea. His words are as follows:
[Cons. ad Apoll. 7g] Then with her hands did the woman, uplifting the urn’s massive cover,
Let them go as they would; and on men she brought woeful afflictions.
[Cons. ad Apoll. 7h] Hope alone where it was, with its place of abode yet undamaged,
Under the rim of the urn still tarried; nor into the open
Winged its way forth; for before it escaped she had put on the cover.
[Cons. ad Apoll. 7i] More are the woes unnumbered among men now freely ranging.
[Cons. ad Apoll. 7j] Full is the land now of evils, and full of them too is the ocean:
Illnesses come upon men in the daytime, and others at night-time;
Hither and thither they go, of themselves bringing evils to mortals;
Silent they go, since the wisdom of Zeus has deprived them of voices.
[Cons. ad Apoll. 8] 8 1 Closely allied with this are the following words of the Poet spoken with reference to those whose grief over such calamities is excessive:
[Cons. ad Apoll. 8b] If only tears were remedy for ills,
And he who weeps obtained surcease of woe,
Then we should purchase tears by giving gold.
[Cons. ad Apoll. 8c] But as it is, events that come to pass,
My master, do not mind nor heed these things,
But, whether you shed tears or not, pursue
The even tenor of their way. What then
Do we accomplish by our weeping? Naught.
[Cons. ad Apoll. 8d] 106 But as the trees have fruit, grief has these tears.
[Cons. ad Apoll. 8e] And Dictys, who is trying to console Danaë in her excessive grief, says:
Think you that Hades minds your moans at all,
And will send back your child if you groan?
[Cons. ad Apoll. 8f] Desist. By viewing close your neighbour’s ills
You might be more composed, — if you reflect
How many mortals have to toil in bonds,
How many reft of children face old age,
And others still who from a prosperous reign
Sink down to nothing. This you ought to heed.
[Cons. ad Apoll. 8g] For he bids her to think of the lot of those who are equally unfortunate or even more unfortunate than herself, with the idea that her grief will be lightened.
[Cons. ad Apoll. 9] 9 1 In this connexion might be adduced the utterance of Socrates which suggests that if we were all to bring our misfortunes into a common store, so that each person should receive an equal share in the distribution, the majority would be glad to take up their own and depart.
[Cons. ad Apoll. 9b] The poet Antimachus, also, employed a similar method. For after the death of his wife, Lyde, whom he loved very dearly, he composed, as a consolation for his grief, the elegy called Lyde, In which he enumerated the misfortunes of the heroes, and thus made his own grief less by means of others’ ills. So it is clear that he who tries to console a person in grief, and demonstrates that the calamity is one which is common to many, and less than the calamities which have befallen others, changes the opinion of the one in grief and gives him a similar conviction — that his calamity is really less than he supposed it to be.
[Cons. ad Apoll. 10] 10 1 Aeschylus seems admirably to rebuke those who think that death is an evil. He says:
[Cons. ad Apoll. 10b] Men are not right in hating Death, which is
The greatest succour from our many ills.
[Cons. ad Apoll. 10c] In imitation of Aeschylus some one else has said:
O Death, healing physician, come.
[Cons. ad Apoll. 10d] For it is indeed true that
A harbour from all distress is Hades.
For it is a magnificent thing to be able to say with undaunted conviction:
What man who recks not death can be a slave?
[Cons. ad Apoll. 10e] and
With Hades’ help shadows I do not fear.
[Cons. ad Apoll. 10f] For what is there cruel or so very distressing in being dead? It may be that the phenomenon of death, from being too familiar and natural to us, seems somehow, under changed circumstances, to be painful, though I know not why. For what wonder if the separable be separated, if the combustible be consumed, and the corruptible be corrupted? For at what time is death not existent in our very selves? As Heracleitus says: “Living and dead are potentially the same thing, and so too waking and sleeping, and young and old; for the latter revert to the former, and the former in turn to the latter.” For as one is able from the same clay to model figures of living things and to obliterate them, and again to model and obliterate, and alternately to repeat these operations without ceasing, so Nature, using the same material, a long time ago raised up our forefathers, and then in close succession to them created our fathers, and then ourselves, and later will create others and still others in a never-ending cycle; and the stream of generation, thus flowing onward perpetually, will never stop, and so likewise its counterpart, flowing in the opposite direction — which is the stream of destruction, whether it be designated by the poets as Acheron or as Cocytus. The same agency which at the first showed us the light of the sun brings also the darkness of Hades. May not the air surrounding us serve to symbolize this, causing as it does day and night alternately, which bring us life and death, and sleep and waking? Wherefore it is said that life is a debt to destiny, the idea being that the loan which our forefathers contracted is to be repaid by us. 107 This debt we ought to discharge cheerfully and without bemoaning whenever the lender asks for payment; for in this way we should show ourselves to be most honourable men.
[Cons. ad Apoll. 11] 11 I imagine also that it was because Nature saw the indefiniteness and the brevity of life that she caused the time allowed us before death to be kept from us. And it is better so; for if we knew this beforehand, some persons would be utterly wasted by griefs before their time, and would be dead long before they died. Observe too the painfulness of life, and the exhaustion caused by many cares; if we should wish to enumerate all these, we should to readily condemn life, and we should confirm the opinion which now prevails in the minds of some that it is better to be dead than to live. Simonides at any rate says:
[Cons. ad Apoll. 11b] Petty indeed is men’s strength;
All their strivings are vain;
Toil upon toil in a life of no length.
[Cons. ad Apoll. 11c] Death hovers over them all,
Death which is foreordained,
Equal the share by the brave is attained
In death with the base.
[Cons. ad Apoll. 11d] And Pindar says:
A pair of miseries with each good
The deathless gods mete out to mortal man.
[Cons. ad Apoll. 11e] The foolish cannot bear them as they should.
[Cons. ad Apoll. 11f] And Sophocles says:
Mourn you a mortal if he’s passed away,
Not knowing if the future brings him gain?
[Cons. ad Apoll. 11g] And Euripides says:
Know you the nature of this mortal world?
[Cons. ad Apoll. 11h] CI wot not. For whence could you? But hear me,
By all mankind is owed a debt to death,
And not a single man can be assured
If he shall live throughout the coming day.
[Cons. ad Apoll. 11i] For Fortune’s movements are inscrutable.
[Cons. ad Apoll. 11j] Since, then, the life of men is such as these poets say it is, surely it is more fitting to felicitate those who have been released from their servitude in it than to pity them and bewail them, as the majority do through ignorance.
[Cons. ad Apoll. 12] 12 1 Socrates said that death resembles either a very deep sleep or a long and distant journey, or, thirdly, a sort of destruction and extinction of both the body and the soul, but that by no one of these possibilities is it an evil. Each of these conceptions he pursued further, and the first one first. For if death is a sleep, and there is nothing evil in the state of those who sleep, it is evident that there is likewise nothing evil in the state of those who are dead. Nay, what need is there even to state that the deepest sleep is indeed the sweetest? For the fact is of itself patent to all men, and Homer bears witness by saying regarding it:
[Cons. ad Apoll. 12b] Slumber the deepest and sweetest, and nearest to death in its semblance.
[Cons. ad Apoll. 12c] In another place also he says:
Here she chanced to encounter the brother of Death, which is Slumber,
and
Slumber and Death, the twin brothers,
[Cons. ad Apoll. 12d] thereby indicating this similarity in appearance, for twins show most similarity. And again somewhere he says that death is a “brazen sleep,” in allusion to our insensibility in it. And not inelegantly did the man seem to put the case who called “sleep the Lesser Mysteries of death”; for sleep is really a preparatory rite for death. Very wise was the remark of the cynic Diogenes, who, when he had sunk into slumber and was about to depart this life, was roused by his physician, who inquired if anything distressed him, “Nothing,” he said, “for the one brother merely forestalls the other.”
[Cons. ad Apoll. 13] 13 1 If death indeed resembles a journey, even so it is not an evil. On the contrary, it may even be a good. For to pass one’s time unenslaved by the flesh and its emotions, by which the mind is distracted and tainted with human folly, would be a blessed piece of good fortune. 108”For the body,” says Plato, “in countless ways leaves us no leisure because of its necessary care and feeding. Moreover, if any diseases invade it, they hinder our pursuit of reality, and it fills us with lusts and desires and fears and all manner of fancies and folly, so that, as the saying goes, because of it we really have no opportunity to think seriously of anything. It is a fact that wars and strifes and battles are brought about by nothing else except the body and its desires; for all wars are waged for the acquisition of property, and property we are forced to acquire because of the body, since we are slaves in its service; and the result is that, because of these things, we have no leisure for study. And the worst of all is, that even if we do gain some leisure from the demands of the body, and turn to the consideration of some subject, yet at every point in our investigation the body forces itself in, and causes tumult and confusion, and disconcerts us, so that on account of it we are unable to discern the truth. Nay, the fact has been thoroughly demonstrated to us that, if we are ever going to have any pure knowledge, we must divest ourselves of the body, and with the soul itself observe the realities. And, as it appears, we shall possess what we desire and what we profess to long for — and that is wisdom — only, as our reasoning shows, after we are dead, but not while we are alive. For if it is impossible in company with the body to have any pure knowledge, then one of two things is true: either it is not possible to attain knowledge anywhere, or else only after death. For then the soul will be quite by itself, separate from the body, but before that time never. And so, while we live, we shall, as it appears, be nearest to knowledge if, as far as possible, we have no association or communion with the body, except such as absolute necessity requires, and if we do not taint ourselves with its nature, but keep ourselves pure of it until such time as God himself shall release us. And thus, being rid of the irrationality of the body, we shall, in all likelihood, be in the company of others in like state, and we shall behold with our own eyes the pure and absolute, which is the truth; since for the impure to touch the pure may well be against the divine ordinance.”
[Cons. ad Apoll. 13b] So, even if it be likely that death transports us into another place, it is not an evil; for it may possibly prove to be a good, as Plato has shown. Wherefore very wonderful were the words which Socrates uttered before his judges, to this effect: “To be afraid of death, Sirs, is nothing else than to seem to be wise when one is not; for it is to seem to know what one does not know. For in regard to death nobody knows even whether it happens to be for mankind the greatest of all good things, yet they fear it as if they knew well that it is the greatest of evils.” From this view it seems that the poet does not dissent who says:
[Cons. ad Apoll. 13c] Let none fear death, which is release from toils,
— ay, and from the greatest of evils as well.
[Cons. ad Apoll. 14] 14 1 It is said that the Deity also bears witness to this. For tradition tells us that many for their righteousness have gained this gift from the gods. Most of these I shall pass over, having regard to due proportion in my composition; but I shall mention the most conspicuous, whose story is on the lips of all men.
[Cons. ad Apoll. 14b] First I shall relate for you the tale of Cleobis and Biton, the Argive youths. They say that their mother was priestess of Hera, and when the time had come for her to go up to the temple, and the mules that always drew her wagon were late in arriving, and the hour was pressing, these young men put themselves to the wagon and drew their mother to the temple; and she, overjoyed at the devotion of her sons, prayed that the best boon that man can receive be given them by the goddess. They then lay down to sleep and never arose again, the goddess granting them death as a reward for their devotion.
[Cons. ad Apoll. 14c] 109 Of Agamedes and Trophonius, Pindar says that after building the temple at Delphi they asked Apollo for a reward, and he promised to make payment on the seventh day, bidding them in the meantime to eat, drink, and be merry. They did what was commanded, and on the evening of the seventh day lay down to sleep and their life came to an end.
[Cons. ad Apoll. 14d] It is said that Pindar himself enjoined upon the deputies of the Boeotians who were sent to consult the god that they should inquire, “What is the best thing for mankind?” and the prophetic priestess made answer, that he himself could not be ignorant of it if the story which had been written about Trophonius and Agamedes were his; but if he desired to learn it by experience, it should be made manifest to him within a short time. As a result of this inquiry Pindar inferred that he should expect death, and after a short time his end came.
[Cons. ad Apoll. 14e] They say that the following incident happened to the Italian Euthynoüs. He was the son of Elysius, of Terina, a man foremost among the people there in virtue, wealth, and repute, and Euthynoüs came to his end suddenly from some unknown cause. Now it occurred to Elysius, as it might have occurred to anybody else, that his son had perhaps died of poisoning; for he was his only heir to a large property and estate. Being in perplexity as to how he might put his suspicions to the test, he visited a place where the spirits of the dead are conjured up, and having offered the preliminary sacrifice prescribed by custom, he lay down to sleep in the place, and had this vision. It seemed that his own father came to him, and that on seeing his father he related to him what had happened touching his son, and begged and besought his help to discover the man who was responsible for his son’s death. And his father said, “It is for this that I am come. Take from this person here what he brings for you, and from this you will learn about everything over which you are now grieving.” The person whom he indicated was a young man who followed him, resembling his son Euthynoüs and close to him in years and stature. So Elysius asked who he was; and he said, “I am the ghost of your son,” and with these words he handed him a paper. This Elysius opened and saw written there these three lines:
[Cons. ad Apoll. 14f] Verily somehow the minds of men in ignorance wander;
Dead now Euthynoüs lies; destiny has so decreed.
[Cons. ad Apoll. 14g] Not for himself was it good that he live, nor yet for his parents.
[Cons. ad Apoll. 14h] Such, you observe, is the purport of the tales recorded in ancient writers.
[Cons. ad Apoll. 15] 15 1 If, however, death is really a complete destruction and dissolution of both body and soul (for this was the third of Socrates’ conjectures), even so it is not an evil. For, according to him, there ensues a sort of insensibility and a liberation from all pain and anxiety. For just as no good can attach to us in such a state, so also can no evil; for just as the good, from its nature, can exist only in the case of that which is and has substantiality, so it is also with the evil. But in the case of that which is not, but has been removed from the sphere of being, neither of them can have any real existence. Now those who have died return to the same state in which they were before birth; therefore, as nothing was either good or evil for us before birth, even so will it be with us after death. And just as all events before our lifetime were nothing to us, even so will all events subsequent to our lifetime be nothing to us. For in reality
[Cons. ad Apoll. 15b] No suffering affects the dead,
since
Not to be born I count the same as death.
[Cons. ad Apoll. 15c] For the condition after the end of life is the same as that before birth. But do you imagine that there is a difference between not being born at all, and being born and then passing away? Surely not, unless you assume also that there is a difference in a house or a garment of ours after its destruction, as compared with the time when it had not yet been fashioned. 110 If there is no difference in the case of death, either, as compared with the condition before birth. Arcesilaus puts the matter neatly: “This that we call an evil, death, is the only one of the supposed evils which, when present, has never caused anybody any pain, but causes pain when it is not present but merely expected.” As a matter of fact, many people, because of their utter fatuity and their false opinion regarding death, die in their effort to keep from dying. Excellently does Epicharmus put it:
[Cons. ad Apoll. 15d] To be and not to be hath been his fate;
once more
Gone is he whence he came, earth back to earth,
The soul on high. What here is evil? Naught.
[Cons. ad Apoll. 15e] Cresphontes in some play of Euripides, speaking of Heracles, says:
For if he dwells beneath the depths of earth
‘Mid lifeless shades, his vigour would be naught.
[Cons. ad Apoll. 15f] This you might rewrite and say,
For if he dwells beneath the depths of earth
‘Mid lifeless shades, his dolour would be naught.
[Cons. ad Apoll. 15g] Noble also is the Spartan song:
Here now are we; before us others throve, and others still straightway,
But we shall never live to see their day;
and again:
Those who have died and who counted no honour the living or dying,
Only to consummate both nobly were honour for them.
[Cons. ad Apoll. 15h] Excellently does Euripides say of those who patiently endure long illnesses:
I hate the men who would prolong their lives
By foods and drinks and charms of magic art,
Perverting nature’s course to keep off death;
They ought, when they no longer serve the land,
To quit this life, and clear the way for youth.
[Cons. ad Apoll. 15i] And Merope stirs the theatres by expressing manly sentiments when she speaks the following words:
[Cons. ad Apoll. 15j] Not mine the only children who have died,
Nor I the only woman robbed of spouse;
Others as well as I have drunk life’s dregs.
[Cons. ad Apoll. 15k] With this the following might be appropriately combined:
Where now are all those things magnificent —
Great Croesus, lord of Lydia? Xerxes, too,
Who yoked the sullen neck of Hellespont?
[Cons. ad Apoll. 15l] Gone all to Hades and Oblivion’s house,
and their wealth perished with their bodies.
[Cons. ad Apoll. 16] 16 1 “True,” it may be said, “but an untimely death moves most people to mourning and lamentation.” Yet, even for this, words of consolation are so readily found that they have been perceived by even uninspired poets, and comfort has been had from them. Observe what one of the Poets says on this subject to a man who is grieving for an untimely death:
[Cons. ad Apoll. 16b] Then if you knew that, had he lived this life,
Which he did not live, Fate had favoured him,
His death was not well timed; but, if again
This life had brought some ill incurable,
Then Death perhaps were kindlier than you.
[Cons. ad Apoll. 16c] Since, then, it is uncertain whether or not it was profitable for him that he rested from his labours, forsaking this life and released from greater ills, we ought not to bear it so grievously as though we had lost all that we thought we should gain from him. Not ill considered, evidently, is the comfort which Amphiaraus in the poem offers to the mother of Archemorus, who is greatly affected because her son came to his end in his infancy long before his time. For he says:
[Cons. ad Apoll. 16d] There is no man that does not suffer ill;
Man buries children, and begets yet more,
And dies himself. Men are distressed at this,
Committing earth to earth. But Fate decrees
111 That life be garnered like the ripened grain,
That one shall live and one shall pass from life.
[Cons. ad Apoll. 16e] What need to grieve at this, which Nature says
Must be the constant cycle of all life?
[Cons. ad Apoll. 16f] In what must be there’s naught that man need dread.
[Cons. ad Apoll. 17] 17 1 In general everyone ought to hold the conviction, if he seriously reviews the facts both by himself and in the company of another, that not the longest life is the best, but the most efficient. For it is not the man who has played the lyre the most, or made the most speeches, or piloted the most ships, who is commended, but he who has done these things excellently. Excellence is not to be ascribed to length of time, but to worth and timely fitness. For these have come to be regarded as tokens of good fortune and of divine favour. It is for this reason, at any rate, that the poets have traditionally represented those of the heroes who were pre-eminent and sprung from the gods as quitting this life before old age, like him
[Cons. ad Apoll. 17b] Who to the heart of great Zeus and Apollo was held to be dearest,
Loved with exceeding great love; but of eld he reached not the threshold.
[Cons. ad Apoll. 17c] For we everywhere observe that it is a happy use of opportunity, rather than a happy old age, that wins the highest place. For of trees and plants the best are those that in a brief time produce the most crops of fruit, and the best of animals are those from which in no long time we have the greatest service toward our livelihood. The terms “long” and “short” obviously appear to lose their difference if we fix our gaze on eternity. For a thousand or ten thousand years, according to Simonides, are but a vague second of time, or rather the smallest fraction of a second. Take the case of those creatures which they relate exist on the shores of the Black Sea, and have an existence of only one day, being born in the morning, reaching the prime of life at mid-day, and toward evening growing old and ending their existence; would there not be in those creatures this same feeling which prevails in us, if each of them had within him a human soul and power to reason, and would not the same relative conditions obviously obtain there, so that those who departed this life before mid-day would cause lamentation and tears, while those who lived through the day would be accounted altogether happy? The measure of life is its excellence, not its length in years.
[Cons. ad Apoll. 18] 18 1 We must regard as vain and foolish such exclamations as these: “But he ought not to have been snatched away while young!” For who may say what ought to be? Many other things, of which one may say “they ought not to have been done,” have been done, and are done, and will be done over and over again. For we have come into this world, not to make laws for its governance, but to obey the commandments of the gods who preside over the universe, and the decrees of Fate or Providence.
[Cons. ad Apoll. 19] 19 1 But do those who mourn for the untimely dead, mourn on their own account or on account of the departed? If on their own account, because they have been cut off from some gratification or profit or comfort in old age, which they might have expected from the dead, then is their excuse for grieving wholly selfish; for it will be plain that they mourn, not for them, but for their services. But if they mourn on account of the dead, then if they will fix their attention on the fact that the dead are in no evil state, they will rid themselves of grief by following that wise and ancient admonition to magnify the good and to minimize and lessen the evil. If, then, mourning is a good, we ought to enlarge and magnify it in every way. But if, as the truth is, we admit it to be an evil, we ought to minimize and reduce it, and as far as possible to efface it.
[Cons. ad Apoll. 19b] That this is easy is plainly to be seen from the following sort of consolation. They say that one of the ancient philosophers visited Arsinoë, the queen, who was mourning for her son, 112 and made use of this story, saying that at the time Zeus was distributing to the deities their honours, Mourning did not happen to be present, but arrived after the distribution had been made. But when she said it was only right that some honour be given to her also, Zeus, being perplexed, since all the honours had been used up, finally gave her that honour which is paid in the case of those who have died — tears and griefs. Just as the other deities, therefore, are fond of those by whom they are honoured, so also is Mourning. “Therefore, Madame, if you treat her with disrespect, she will not come near you; but if she is strictly honoured by you with the honours which were conceded to her, namely griefs and lamentations, she will love you and affectionately will be ever with you, provided only she be constantly honoured by you.” Admirably, it appears, he succeeded, by this story, in convincing the woman and in alleviating her mourning and lamentations.
[Cons. ad Apoll. 20] 20 1 In general one might say to the man who mourns, “Shall you at some time cease to take this to heart, or shall you feel that you must grieve always every day of your life? For if you purpose to remain always in this extreme state of affliction, you will bring complete wretchedness and the most bitter misery upon yourself by the ignobleness and cowardice of your soul. But if you intend some time to change your attitude, why do you not change it at once and extricate yourself from this misfortune? Give attention now to those arguments by the use of which, as time goes on, your release shall be accomplished, and relieve yourself now of your sad condition. For in the case of bodily afflictions the quickest way of relief is the better. Therefore concede now to reason and education what you surely will later concede to time, and release yourself from your troubles.”
[Cons. ad Apoll. 21] 21 1 “But I cannot,” he says, “for I never expected or looked for this experience.” But you ought to have looked for it, and to have previously pronounced judgement on human affairs for their uncertainty and fatuity, and then you would not now have been taken off your guard as by enemies suddenly come upon you. Admirably does Theseus in Euripides appear to have prepared himself for such crises, for they say:
[Cons. ad Apoll. 21b] But I have learned this from a certain sage,
And on these cares and troubles set my mind,
And on myself laid exile from my land
And early deaths and other forms of ills,
That if I suffer aught my fancy saw,
It should not, coming newly, hurt the more.
[Cons. ad Apoll. 21c] But the more ignoble and untutored sometimes cannot even recall themselves to the consideration of anything seemly and profitable, but go out of their way to find extremes of wretchedness, even to punishing their innocent body and to forcing the unafflicted, as Achaeus says, to join in their grief.
[Cons. ad Apoll. 22] 22 1 Wherefore very excellently Plato appears to advise us “in” such “misfortunes to maintain a calm demeanour, since neither the evil nor the good in them is at all plain, and since no advance is made by the man who takes things much to heart. For grief stands in the way of sane counsel about an event and prevents one from arranging his affairs with relation to what has befallen, as a player does at a throw of the dice, in whatever way reason may convince him would be best. We ought not, therefore, when we have fallen to act like children and hold on to the injured place and scream, but we should accustom our soul speedily to concern itself with curing the injury and raising up the fallen, and we should put away lamentation by remedial art.”
[Cons. ad Apoll. 22b] They say that the lawgiver of the Lycians ordered his citizens, whenever they mourned, to clothe themselves first in woman’s garments and then to mourn, wishing to make it clear that mourning is womanish 113 and unbecoming to decorous men who lay claim to the education of the free-born. Yes, mourning is verily feminine, and weak, and ignoble, since women are more given to it than men, and barbarians more than Greeks, and inferior men more than better men; and of the barbarians themselves, not the most noble, Celts and Galatians, and all who by nature are filled with a more manly spirit, but rather, if such there are, the Egyptians and Syrians and Lydians and all those who are like them. For it is recorded that some of these go down into pits and remain there for several days, not desiring even to behold the light of the sun since the deceased also is bereft of it. At any rate the tragic poet Ion, who was not without knowledge of the foolishness of these peoples, has represented a woman as saying:
[Cons. ad Apoll. 22c] The nurse of lusty children I have come,
To supplicate you, from the mourning pits.
[Cons. ad Apoll. 22d] And some of the barbarians even cut off parts of their bodies, their noses and ears, and mutilate other portions of their bodies also, thinking to gratify the dead by abandoning that moderation of feeling which Nature enjoins in such cases.
[Cons. ad Apoll. 23] 23 1 But I dare say that, in answer to this, some may assert their belief that there need not be mourning for every death, but only for untimely deaths, because of the failure of the dead to gain what are commonly held to be the advantages of life, which as marriage, education, manhood, citizenship, or public affairs (for these are the considerations, they say, which most cause grief to those who suffer misfortune through untimely deaths, since they are robbed of their hope out of due time); but they do not realize that the untimely death shows no disparity if it be considered with reference to the common lot of man. For just as when it has been decided to migrate to a new fatherland, and the journey is compulsory for all, and none by entreaty can escape it, some go on ahead and others follow after, but all come to the same place; in the same manner, of all who are journeying toward Destiny those who come more tardily have no advantage over those who arrive earlier. If it be true that untimely death is an evil, the most untimely would be that of infants and children, and still more that of the newly born. But such deaths we bear easily and cheerfully, but the deaths of those who have already lived some time with distress and mourning because of our fanciful notion, born of vain hopes, since we have come to feel quite assured of the continued tarrying with us of persons who have lived so long. But if the years of man’s life were but twenty, we should feel that he who passed away at fifteen had not died untimely, but that he had already attained an adequate measure of age, while the man who had completed the prescribed period of twenty years, or who had come close to the count of twenty years, we should assuredly deem happy as having lived through a most blessed and perfect life. But if the length of life were two hundred years, we should certainly feel that he who came to his end at one hundred was cut off untimely, and we should betake ourselves to wailing and lamentation.
[Cons. ad Apoll. 24] 24 1 It is evident, therefore, that even the death which we call untimely readily admits of consolation, both for these reasons and for those previously given. For in fact Troilus shed fewer tears than did Priam; and if Priam had died earlier, while his kingdom and his great prosperity were at their height, he would not have used such sad words as he did in conversation with his own son Hector, when he advised him to withdraw from the battle with Achilles; he says:
[Cons. ad Apoll. 24b] “Come then within the walled city, my son, so to save from destruction
All of the men and the women of Troy, nor afford a great triumph
Unto the offspring of Peleus, and forfeit the years of your lifetime.
[Cons. ad Apoll. 24c] 114 Also for me have compassion, ill-starred, while yet I have feeling;
Hapless I am; on the threshold of eld will the Father, descended from Cronus,
Make me to perish in pitiful doom, after visions of evils,
Sons being slain and our daughters as well being dragged to be captives,
Chambers of treasure all wantonly plundered and poor little children
Dashed to the earth in the terrible strife by the merciless foeman,
Wives of my sons being dragged by the ravishing hands of Achaeans.
[Cons. ad Apoll. 24d] Me, last of all, at the very front doors shall the dogs tear to pieces,
Ravening, eager for blood, when a foeman wielding his weapon,
Keen-edged of bronze, by a stroke or a throw, takes the life from my body.
[Cons. ad Apoll. 24e] Yet when the dogs bring defilement on hair and on beard that is hoary,
And on the body as well of an old man slain by the foeman,
This is the saddest of sights ever seen by us unhappy mortals.”
[Cons. ad Apoll. 24f] Thus did the old man speak, and his hoary locks plucked by the handful,
Tearing his hair from his head, but he moved not the spirit of Hector.
[Cons. ad Apoll. 24g] Since you have, then, so very many examples regarding this matter, bear in mind the fact that death relieves not a few persons from great and grievous ills which, if they had lived on, they would surely have experienced. But, out of regard for the due proportions of my argument, I omit these, contenting myself with what has been said touching the wrongfulness of being carried away beyond natural and moderate bounds to futile mourning and ignoble lamentation.
[Cons. ad Apoll. 25] 25 1 Crantor says that not being to blame for one’s unhappy state is no small alleviation for misfortunes; but I should say that it surpasses all others as a remedy for the cure of grief. But affection and love for the departed does not consist in distressing ourselves, but in benefiting the beloved one; and a benefit for those who have been taken away is the honour paid to them through keeping their memory green. For no good man, after he is dead, is deserving of lamentations, but of hymns and songs of joy; not of mourning, but of an honourable memory; not of sorrowing tears, but of offerings of sacrifice, — if the departed one is now a partaker in some life more divine, relieved of servitude to the body, and of these everlasting cares and misfortunes which those who have received a mortal life as their portion are constrained to undergo until such time as they shall complete their allotted earthly existence, which Nature has not given us for eternity; but she has distributed to us severally the apportioned amount in accordance with the laws of fate.
[Cons. ad Apoll. 26] 26 1 Wherefore, over those who die men of good sense ought not to be carried away by sorrow beyond the natural and moderate limit of grief, which so affects the soul, into useless and barbarian mourning, and they ought not to wait for that outcome which has already been the lot of many in the past, the result of which is that they terminate their own lives in misery because they have put off their mourning, and gain nothing but a forlorn burial in their garments of sorrow, as their woes and the ills born of their unreasonableness follow them to the grave, so that one might utter over them the verse of Homer:
[Cons. ad Apoll. 26b] While they were weeping and wailing black darkness descended upon them.
[Cons. ad Apoll. 26c] We should therefore often hold converse with ourselves after this fashion and say: “What? Shall we some day cease grieving, or shall we consort with unceasing misery to the very end of our life?” For to regard our mourning as unending is the mark of the most extreme foolishness, especially when we observe how those who have been in the deepest grief and greatest mourning often become most cheerful under the influence of time, and at the very tombs where they gave violent expression to their grief by wailing and beating their breasts, they arrange most elaborate banquets with musicians and all the other forms of diversion. It is accordingly the mark of a madman thus to assume that he shall keep his mourning permanently. 115 If, however, men should reason that mourning will come to an end after some particular event, they might go on and reason that it will come to an end when time, forsooth, has produced some effect; for not even God can undo what has been done. So, then, that which in the present instance has come to pass contrary to our expectation and contrary to our opinion has only demonstrated what is wont, through the very course of events, to happen in the case of many men. What then? Are we unable, through reason, to learn this fact and draw the conclusion, that
[Cons. ad Apoll. 26d] Full is the earth now of evils, and full of them too is the ocean.
[Cons. ad Apoll. 26e] and also this:
Such woes of woes for mortal men,
And round about the Fates throng close;
There is no vacant pathway for the air?
[Cons. ad Apoll. 27] 27 1 Not merely now, but long ago, as Crantor says, the lot of man has been bewailed by many wise men, who have felt that life is a punishment and that for man to be born at all is the greatest calamity. Aristotle says that Silenus when he was captured declared this to Midas. It is better to quote the very words of the philosopher. He says, in the work which is entitled Eudemus, or Of the Soul, the following:
[Cons. ad Apoll. 27b] “ ‘Wherefore, O best and blessedest of all, in addition to believing that those who have ended this life are blessed and happy, we also think that to say anything false or slanderous against them is impious, from our feeling that it is directed against those who have already become our betters and superiors. And this is such an old and ancient belief with us that no one knows at all either the beginning of the time or the name of the person who first promulgated it, but it continues to be a fixed belief for all time. And in addition to this you observe how the saying, which is on the lips of all men, has been passed from mouth to mouth for many years.’ ‘What is this?’ said he. And the other, again taking up the discourse, said: ‘That not to be born is the best of all, and that to be dead is better than to live. And the proof that this is so has been given to many men by the deity. So, for example, they say that Silenus, after the hunt in which Midas of yore had captured him, when Midas questioned and inquired of him what is the best thing for mankind and what is the most preferable of all things, was at first unwilling to tell, but maintained a stubborn silence. But when at last, by employing every device, Midas induced him to say something to him, Silenus, forced to speak, said: “Ephemeral offspring of a travailing genius and of harsh fortune, why do you force me to speak what it were better for you men not to know? For a life spent in ignorance of one’s own woes is most free from grief. But for men it is utterly impossible that they should obtain the best thing of all, or even have any share in its nature (for the best thing for all men and women is not to be born); however, the next best thing to this, and the first of those to which man can attain, but nevertheless only the second best, is, after being born, to die as quickly as possible.” It is evident, therefore, that he made this declaration with the conviction that existence after death is better than that in life.’ “
[Cons. ad Apoll. 27c] One might cite thousands and thousands of examples under this same head, but there is no need to be prolix.
[Cons. ad Apoll. 28] 28 1 We ought not, therefore, to lament those who die young on the ground that they have been deprived of those things which in a long life are accounted good; for this is uncertain, as we have often said — whether the things of which they have been deprived are good or evil; for the evils are much the more numerous. And whereas we acquire the good things only with difficulty and at the expense of many anxieties, the evils we acquire very easily. For they say that the latter are compact and conjoined, and are brought together by many influences, while the good things are disjoined, and hardly manage to unite towards the very end of life. We therefore resemble men who have forgotten, 116 not merely, as Euripides says, that
[Cons. ad Apoll. 28b] Mortals are not the owners of their wealth,
but also that they do not own a single one of human possessions. Wherefore we must say in regard to all things that
[Cons. ad Apoll. 28c] We keep and care for that which is the gods’,
And when they will they take it back again.
[Cons. ad Apoll. 28d] We ought not, therefore, to bear it with bad grace if the gods make demand upon us for what they have loaned us for a short time. For even the bankers, as we are in the habit of saying frequently, when demand is made upon them for the return of deposits, do not chafe at the repayment, if they be honourable men. To those who do not make repayment with good grace one might fairly say, “Have you forgotten that you accepted this on condition that you should return it?’ Quite parallel is the lot of all mortals. For we hold our life, as it were, on deposit from the gods, who have compelled us to accept the account, and there is no fixed time for its return, just as with the bankers and their deposits, but it is uncertain when the depositor will demand payment. If a man, therefore, is exceedingly indignant, either when he himself is about to die, or when his children have died, must he not manifestly have forgotten that he is but human and the father of children who are mortal? For it is not characteristic of a man of sense to be unaware of the fact that man is a mortal creature, and that he is born to die. At any rate, if Niobe of the fable had had this conception ready at hand, that even the woman who,
[Cons. ad Apoll. 28e] Laden with the happy burden
Of sweet life and growing children,
Looks upon the pleasant sunlight,
[Cons. ad Apoll. 28f] must die, she would not have been so resentful as to wish to abandon life on account of the magnitude of her misfortune, and to implore the gods that she herself might be hurried to the most awful perdition.
[Cons. ad Apoll. 28g] There are two of the inscriptions at Delphi which are most indispensable to living. These are: “Know thyself” and “Avoid extremes,” for on these two commandments hang all the rest. These two are in harmony and agreement with each other, and the one seems to be made as clear as possible through the other. For in self-knowledge is included the avoidance of extremes, and in the latter is included self-knowledge. Therefore Ion speaks of the former as follows:
[Cons. ad Apoll. 28h] Not much to say is “Know thyself”; to do
This, Zeus alone of gods doth understand.
[Cons. ad Apoll. 28i] And, of the other, Pindar says:
The wise have lauded with exceeding praise the words “Avoid extremes.”
[Cons. ad Apoll. 29] 29 1 If, then, one keeps these in mind as god-given injunctions, he will be able easily to adapt them to all the circumstances of life, and to bear with such circumstances intelligently, by being heedful of his own nature, and heedful, in whatever may befall him, not to go beyond the limit of propriety, either in being elated to boastfulness or in being humbled and cast down to wailings and lamentations, through weakness of the spirit and the fear of death which is implanted in us as a result of our ignorance of what is wont to happen in life in accordance with the decree of necessity or destiny. Excellent is the advice which the Pythagoreans gave, saying:
[Cons. ad Apoll. 29b] Whatsoe’er woes by the gods’ dispensation all mortals must suffer,
What be the fate you must bear, you should bear it and not be indignant.
[Cons. ad Apoll. 29c] And the tragic poet Aeschylus says:
It is the mark of just and knowing men
In woes to feel no anger at the gods;
and Euripides:
Of mortals he who yields to fate we think
Is wise and knows the ways of Providence;
and in another place he says:
Of mortals he who bears his lot aright
117 To me seems noblest and of soundest sense.
[Cons. ad Apoll. 30] 30 1 Most people grumble about everything, and have a feeling that everything which happens to them contrary to their expectations is brought about through the spite of Fortune and the divine powers. Therefore they wail at everything, and groan, and curse their luck. To them one might say in retort:
[Cons. ad Apoll. 30b] God is no bane to you; ‘tis you yourself,
[Cons. ad Apoll. 30c] you and your foolish and distorted notions due to your lack of education. It is because of this fallacious and deluded notion that men cry out against any sort of death. If a man die while on a journey, they groan over him and say:
[Cons. ad Apoll. 30d] Wretched his fate; not for him shall his father or much revered mother
Close his dear eyelids in death.
[Cons. ad Apoll. 30e] But if he die in his own land with his parents at his bedside, they deplore his being snatched from their arms and leaving them the memory of the painful sight. If he die in silence without uttering a word about anything, they say amid their tears:
[Cons. ad Apoll. 30f] No, not a word did you say to me, which for the weight of its meaning
Ever might dwell in my mind.
[Cons. ad Apoll. 30g] But if he talked a little at the time of his death, they keep his words always before their mind as a sort of kindling for their grief. If he die suddenly, they deplore his death, saying, “He was snatched away”; but if he lingered long, they complain that he wasted away and suffered before he died. Any pretext is sufficient to arouse grief and lamentations. This movement the poets initiated, and especially the first of them, Homer, who says:
[Cons. ad Apoll. 30h] E’en as a father laments as the pyre of his dead son he kindles,
Wedded not long; by his death he brought woe to his unhappy parents.
[Cons. ad Apoll. 30i] Not to be told is the mourning and grief that he caused for his parents.
[Cons. ad Apoll. 30j] And yet so far it is not evident that the father is justified in bewailing thus. But note this next line:
[Cons. ad Apoll. 30k] Only and darlingest son, who is heir to his many possessions.
[Cons. ad Apoll. 31] 31 1 For who knows but that God, having a fatherly care for the human race, and foreseeing future events, early removes some persons from life untimely? Wherefore we must believe that they undergo nothing that should be avoided. (For
[Cons. ad Apoll. 31b] In what must be, there’s naught that men need dread,
[Cons. ad Apoll. 31c] nor in any of those events which come to pass in accordance with the postulates or the logical deductions of reason), both because the great majority of deaths forestall other and greater troubles and because it were better for some not to be born even, for others to die at the very moment of birth, for others after they have gone on in life a little way, and for still others while they are in their full vigour. Toward all such deaths we should maintain a cheerful frame of mind, since we know that we cannot escape destiny. It is the mark of educated men to take it for granted that those who seem to have been deprived of life untimely have but forestalled us for a brief time; for the longest life is short and momentary in comparison with eternity. And we know, too, that many who have protracted their period of mourning have, after no long time, followed their lamented friends, without having gained any advantage from their mourning, but only useless torment by their misery.
[Cons. ad Apoll. 31d] Since the time of sojourn in life is very brief, we ought not, in unkempt grief and utterly wretched mourning, to ruin our lives by racking ourselves with mental anguish and bodily torments, but to turn to the better and more human course, by striving earnestly to converse with men who will not, for flattery, grieve with us and arouse our sorrows, 118 but will endeavour to dispel our griefs through noble and dignified consolation. We should hearken to Homer and keep in mind those lines of his which Hector spoke to Andromache, endeavouring, in his turn, to comfort her:
[Cons. ad Apoll. 31e] Dearest, you seem much excited; be not overtroubled in spirit;
No man beyond what is fated shall send me in death unto Hades.
[Cons. ad Apoll. 31f] For not a man among mortals, I say, has escaped what is destined,
Neither the base nor the noble, when once he has entered life’s pathway.
[Cons. ad Apoll. 31g] Of this destiny the poet elsewhere says:
When from his mother he came, in the thread of his life Fate entwined it.
[Cons. ad Apoll. 32] 32 1 Keeping these things before our mind, we shall rid ourselves of the useless and vain extremes of mourning, since the time remaining of our life is altogether short. We must therefore be chary of it, so that we may live it in cheerfulness of spirit and without the disturbance of mournful griefs, by giving up the outward signs of sorrow and by bethinking ourselves of the care of our bodies and the welfare of those who live with us. It is a good thing also to call to mind the arguments which most likely we have sometimes employed with relatives or friends who found themselves in similar calamities, when we tried to comfort them and to persuade them to bear the usual happenings of life in the usual way and a man’s lot like a man; and it is a good thing, too, not to put ourselves in the position of being able to help others to find relief from grief, but ourselves to have no profit in recalling the means through which we must cure the soul’s distress— “by healing remedies of reason” — since we should postpone anything else rather than the putting aside of grief. And yet one poet says that the man who in any matter “puts off till to-morrow” is “wrestling with destruction” — a proverb which is repeated among all men. Much more, I think, is this true of the man who puts over to a future time the experiences which his soul finds so troublesome and so hard to face.
[Cons. ad Apoll. 33] 33 1 It is a good thing, too, to contemplate those men who nobly and high-mindedly and calmly have been resigned to the deaths which have befallen their sons — Anaxagoras of Clazomenae, Demosthenes of Athens, Dion of Syracuse, King Antigonus, and very many others among men both of earlier times and of our own day.
[Cons. ad Apoll. 33b] Of these, Anaxagoras, according to the traditional story, was talking about natural philosophy in conversation with his friends, when he heard from one of the messengers, who were sent to bring him the news, of the end which had befallen his son. He stopped for a moment and then said to those present, “I knew that I had begotten a son who was mortal.”
[Cons. ad Apoll. 33c] Pericles, who was called “the Olympian” because of his surpassing power of reasoning and of understanding, learned that both his sons, Paralus and Xanthippus, had passed from life. Protagoras describes his conduct in these words: “His sons were comely youths, but though they died within seven days of each other, he bore their deaths without repining. For he continued to hold to that serenity from which day by day he added greatly to his credit of being blest by Fortune and untroubled by sorrow, and to his high repute with the people at large. For each and every man, as he beheld Pericles bearing his sorrows so stoutly, felt that he was high-minded and manful and his own superior, being only too well aware of what would be his own helplessness under such circumstances. For Pericles, immediately after the tidings about this two sons, none the less placed the garland upon his head, according to the time-honoured custom at Athens, and, clad in garb of white, harangued the people, ‘taking lead in good counsel,’ and inspiriting the Athenians to war.”
[Cons. ad Apoll. 33d] Xenophon, the follower of Socrates, was once offering sacrifice when he learned from the messengers who had come from the field of battle that his son Gryllus had met his death while fighting. 119 He took the garland from his head and questioned them as to how he had died. When the messengers reported that he died nobly, displaying the greatest valour and after slaying many of the enemy, Xenophon was completely silent for a few moments while mastering his emotion by the power of reason, and then, replacing the garland, he completed the sacrifice, remarking to the messengers, “I prayed to the gods, not that my son should be immortal or even long of life (for it is not clear whether it be of advantage so), but that he should be brave and patriotic; and so it has come to pass.”
[Cons. ad Apoll. 33e] Dion of Syracuse was sitting in consultation with his friends, when there arose in the house a commotion and a great screaming, and upon inquiring the cause and hearing what had happened — that his son had fallen from the roof and been killed — he was not at all disconcerted, but commanded the corpse to be given over to the women for the usual preparation for burial, and he himself did not leave off the discussion in which he was engaged.
[Cons. ad Apoll. 33f] His example, they say, Demosthenes the orator emulated when he lost his only and much-loved daughter, of whom Aeschines, thinking to reproach Demosthenes, speaks as follows: “On the seventh day after his daughter’s death, before he had mourned for her or performed the customary rites, putting on a garland and resuming his white apparel, he offered a sacrifice in public and violated all custom, when he had lost, poor wretch, his only daughter, who was the first child to address him as father.” So then Aeschines, purposing, after the manner of the political speaker, to reproach him, rehearsed these facts, being quite unaware that thereby he was really commending Demosthenes, who put aside his grief, and displayed his patriotism in preference to his feelings for his kindred.
[Cons. ad Apoll. 33g] Antigonus the king, on learning of the death of his son Alcyoneus, which had occurred in the line of battle, gazed proudly upon the messengers who had brought news of the calamity, and after waiting for a moment, said, bowing his head, “Not so very early, Alcyoneus, have you departed this life, since you always rushed so recklessly against the enemy without a thought either of your own safety or of my counsels.”
[Cons. ad Apoll. 33h] The whole world wonders at these men and admires them for their nobility of mind, but others have not the ability to imitate them in practice because of that weakness of spirit which results from lack of education. But although there are so many examples, which have been handed down to us through both Greek and Roman history, of men who have behaved nobly and honourably at the deaths of their relatives, yet what has been said will suffice to induce you to put aside mourning, which is the most distressing of all things, and also the fruitless pain, which serves no purpose, involved in mourning.
[Cons. ad Apoll. 34] 34 1 The fact that those who excel in virtues pass on to their fate while young, as though beloved of the gods, I have already called to your attention in an earlier part of my letter, and I shall endeavour at this time to touch upon it very briefly, merely adding my testimony to that which has been so well said by Menander:
[Cons. ad Apoll. 34b] Whom the gods love dies young.
[Cons. ad Apoll. 34c] But perhaps, my dearest Apollonius, you would say in retort that your young son had been placed under the special care of Apollo and the Fates, and that it should have been you who, on departing this life, received the last offices from him, after he had come to full manhood; for this, you say, is in accordance with nature. Yes, in accordance with your nature, no doubt, and mine, and that of mankind in general, but not in accordance with the Providence which presides over all or with the universal dispensation. But for that boy, now among the blessed, it was not in accordance with nature that he should tarry beyond the time allotted to him for life on this earth, but that, after fulfilling this term with due obedience, he should set forth to meet his fate, which was already (to use his own words) summoning him to himself. “But he died untimely.” Yes, but for this very reason his lot is happier, and he is spared many evils; for Euripides says:
[Cons. ad Apoll. 34d] 120 Life bears the name of life, being but toil.
[Cons. ad Apoll. 34e] But he, in the most blooming period of his years, has departed early, a perfect youth, envied and admired by all who knew him. He was fond of his father and mother and his relatives and friends, or, to put it in a word, he loved his fellow men; he respected the elderly among his friends as fathers, he was affectionate towards his companions and familiar friends, he honoured his teachers, and was most kind toward strangers and citizens, gentle with all and beloved of all, both because of his charm of appearance and because of his affable kindliness.
[Cons. ad Apoll. 34f] Ah well, but he, bearing with him the fair and fitting fame of your righteousness and his own conjoined, has departed early to eternity from out this mortal life, as from an evening party, before falling into any such grossness of conduct as is wont to be the concomitant of a long old age. And if the account of the ancient poets and philosophers is true, as it most likely is, and so there is for those of the departed who have been righteous a certain honour and preferment, as is said, and a place set apart in which their souls pass their existence, then you ought to be of good hope for your dear departed son that he will be reckoned among their number and will be with them.
[Cons. ad Apoll. 35] 35 1 These are the words of the melic poet Pindar regarding the righteous in the other world:
[Cons. ad Apoll. 35b] For them doth the strength of the sun shine below,
While night all the earth doth overstrow.
[Cons. ad Apoll. 35c] In meadows of roses their suburbs lie,
Roses all tinged with a crimson dye.
[Cons. ad Apoll. 35d] They are shaded by trees that incense bear,
And trees with golden fruit so far.
[Cons. ad Apoll. 35e] Some with horses and sports of might,
Others in music and draughts delight.
[Cons. ad Apoll. 35f] Happiness there grows ever apace,
Perfumes are wafted o’er the loved place,
As the incense they strew where the gods’s altars are
And the fire that consumes it is seen from afar.
[Cons. ad Apoll. 35g] And a little farther on, in another lament for the dead, speaking of the soul, he says:
[Cons. ad Apoll. 35h] In happy fate they all
Were freed by death from labour’s thrall,
Man’s body follows at the beck of death
O’ermastering. Alive is left
The image of the stature that he gained,
Since this alone is from the gods obtained.
[Cons. ad Apoll. 35i] It sleeps while limbs move to and fro,
But, while we sleep, in dreams doth show
The choice we cannot disregard
Between the pleasant and the hard.
[Cons. ad Apoll. 36] 36 1 The divine Plato has said a good deal in his treatise On the Soul about its immortality, and not a little also in the Republic and Meno and Gorgias, and here and there in his other dialogues. What is said in the dialogue On the Soul I will copy, with comments, and send you separately, as you desired. But for the present occasion these words, which were spoken to Callicles the Athenian, the friend and discipline of Gorgias the orator, are timely and profitable. They say that Socrates, according to Plato’s account, says:
[Cons. ad Apoll. 36b] “Listen to a very beautiful story, which you, I imagine, will regard as a myth, but which I regard as a story; for what I am going to say I shall relate as true. As Homer tells the tale, Zeus, Poseidon, and Pluto divided the kingdom when they received it from their father. Now this was the custom regarding men even in the time of Cronus, and it has persisted among the gods to this day — that the man who has passed through life justly and in holiness shall, at his death, depart to the Islands of the Blest and dwell in all happiness beyond the reach of evil, while he who has lived an unjust and godless life shall go to the prison-house of justice and punishment, 121 which they call Tartarus. The judges of these men, in the time of Cronus and in the early days of Zeus’ dominion, were living, and judged the living, giving judgement on the day when the men were about to die.
[Cons. ad Apoll. 36c] As time went on, for some reason the cases were not decided well. Accordingly Pluto and the supervisors in the Islands of the Blest went to Zeus and said to him that there kept coming to them at both places inadmissible persons. ‘Very well,’ said Zeus, ‘then I shall put a stop to this proceeding. The judgements are now rendered poorly; for,’ said he, ‘those who are judged are judged with a covering on them, since they are judged while alive, and so,’ he continued, ‘a good many perhaps who have base souls are clad with beautiful bodies and ancestry and riches, and, when the judgement takes place, many come to testify for them that they have lived righteously. So not only are the judges disconcerted by these things, but at the same time they themselves sit in judgement with a covering on them, having before their own souls, like a veil, their eyes and ears and their whole body.
[Cons. ad Apoll. 36d] All these things come between, both their own covering and that of those who are being judged. In the first place, then, all their foreknowledge of death must be ended; for now they have foreknowledge of it. So Prometheus has been told to put an end to this. Secondly, they must be judged divested of all these things; for they must be judged after they have died. The judge also must be naked, and dead, that he may view with his very soul the very soul of every man instantly after he has died, and intimated from all his kin, having left behind on earth all earthly adornments, so that his judgement may be just. I, therefore, realizing this situation sooner than you, have made my own sons judges, two from Asia — Minos and Rhadamanthys — and one from Europe — Aeacus. These, then, as soon as they have died, shall sit in judgement in the meadow at the parting of the ways whence the two roads lead, the one to the Islands of the Blest and the other to Tartarus.
[Cons. ad Apoll. 36e] The people of Asia shall Rhadamanthys judge, while Aeacus shall judge the people of Europe; and to Minos I shall give the prerogative of pronouncing final judgement in case the other two be in any doubt, in order that the decision in regard to the route which men must take shall be as just as possible.’ This, Callicles, is what I have heard, and believe to be true; and from these words I draw the following inference — that death is, as it seems to me, nothing else than the severing of two things, soul and body, from each other.”
[Cons. ad Apoll. 37] 37 1 Having collected and put together these extracts, my dearest Apollonius, with great diligence, I have completed this letter of condolence to you, which is most needful to enable you to put aside your present grief and to put an end to mourning, which is the most distressing of all things. In it is included also for your son, Apollonius, a youth so very dear to the gods, a fitting tribute, which is much coveted by the sanctified — a tribute due to his honourable memory and to his fair fame, which will endure for time eternal. You will do well, therefore, to be persuaded by reason, and, as a favour to your dear departed son, to turn from your unprofitable distress and desolation, which affect both body and soul, and to go back to your accustomed and natural course of life. Forasmuch as your son, while he was living among us, was sorry to see either you or his mother downcast, even so, now that he is with the gods and is feasting with them, he would not be well satisfied with your present course of life. Resume, therefore, the spirit of a brave-hearted and high-minded man who loves his offspring, 122 and set free from all this wretchedness both yourself, the mother of the youth, and your relatives and friends, as you may do by pursuing a more tranquil form of life, which will be most gratifying both to your son and to all of us who are concerned for you, as we rightly should be.

## Advice about keeping well

[De tuenda san. 1] 122 1 1 Moschion. So, Zeuxippus, yesterday you drove away Glaucus, the physician, when he wished to join in your philosophical discussions.
[De tuenda san. 1b] Zeuxippus. No, my dear Moschion, I did not drive him away, nor did he wish to join in philosophical discussion, but I avoided him and feared giving an opening to a man fond of contention. In medicine the man is, as Homer puts it,
[De tuenda san. 1c] Worth many others together,
[De tuenda san. 1d] but he is not kindly disposed towards philosophy, and there is always a certain harshness and ill-nature inherent in his remarks. And just then he was coming at us full tilt, crying out, even before he came near us, that it was no small or suitable task, amounting in fact to a confusion of all bounds, which had been boldly assumed by us in discussing a healthful manner of living. For he asserted that the subjects of philosophy and medicine are as “far remote” from each other as “are the boundaries of” any “Mysians and Phrygians”; and thereupon, as he had at the tip of his tongue some statements of ours, which, though not very carefully formulated, are certainly not without utility, he proceeded to tear them to pieces.
[De tuenda san. 1e] Moschion. Well, in this and in other matters, Zeuxippus, I should be very glad to be your attentive listener.
[De tuenda san. 1f] Zeuxippus. That is because you, Moschion, have a natural gift for philosophy, and you feel incensed at the philosopher who does not take an interest in medicine, and you are indignant that such a man should imagine it more becoming for him, in the eyes of mankind, to profess some knowledge of geometry, logical discussion, and music, than to desire to seek out and know
[De tuenda san. 1g] All that of evil and good may have chanced to betide in the dwelling
[De tuenda san. 1h] which is his own body. And yet you will see a larger number of spectators in the theatres where money to pay for admission is distributed to those who gather together, as at Athens; and of the liberal arts medicine is inferior to none in elegance, distinction, and the satisfaction which it yields, and it gives to its students admission to something of very great importance — the preservation of their life and health. Consequently, the charge of trespass ought not to lie against philosophers if they discuss matters of health, but rather they should be blamed if they do not consider it their duty to abolish all boundary-lines altogether, and to make a single field, as it were, of all honourable studies, and therein to cultivate them in common, thus aiming in their discussion at both the pleasant and the essential.
[De tuenda san. 1i] Moschion. Well, Zeuxippus, let us say no more about Glaucus, who is so self-important that he wants to be a law unto himself, needing no help from philosophy; but do you tell us in detail the whole discussion; For, if you prefer, just those statements which you first referred to as not altogether carefully formulated, which you say Glaucus seized upon.
[De tuenda san. 2] 2 1 Zeuxippus. Well, our companion asserted that he had heard somebody say that keeping the hands always warm, and never allowing them to get cold, is in no small measure conducive to health, 123 and, conversely, the chilling of the extremities, by concentrating the warmth of the interior of the body, creates, as it were, a habit or a predisposition towards feverishness; and for a man to divert the substances in his body toward the surface, and to conduct and distribute them, along with the warmth, to all parts of his body, is healthful. If therefore we happen to be doing something with our hands and using them, the motion itself brings the warmth to these parts, and keeps it there; but when not engaged in such activities we must by no means allow the cold to find lodgement in our extremities.
[De tuenda san. 3] 3 1 This, then, was one of the things ridiculed. The second, I think, concerned the food which you people serve to the sick. For he urged that we should partake of it and taste it from time to time, and get ourselves used to it in time of health, and not abhor and detest such a regimen, like little children, but gradually make it familiar and congenial to our appetites, so that in sickness we may not be disaffected over our fare as if it were so much medicine, and may not show impatience at receiving something simple, unappetising, and savourless. For this reason, too, omitting the bath now and then before going to a meal is not a thing to be avoided, nor drinking only water when wine is at hand, nor drinking anything lukewarm in the summer-time when there is snow on the table; and while dismissing once for all time the ostentatious and studied abstinence from such things and the bragging over it, we should silently, by our own selves, habituate the appetite to be obedient to expediency with all serenity, and long beforehand we must rid our soul of its squeamishness in times of sickness about such trifles, and its lamentation thereat, as it deplores how it has been driven away from great and fond pleasures to an ignoble and humiliating way of living.
[De tuenda san. 3b] Well has it been said, “Choose the life that is best, and constant habit will make it pleasant,” and, in particular, it is profitable for a man, experimenting with each several department of life and especially with those which have to do with the practices which affect the body, to inculcate a fixed habit during periods of stoutest health, so thus to make these things agreeable, familiar, and congenial to his nature, bearing in mind how some men feel and act in times of sickness, being angry and fretful when hot water and gruel, or plain bread, is served to them, calling these things abominable and unpleasant, and abominable and hard-hearted also those who would force such things upon them. A bath has proved to be the death of many men who at the outset had not much the matter with them, save only that they could not and would not bear to taste food unless they had first had their bath; of whom Titus the Emperor was one, as those who attended him in his illness affirm.
[De tuenda san. 4] 4 1 Something, moreover, was said to this effect, that, while the less expensive things are always more healthful for the body, we ought especially to guard against excess Ein eating and drinking, and against all self-indulgence when we have immediately on hand some festival or a visit from friends, or when we are expecting an entertainment of some king or high official with its unavoidable social engagements; and thus we should, as it were, in fair weather make our body trim and buoyant against the oncoming wind and wave. It is indeed a hard task, in the midst of company and good cheer, to keep to moderation and one’s habits and at the same time to avoid the extreme disagreeableness which makes one appear offensive and tiresome to the whole company. Therefore, to avoid adding fire to fire (as the proverb has it), and gorging to gorging, and strong drink to strong drink, we ought with all seriousness to imitate the polite joke of Philip. It was in this wise: A man had invited Philip to dinner in the country, assuming that he had but a few with him, but when later the host saw Philip bringing a great company, no great preparations having been made, he was much perturbed. Philip, becoming aware of the situation, sent word privately to each of his friends to “leave room for cake.” 124 They, following the advice, and looking for more to come, ate sparingly of what was before them, and so the dinner was ample for all. In this manner, then, we ought to prepared ourselves in anticipation of our imperative round of social engagements by keeping room in the body for elaborate dishes and pastry, and, I dare to say it, for indulgence in strong drink also, by bringing to these things an appetite fresh and willing.
[De tuenda san. 5] 5 1 If, however, such imperative occasions suddenly confront us when we are overloaded and in no condition for taking part — if, for instance, we receive an invitation from a high official, or guests appear, so that we are constrained by a false sense of shame to join company with men who are in fit condition and to drink with them — then especially, in order to combat “shame which works mischief for men” (or rather I would call it shamefacedness), we should summon to our defence the words which Creon speaks in the tragedy:
[De tuenda san. 5b] ‘Twere better, friend, to gain your hatred now
Than be soft-hearted and lament anon.
[De tuenda san. 5c] For to be so afraid of being thought ill-bred as to plunge oneself into a pleurisy or brain-fever is proof that one is in very truth ill-bred, possessed of neither sense nor the reason which knows how to consort with men without the wine-glass and the savour of food. For a request to be excused, if characterized by cleverness and wit, is no less agreeable than joining in the round of gaiety; and if a man provides a banquet in the same spirit in which he provides a burnt-offering which it is forbidden to taste, and personally abstains when the wine-cup and the table are before him, at the same time volunteering cheerfully some playful allusion to himself, he will create a pleasanter impression than the man who gets drunk and gormandizes for company. Of the men of earlier times he mentioned Alexander, who, after a prolonged debauch, was ashamed to say no to the challenges of Medius, and abandoned himself to a fresh round of hard drinking, which cost him his life; and of the men of our time he mentioned Regulus the prize-fighter. For when Titus Caesar called him to the bath at daybreak, he came and bathed with him, took but one drink, they say, and died immediately from a stroke of apoplexy.
[De tuenda san. 5d] These are the teachings which Glaucus in derision quoted aggressively to us as pedantic. The rest he was not eager to hear, nor we to tell him. But I beg that you will examine each of the several statements.
[De tuenda san. 6] 6 1 First there is Socrates, who, in urging us to be on our guard against such things to eat as persuade us to eat when we are not hungry, and such things to drink as persuade us to drink when we are not thirsty, did not absolutely forbid the use of these things; but he was instructing us to use them only if we needed them, and to make the pleasure in them serve our necessity, just as our statesmen do who turn to military uses their funds for amusements. For that which is pleasant, in so far as it is a nutritive element, is congenial to our nature, and it is by remaining still hungry that we ought to get enjoyment from the necessary or the pleasant foods; but we should not stir up in ourselves a second and separate set of appetites after we have appeased the usual ones. And here is another consideration. Just as Socrates found dancing a not unpleasant exercise, so the man for whom pastry and sweets serve as a meal and as food suffers less injury. But when a man has satisfied the moderate demands of his nature, and has had his fill, he ought to exercise the very greatest vigilance against helping himself to such things. And in such matters, while we should be on guard against love of pleasure and gluttony, yet we should be no less on guard against vulgarity and love of notoriety. For these latter often help to persuade people to eat something when they are not hungry, and to drink when they are not thirsty, by suggesting utterly sordid and cheap conceits — that it is absurd not to take advantage of the presence of some rare and expensive thing, as, for example, sow’s udder, Italian mushrooms, Samian cake, or snow in Egypt. For things of this sort do indeed often induce people to use what is renowned and rare, since they are led on by empty repute as by an attractive savour, 125 and compel their body to do its share, although it feels no need, so that they may have a tale to tell to others, and may be envied for their enjoyment of things so hard to obtain and so uncommon. Quite similar is their behaviour toward notorious women. There are times when they repose in quiet with their own wives who are both lovely and loving, but when they have paid money to a Phryne or a Laïs, although their body is in sorry state and is inclined to shirk its task, they rouse it forthwith to action, and call in licentiousness to minister to pleasure, all because of empty repute. In fact, Phryne herself, in her advancing years, said that she got a better price for her remnants because of her repute.
[De tuenda san. 7] 7 1 It is a great marvel if we get off unscathed, when we concede to the body only as much of pleasures as Nature in her need finds a place for, but still more so when we battle with it vigorously to thwart its appetites, and keep putting them off, and finally consent to some negotiation with such as will not be denied, or, as Plato says, “yield when the body bites and strains.” But when the case is reversed, and the desires descend from the mind to the body and force it to be subservient to the mind’s emotions, and to join in their excitements, there is no way to prevent their leaving as a residue the most violent and serious injuries as the aftermath of feeble and evanescent pleasures. Least of all ought the body to be stirred to pleasures by the mind’s desire, since such an origin is unnatural. Just as tickling the arm-pits so affects the mind as to produce laughter which is not natural, or even mild or happy, but convulsive and harsh, so whatsoever pleasures the body achieves through being prodded and disturbed by the mind are deranging and disturbing and foreign to Nature. Whenever, then, someone of those rare and notorious means of enjoyment is afforded us, we ought to take more pride in abstinence not in enjoyment, remembering that just as Simonides used to say that he had never been sorry having kept silent, but many a time for having spoken, so we have never been sorry either for having put a dainty to one side, or for having drunk water instead of Falernian wine, but the opposite; not only ought Nature not to be forced, but if anything of this sort is offered her even when she has need of it, the appetite ought to be often diverted from it towards the plain and familiar food for the sake of habituation and training.
[De tuenda san. 7b] If one must needs do wrong,
are the words of the Theban, who is not correct in saying,
far best it were
To do it for a kingdom’s sake.
[De tuenda san. 7c] But we can improve on this by saying that if we must needs seek repute in such matters as food and drink, “far best it were” by continence for the sake of health. Nevertheless stinginess and greediness constrain some persons, who repress and reduce their desires in their own homes, to stuff themselves and enjoy themselves with expensive things at others’ houses as though they were engaged in ruthless foraging in an enemy’s country; then they go away much indisposed, and for the next day they have an attack of indigestion to pay for their insatiable appetite. So Crates, thinking that luxury and extravagance were as much to blame as anything for the growth of civil discords and the rule of despots in states, humorously advised:
[De tuenda san. 7d] Do not, by always making our fare more ample than lentils,
Throw us all into discord.
[De tuenda san. 7e] And let everybody exhort himself “not to make his fare always more ample than lentils,” and by all means not to proceed beyond cress and olives to croquettes and fish, and by overeating throw “his body into discord,” that is to say, into derangements and diarrhoeas. For the inexpensive things keep the appetite to its natural limits of moderation, 126 but the arts of the chefs and their trained helpers, and, in the words of the comic poet,
[De tuenda san. 7f] These knavish dainties and these complex foods,
[De tuenda san. 7g] are constantly advancing and enlarging the bounds of enjoyment, and altering our ideas of what is good for us. I do not know how it is that, while we loathe and detest women who contrive philters and magic to use upon their husbands, we entrust our food and provisions to hirelings and slaves to be all but bewitched and drugged. If the saying of Arcesilaus addressed to the adulterous and licentious appears too bitter, to the effect that ‘it makes no difference whether a man practises lewdness in the front parlour or in the back hall,’ yet it is not without its application to our subject. For in very truth, what difference does it make whether a man employ aphrodisiacs to stir and excite licentiousness for the purposes of pleasure, or whether he stimulate his taste by odours and sauces to require, like the itch, continual scratchings and ticklings?
[De tuenda san. 8] 8 1 At some other time, then, it may be that we shall have to speak against pleasures, and show what an intrinsic beauty and dignity belongs to continence; but the present discourse is on the side of many pleasures and great. For diseases do not take from us and spoil for us so many of our enterprises or hopes or travels or pastimes as they do of our pleasures. Hence contempt for health is least profitable for those who make pleasure their chief aim. For infirmities allow many persons to be philosophers, or actually even generals or kings, but the pleasures and enjoyments of the body in some cases do not come to life at all in time of disease, and those that come to life yield but a brief part of what they properly should, and even that is not pure, but contaminated with much that is foreign, and marked, as it were, by the beatings of surge and storm. For it is not true that
[De tuenda san. 8b] In well-gorged bodies Love resides,
but rather in serenity and calmness of the flesh does love find its end in pleasure, as also do eating and drinking; and health affords to pleasures, as calm weather to the halcyons, a safe and lovely nesting and hatching of their young. Prodicus seems to have put the matter very neatly in saying that fire is the best of sauces; but one might more truly speak of health as being the most divine and agreeable sauce. For boiled, baked, or fried foods afford no proper pleasure or even gratification to those who are suffering from disease, debauch, or nausea, while a clean and unspoiled appetite makes everything, to a sound body, pleasant and “eagerly craved,” as Homer has said, — that is, agreeable.
[De tuenda san. 9] 9 1 As Demades used to say that the Athenians, who were for making war in season and out of season, never voted for peace save when wearing black, so we never give a thought to a plain and restrained way of living except when using enemas and poultices. But when we find ourselves in this plight we try hard to stifle the thought of our wrongdoings, setting ourselves against their remembrance, and, as is the way of most people who object to this or that air or this or that locality as insalubrious when they say that they dread travelling, we exclude our intemperance and self-indulgence from the cause of our illness. Nay, we should recall how Lysimachus among the Getae was constrained by thirst to surrender himself and the army with him as prisoners of war, and afterwards as he drank cold water exclaimed, “My God, for what a brief pleasure have I thrown away great prosperity!” And in the same way we ought in our attacks of illness to remember that for a cold drink, an ill-timed bath, or a social party, we have spoiled many of our pleasures and have ruined many an honourable enterprise and delightful recreation. For the sting caused by such reflections keeps the memory raw, so that, like a scar that remains when the body is in health, it makes us more circumspect about our way of living. 127 For the healthy body will not, to any immoderate extent, breed desires that are vehement, intractable, unwonted, and hard to dispossess; nay, we can boldly and confidently oppose the appetites which would fain go beyond all bounds and assault our enjoyments, knowing that their whining and whimpering is a trivial and childish manifestation, and that later, when the table is removed, they will cease repining and make no complaint nor feel themselves aggrieved, but, on the contrary, untainted and cheerful rather than dulled and nauseated by over-indulgence, await the morrow. The remark which Timotheus made, the day after he had dined with Plato at the Academy on the simple fare of the scholar, is in point here: “Those who dine with Plato,” he said, “get on pleasantly the next day also.” And it is reported that Alexander said when he discharged the chefs of Ada that he had better ones always to take with him — his night marches for breakfast, and for dinner his frugal breakfast.
[De tuenda san. 10] 10 1 I am not unaware that men contract fevers because of fatigue and extremes of heat and cold; but just as the scents of flowers are weak by themselves, whereas, when they are mixed with oil, they acquire strength and intensity, so a great mass of food to start with provides substance and body, as it were, for the causes and sources of disease that come from the outside. Without such material none of these things would cause any trouble, but they would readily fade away and be dissipated, if clear blood and an unpolluted spirit are at hand to meet the disturbance; but in a mass of superfluous food a sort of turbulent sediment, as it were, is stirred up, which makes everything foul and hard to manage and hard to get rid of. Therefore we must not act like those much admired (!) ship-masters who for greed take on a big cargo, and thenceforth are continually engaged in baling out the sea-water. So we must not stuff and overload our body, and afterwards employ purgatives and injections, but rather keep it all the time trim, so that, if ever it suffer depression, it shall, owing to its buoyancy, bob up again like a cork.
[De tuenda san. 11] 11 We ought to take special precautions in the case of premonitory symptoms and sensations. For what Hesiod has said of the illnesses that go hither and thither assailing mankind is not true of all, that
[De tuenda san. 11b] Silent they go, since the wisdom of Zeus has deprived them of voices,
but most of them have as their harbingers, forerunners, and heralds, attacks of indigestion and lassitude. “Feelings of heaviness or of fatigue,” says Hippocrates, “when due to no external cause, indicate disease,” since, presumably, the spirit about the nerves is subjected to tension and pressure owing to fullness within the body. Nevertheless, some men, although their body itself all but resists and would fain drag them to their beds and their rest, are led by gluttony and self-indulgence to rush off to the baths and eagerly to join in the drinking-bouts, as if they were laying in provisions for a siege and were fearful lest fever seize them before they have had luncheon. Others, less gross than these, are not indeed caught in this folly, but very stupidly, just because they are ashamed to admit having a headache or indigestion, and to keep their clothes on all day, when a crowd on their way to the gymnasium invite them to come along, they get up and go, strip with the others, and go through the same exercises as do those who are in sound health. But as for the majority, Hope, backed by a proverb which well accords with incontinence and weakness of purpose, persuades and induces them to get up and go recklessly to their accustomed haunts, thinking to expel and dispel wine with wine, and headache with headache. Against this hope should be set Cato’s caution which that grand old man phrased in this way: 128”Make the great small, and abolish the small altogether”; also the thought that it is better to submit patiently to fasting and resting with nothing to show for it, rather than to take any chances by rushing pell-mell to a bath or dinner. For if there is anything the matter with us, failure to take proper precaution and to put a check on ourselves will do us harm; and if nothing is the matter, it will do no harm for the body to be subjected to some restrictions and cleared of some of its encumbrances. But that childish person who is afraid to let his friends and servants discover that he is in a state of discomfort from excessive eating or drinking, will, if he is ashamed to admit having indigestion to day, to morrow admit having diarrhoea or fever or gripes.
[De tuenda san. 11c] The shame of want makes want a shame to bear,
[De tuenda san. 11d] but much more is it a shame to bear indigestion, overloading, and overfullness in a body which is dragged to the bath like a rotten and leaky boat into the sea. For just exactly as some persons, when they are voyaging and a storm is raging, are ashamed to tarry on shore, and so they put out to sea, and then are in most shameful case, shrieking and sea-sick, so those who regard it as ignoble, amidst suspicious premonitory symptoms of their body, to spend one day in bed, and not to take their meals at table, keep to their bed most shamefully for many days, under purging and poulticing, servile and attentive to physicians, asking for wine or cold water, and suffering themselves to do and to utter many extravagant and ignoble things because of their distress and fear.
[De tuenda san. 12] Moreover, it is well that those who because of pleasures fail in self-control, and give way to their desires or are carried away by them, should be instructed and reminded that pleasures derive most of their satisfaction from the body; 12 and as the Spartans give to the cook vinegar and salt only, bidding him seek whatever else he needs in the slaughtered animal itself, so in the body are the best of sauces for whatever is served, if so be that it is served to a body which is healthy and clean. For everything of this sort is “sweet” or “costly” irrespectively of the user and by itself, but Nature decrees that it becomes “pleasant” only in and in connexion with the person that is pleased and is in harmony with Nature; but in those who are captious or suffering from a debauch, or are in a bad way, all things lose their intrinsic agreeableness and freshness. Therefore there is no need to look to see whether the fish be fresh, the bread white, the bath warm, or the girl shapely, but a man should look to himself to see whether he be not nauseated, feculent, stale, or in any way upset. Otherwise, just as drunken revellers who force their way into a house of mourning provide no cheerfulness or pleasure, but only cause weeping and wailing, so in a body that is in a bad condition and out of harmony with Nature, the pleasures of love, elaborate food, baths and wine, when combined with such elements in the body as are unsettled and tainted, set up phlegm and bile and bring on an upset, besides being unduly exciting, while they yield no pleasure to speak of, nor any enjoyment like what we expected.
[De tuenda san. 13] 13 1 The very exact mode of living, “exact to a hair’s breadth,” to use the popular expression, puts the body in a timorous and precarious state, and abridges the self-respect of the soul itself, so that it comes to look askance at every activity, and to no less a degree at spending any time or participating at all in pleasures or labours, and goes at no undertaking with readiness and confidence. FA man ought to handle his body like the sail of a ship, and neither lower and reduce it much when no cloud is in sight, nor be slack and careless in managing it when he comes to suspect something is wrong, but he should rather ease the body off and lighten its load, as has already been said, and not wait for indigestions and diarrhoeas, nor heightened temperatures nor fits of drowsiness. And yet some people wait until a fever is already at their doors 129 and then, being as excited as if a message or a summons to court had come, just manage to restrict themselves; whereas they ought, while these things are still afar off, to be cautious
[De tuenda san. 13b] Before the storm, as though along the strand
The North wind blew.
[De tuenda san. 14] 14 1 For it is absurd to give careful heed to the croaking of ravens, the clucking of hens, and “swine in their wild excitement over bedding,” as Democritus put it, making signs of winds and rains out of these, and at the same time not to forestall nor take precaution against the stirrings, the ups and downs, and the premonitory symptoms in the body, and not to hold these to be signs of a storm that is going to take place in one’s self, and is just about to break. Wherefore not merely in the matter of food and exercise do we need to keep watch of our body, to see whether, contrary to its habits, it takes to these reluctantly and without zest, or at another time is thirsty and hungry in an unnatural way, but also, in the matter of sleep, to beware of lack of continuity and of evenness, marked by irregularities and sharp interruptions, and to beware also of the abnormal in dreams, which, if so be that our visions are improper or unwonted, argues an over-abundance or concretion of humours, or a disturbance of spirit within us. And also the emotions of the soul have often given warning that the body is perilously near disease. For instance, irrational discouragements and fears take possession of people often times from no apparent cause, and suddenly extinguish their hopes; in temper they become irascible, sharp, and pained at trifles, and they are tearful and dismayed whenever bad vapours and bitter exhalations encounter and unite with the “rotations of the soul,” as Plato has it. Therefore those to whom such things happen have need to consider and to remember that, if the cause is not one which concerns the spirit, it is one which concerns the body, and that it needs reducing or toning down.
[De tuenda san. 15] 15 1 It is very profitable when visiting sick friends to inquire of them the causes of their illness, not by talking pedantically and officiously about stoppages, irruptions, and trite generalities, and incidentally displaying some acquaintance with medical terminology and literature, but by listening in no perfunctory way to these homely and common details of over-eating, exposure to the sun, fatigue, sleeplessness, and especially the manner of living which the man was following when he fell sick of the fever. Then, like Plato, who, on his way home, was accustomed to say on the subject of others’ faults, “Am not I too possibly like them?” a man ought to correct in himself the faults he observes in his neighbours, and be watchful and mindful not to become involved in the same difficulties, and be himself compelled to take to his bed, and there give voice to his yearnings for precious health, but rather, when another is undergoing this experience, he will impress upon himself how valuable a thing is health, and that he ought to try to preserve this by giving heed to himself, and by being frugal. It is not a bad thing, either, to take a look at our own way of living; for if we have been engaged in a bout of drinking and eating, or in hardships and other irregularities, and the body presents no suspicious or premonitory symptoms, nevertheless we ought to be watchful of ourselves and forestall any trouble by means of rest and quiet when fresh from the pleasures of love, or when fatigued; also by drinking water after the free use of wine and after social gaiety, and especially, after indulging in a heavy diet of meat or multifarious foods, to eat lightly, and leave no mass of superfluous residue in the body. For these very things are of themselves the causes of many diseases, and they add material and potency to the other causes. Wherefore it has been very well said, “Eating not unto satiety, labouring not unto weariness, and observance of chastity, are the most healthful things.” 130 For incontinence, by undermining especially the powers by which the food is assimilated, causes further superfluity and overcrowding.
[De tuenda san. 16] 16 1 Let us now take up each topic anew once more; and in the first place, on the subject of exercises suitable for scholars, we beg to remark that one might follow the example of the man who, by saying that he had nothing to write for people dwelling by the sea on the subject of ships, showed clearly that they were in use; and so in the same way one might say that he was not writing for scholars on the subject of exercise. For it is wonderful what an exercise is the daily use of the voice in speaking aloud, conducing, not only to health, but also to strength — not the strength of the wrestler which lays on flesh and makes the exterior solid like the walls of a building, but a strength which engenders an all-pervasive vigour and a real energy in the most vital and dominant parts. That breathing gives strength the athletic trainers make clear in telling the athletes to brace themselves against the rubbing and stop their breath meantime, and keep tense the portions of the body that are being kneaded and massaged. Now the voice is a movement of the breath, and if it be given vigour, not in the throat, but, as it were, at its source in the lungs, it increases the warmth, tones down the blood, clears out every vein, opens every artery, and does not permit of any concretion or solidifying of superfluous fluid like a sediment to take place in the containing organs which take over and digest the food. For this reason we ought especially to make ourselves habituated and used to this exercise by continual speaking, or, if there be any suspicion that our body is not quite up to the mark or is somewhat fatigued, then by reading aloud or declaiming. For reading stands in the same relation to discussion as riding in a carriage to active exercise, and as though upon the vehicle of another’s words it moves softly, and carries the voice gently this way and that. But discussion adds contention and vehemence, as the mind joins in the encounter along with the body. We must, however, be cautious about passionate and convulsive vociferations. For spasmodic expulsion and straining of the breath produces ruptures and sprains.
[De tuenda san. 16b] After reading or discussion, before going to walk, one should make use of rubbing with oil in a warm room to render the flesh supple, extending the massage so far as practicable to the inward parts, and gently equalizing the vital spirit and diffusing it into the extremities. Let the limits of the amount of this rubbing be what is agreeable to the senses and not discomforting. For the man who thus composes the inward disquiet and tension in his vital spirit manages the superfluous in his body without discomfort, and if unfavourable weather or some engagement prevent his going to walk, it does not matter, for Nature has received her proper due. Wherefore neither travelling nor stopping at an inn ought to be made an excuse for silence, nor even if everybody there deride one. For where it is not disgraceful to eat it is certainly not disgraceful to take exercise; nay, it is more disgraceful to feel timid and embarrassed before sailors, muleteers, and innkeepers, who do not deride the man who plays ball and goes through the movements of sparring alone, but the man who speaks, even though in his exercises he instruct, question, learn, and use his memory. Socrates said that for a man’s movements in dancing a room that would accommodate seven persons at dinner was large enough to take exercise in, but for a man who takes his exercise through singing or speaking every place affords him adequate room for this exercise both when standing up and when lying down. But we must observe this one caution — not to strain our voices too hard when we are conscious of a fullness, venery, or fatigue. 131 This is the experience of many of the public speakers and sophists, some of whom are led on by repute and ambition, others on account of emoluments or political rivalries, to competition in excess of what is best for them. Our Niger, when he was giving public lectures in Galatia, happened to swallow a fish bone. But, as another sophist from abroad had made his appearance and was lecturing, Niger, dreading to give the impression that he had yielded to his rival, still lectured although the bone was sticking in his throat; unable to bear the distress from the great and stubborn inflammation that arose, he submitted to a deep incision from the outside, and through the opening the bone was removed; but the place grew sore and purulent and caused his death. But comment on these matters may well be postponed to a later occasion.
[De tuenda san. 17] 17 1 To take a cold bath after exercising is ostentatious and juvenile rather than healthful. For the power of resistance to external influences and the hardiness which it seems to create in the body really produces a more evil effect on the inward parts by stopping up the pores, causing the fluids to collect together, and condensing the exudations which are always wanting to be released and dispersed. Besides, those who insist upon taking cold baths have to make a further change into that exact and strictly ordered way of living which we are trying to avoid, and they have to be always taking heed not to transgress this, since every shortcoming is at once bitterly brought to book. On the other hand, warm baths have much to offer by way of excuse. For they do not detract so much from vigour and strength as they help towards health by rendering the food yielding and soft for the digestion, and by providing for the painless dispersion of whatever escapes digestion, at least if it do not remain altogether crude and high up, and soothing any latent feelings of fatigue. However, when Nature affords us a sense of a moderate and comfortable condition in our body, the bath had better be left alone. A gentle rubbing with oil beside a fire is better, if the body require warming, for it can take for itself the requisite amount of such warmth; but the sun permits use of its warmth at neither higher nor lower temperature than is determined by the temperature of the air. So much will suffice in regard to exercise.
[De tuenda san. 18] 18 1 Coming now to the subject of food, if there be anything helpful in my earlier suggestions as to how we may beguile and pacify our appetites, we must give some further advice regarding what comes next; but if it be difficult to manage a belly that has been set free, as it were from bondage, and to wrangle with it when it has no ears to hear, as Cato used to say, we must contrive by means of the character of our food to make the quantity less burdensome; and of the solid and very nourishing foods, things, for example, like meat and cheese, dried figs and boiled eggs, one may partake if he helps himself cautiously (for it is hard work to decline all the time), but should stick to the thin and light things, such as most of the garden stuff, birds, and such fish as have not much fat. For it is possible by partaking of these things both to gratify the appetites and not oppress the body. Especially to be feared are indigestions arising from meats; for they are depressing at the outset, and a pernicious residue from them remains behind. It is best to accustom the body not to require meat in addition to other food. For the earth yields in abundance many things not only for nourishment but also for comfort and enjoyment, some of which it grants to our use just as they are with no trouble on our part, while others we may make savoury by all sorts of combination and preparation. 132 But since custom has become a sort of unnatural second nature, our use of meat should not be for the satisfaction of appetite, as is the case with wolves or lions; but while we may put it in as a sort of prop and support of our diet, we should use other foods and relishes which for the body are more in accord with nature and less dulling to the reasoning faculty, which, as it were, is kindled from plain and light substances.
[De tuenda san. 19] 19 1 Of the liquids milk ought not to be used as a beverage but as a food possessing solid and nourishing power. With regard to wine we ought to talk as does Euripides with regard to Love:
[De tuenda san. 19b] Mayest thou be mine, but moderate be,
I pray, yet ne’er abandon me.
[De tuenda san. 19c] For wine is the most beneficial of beverages, the pleasantest of medicines, and the least cloying of appetizing things, provided that there is a happy combination of it with the occasion as well as with water. Water, not only the water that is mixed with the wine, but that which is drunk by itself in the interim between the draughts of the mixture, makes the mixture more innocent. One ought to accustom oneself, therefore, in the course of the daily routine to partake of two or three glasses of water, thus both making the potency of the wine milder, and making the drinking of water habitual with the body, so that, whenever it comes to be in need of water, it may not feel strange towards the drink, and refuse it. For the fact is that some people feel most impelled towards wine when the drink which they most need is water. For after being exposed to the sun, and again when chilled, and after speaking more earnestly and thinking more intently than usual, and, in general, after exertions and strivings, they think they ought to drink wine, feeling that Nature requires for the body some comfort and change after labours. But Nature does not require comfort, if comfort is only a name for self-indulgence, but she does require a change, a change which puts the body in a state midway between pleasure and pain. Therefore in such circumstances there should not only be some reduction in food, but wine should be either altogether eliminated or else partaken of between times very diluted and practically engulfed by the drinking of water. For wine, being truculent and keen, intensifies the disturbances of the body, and exacerbates and irritates the contused parts, which are in need of the comfort and alleviation that water best supplies. For if, in spite of the fact that we are not thirsty, we drink hot water after undergoing exertion, strain, or heat, we are sensible of a relaxing and soothing effect within us; for the aqueous fluid is mild and does not quicken the pulse, whereas that of wine has great impetuosity and a potency that is not kindly or humanely disposed toward recent affections. As for the acerbities and bitterness which some say fasting engenders in the body, if anybody fears them, or if, childlike, he thinks it a dreadful thing not to have a meal served before the fever which he suspects is coming, the drinking of water is a very fitting middle course. In fact we frequently make to Dionysus himself offerings which include no wine, thus habituating ourselves quite properly not to be always looking for strong drink. Minos, too, because of grief, abolished the flute and garland from the sacrifice. Yet we know that a grieving soul is not affected either by garlands or by flute. But no one’s body is so strong that wine, thrust upon it when it is disturbed and feverish, does it no harm.
[De tuenda san. 20] 20 1 The Lydians, they say, in a time of famine, alternately spent one day in regaling themselves with food, and the next in jollity and games of chance. But in the case of a scholarly and cultivated man, on an occasion which requires a later dinner than usual, a mathematical problem on hand, 133 or some pamphlet or musical instrument, will not permit him to be harried by his belly; on the contrary, he will steadily turn away and transfer his thoughts from the table to these other things, and scare away his appetites, like Harpies, by means of the Muses. Does not the Scythian, while he is drinking, ofttimes put his hand to his bow, and twang the string, thus summoning back his senses which are being unstrung by the liquor; and shall a Greek man be afraid of those who deride him when by letters and books he endeavours quietly to ease and relax an unfeeling and inexorable desire? When the young men described by Menander were, as they were drinking, insidiously beset by the pimp, who introduced some handsome and high-priced concubines, each one of them (as he says),
[De tuenda san. 20b] Bent down his head and munched his own dessert,
being on his guard and afraid to look at them. But scholars have many fair and pleasant outlooks and diversions, if so be they can in no other way keep under control the canine and bestial element in their appetites when at table. The utterances of athletic trainers and the talk of teachers of gymnastics, who assert on every occasion that scholarly conversation at dinner spoils the food and makes the head heavy, Care to be feared only when we propose to solve the Indian problem or to discuss determinants during dinner. The leaf-bud at the top of the date-palm is sweet, but they say that it brings on a violent headache; and an exercise in logic is by no means a “sweet morsel” to top off a dinner, but, on the contrary, it is quite likely to bring on a headache, and is extremely fatiguing as well. But if they will not allow us to start any other inquiry or scholarly discussion, or to read while at dinner any of those things which, besides being beautiful and useful, contain also the element of pleasurable allurement and sweetness, we shall bid them not to bother us, but to take themselves off, and in the training grounds and buildings to engage in such talk with the athletes, whom they have torn from their books, and by accustoming them to spend the whole day in jesting and scurrility, have, as the clever Ariston said, made them as glossy and blockish as the pillars in a gymnasium. But as for ourselves, we shall follow the advice of the physicians who recommend always to let some time intervene between dinner and sleep, and not, after jumbling our victuals into our body and oppressing our spirit, to hinder our digestion at once with the food that is still unassimilated and fermenting, but rather to provide for it some respite and relaxation; just as those who think it is the right thing to keep their bodies moving after dinner Edo not do this by means of foot-races and strenuous boxing and wrestling, but by gentle walking and decorous dancing, so we shall hold that we ought not to distract our minds after dinner either with business or cares or pseudo-learned disputations, which have as their goal an ostentatious or stirring rivalry. But many of the problems of natural science are light and enticing, and there are many stories which contain ethical considerations and the “soul’s satisfaction,” as Homer has phrased this, and nothing repellent. The spending of time over questions of history and poetry some persons, not unpleasingly, have called a second repast for men of scholarship and culture. There are also inoffensive stories and fables, and it is less onerous to exchange opinions about a flute and a lyre than to listen to the sound of the lyre and the flute itself. The length of time for this is such as the digestion needs to assert itself and gain the upper hand over the food as it is gradually absorbed and begins to agree with us.
[De tuenda san. 21] 21 1 Aristotle holds that walking about on the part of those who have just dined revives the bodily warmth, while sleep, if they go to sleep at once, smothers it; but others hold that quiet improves the digestive faculties, while movement disturbs the processes of assimilation; 134 and this has persuaded some to walk about immediately after dinner, and others to remain quiet. In view of the two opinions a man might appear properly to attain both results who after dinner keeps his body warm and quiet, and does not let his mind sink at once into sleep and idleness, but, as has been previously suggested, lightly diverts and enlivens his spirits by talking himself and listening to another on one of the numerous topics which are agreeable and not acrimonious or depressing.
[De tuenda san. 22] 22 1 The use of emetics and cathartics, abominable “comforts for an overloaded stomach,” ought never, except under the stress of great necessity, to be inaugurated, Bas is the way of most people, who fill up their bodies for the sake of emptying them, and then empty them for the sake of filling them up again, thus transgressing against nature, and are vexed no less at their fullness than at their emptiness — or, better, they are utterly depressed over their fullness, as being a hindrance to enjoyment, but set about bringing on emptiness with the idea of making room always for pleasures. The harmfulness in all this is manifest; for both procedures give rise to disorders and convulsive movements in the body. What is peculiarly bad in the use of an emetic is that it increases and fosters an insatiate greediness. For the feelings of hunger become rough and turbulent, like rivers that are interrupted in their course, and they gulp the food down violently, always ravening and resembling not appetites that need victuals, but inflammations that need medicines and poultices. For this reason the pleasures that lay hold upon such persons are swift in their action and imperfect, and attended by much palpitation and agitation while being experienced, and these are succeeded by distensions and sharp pains in the passages, and retention of gases, which cannot wait for the natural movements, but stay in the upper part of the body as in water-logged ships which require the jettisoning of their cargo, not merely of their surplus. The violent disturbances lower down in the bowels resulting from medication, by decomposing and liquefying the existing contents, increase rather than relieve the overcrowding. Just imagine that anybody, feeling much troubled at the crowd of Greeks living in his city, should fill up the city with Arab and Scythian immigrants! Yet it is just this radical mistake that some people make in connexion with the expulsion of the surplus of habitual and familiar foods, when they introduce into the body from the outside Cnidian berries, scammony, or other incongruous and drastic agents, which have more need of being purged away than power of purging our nature. It is best, therefore, by moderate and temperate living to make the body constantly self-sufficient and well adjusted as regards filling the stomach and emptying it.
[De tuenda san. 22b] If ever absolute necessity befall us, vomiting should be induced without medication and a great ado, and without causing any disturbance beyond merely avoiding indigestion by at once allowing the excess to be peacefully ejected. Just as linen cleansed with lye and washing powders wears out faster than that washed in plenty of water, so vomitings with drugs maltreat and ruin the body. If the bowels are getting sluggish, there is no medicine like some sorts of food that afford a mild stimulus to the inclinations and gently dissolve the cause of trouble. Experience with these is familiar to all, and their use is not attended by discomfort. But if it will not yield to these, the drinking of water for several days, or fasting, or an enema, should be tried next rather than disturbing and pernicious dosing to which most people hurriedly resort, after the manner of licentious women who employ drugs and instruments to produce abortion for the sake of the enjoyment of conceiving again.
[De tuenda san. 23] 23 1 But we need say no more about this class of persons. However, to speak once again of those too exact persons who interject set periods of fasting according to a fixed schedule, 135 they are wrong in teaching their nature to feel a need of restraint when not in need of it, and in making necessary the unnecessary retrenchment at a time which makes demand for what is customarily required. It is better to apply such discipline to the body with a certain freedom, and, if there be no premonitory or suspicious symptoms, to keep, as has been already suggested, our general mode of life responsive to changes so as to meet whatever may befall it, and not to let it be enslaved or bound to one formula of life, which has trained itself to be guided by certain seasons, or numbers, or schedules. For it is not safe, nor easy, nor befitting a citizen or a man, but like the life of an oyster or the trunk of a tree — this immutability and forced compliance in the matter of food and abstinence, movement and rest; it is fitting only for men who have reduced and restricted themselves to a retired, idle, solitary, friendless, and inglorious life, far removed from the duties of citizenship. No,” said he, “it fits not with my opinion.” 24 1 For health is not to be purchased by idleness and inactivity, which are the greatest evils attendant on sickness, and the man who thinks to conserve his health by uselessness and ease does not differ from him who guards his eyes by not seeing, and his voice by not speaking. For a man in good health could not devote himself to any better object than to numerous humane activities. Least of all is it to be assumed that laziness is healthful, if it destroys what health aims at; and it is not true either that inactive people are more healthy. For Xenocrates did not keep in better health than Phocion, nor Theophrastus than Demetrius, and the running away from every activity that smacked of ambition did not help Epicurus and his followers at all to attain their much-talked of condition of perfect bodily health. But we ought, by attention to other details, to preserve the natural constitution of our bodies, recognizing that every life has room for both disease and health.
[De tuenda san. 23b] However, our friend said that to men in public life should be given advice opposite to that which Plato used to give to the young men. For the philosopher, as he took his leave after the exercise, was in the habit of saying, “Be sure, my boys, that you store up the lesson of this hour of leisure for some good end.” But we would advise those who take part in the government to employ their active labours for good and necessary ends, and not subject their bodies to stress on account of small and paltry matters, as is the way of most people, who make themselves miserable over incidental things, and wear themselves out with loss of sleep, going to this place and that place, and running about, all for no useful or decent purpose, but only from a spirit of insolence, envy, or rivalry against others, or in the pursuit of unprofitable and empty repute. It was in special reference to such people, as I think, that Democritus said, that, if the body were to enter suit against the soul for cruel and abusive treatment, the soul would not be acquitted. Perhaps, too, there is some truth in what Theophrastus said, in his metaphorical statement, that the soul pays a high rental to the body. At any rate, that body reaps the fruit of more evils from the soul than the soul from the body, inasmuch as the soul uses the body unreasonably, and the body does not get the care that it deserves. For whenever the soul is occupied with its own emotions, strivings, and concerns, it is prodigal of the body. FI do not know what possessed Jason to say: “We must do wrong in small ways for the sake of doing right in large ways.” But we, with good reason, would advise the man in public life to be indifferent to small things, and to take his ease and give himself plenty of rest while attending to them, if, when he comes to honourable and important activities, he wishes to have his body not worn by drudging, nor dull, nor on the point of giving out, 136 but refreshed by quiet, like a ship in the dock; so that when the soul again points the way to needful activities, it
[De tuenda san. 23c] May run like weanling colt beside its dam.
[De tuenda san. 25] 25 1 Therefore, when circumstances afford us opportunity, we should give ourselves a chance to recuperate, and to this end we should not grudge to our body either sleep or luncheon or ease, which is the mean between indulgence and discomfort, nor observe the sort of limit that most people observe whereby they wear out the body, like steel that is being tempered, by the changes to which they subject it; whenever the body has been strained and oppressed by much hard work, it is once more softened and relaxed immoderately in pleasures, and again, as the next step, while it is still flaccid and relaxed from venery and wine, it is coerced into going to the Forum or to Court or into some business requiring fervent and intense application. Heracleitus, suffering from dropsy, bade his physician to “bring on a drought to follow the wet spell”; but most people are completely in error, inasmuch as, when they are in the midst of exertions, labours, and deprivations, they are most inclined to surrender their bodies to pleasures to be made languid and relaxed, and then, after their pleasures, bending them, as it were, into place, and stretching them tight again. For Nature does not require any such form of compensation in the case of the body. But, on the other hand, in the soul the licentious and unmannerly element, immediately after undergoing hardships, is carried away, as sailors are, by wantonness to pleasures and enjoyments, and, after the pleasures, it is again coerced to tasks and business; and the result is that it does not allow Nature to attain the composure and calm which she needs most, but deranges and disturbs her because of this irregularity. But people who have sense are least given to proffering pleasures to the body when it is busied with labours. For they have absolutely no need, nor even recollection, of such things, inasmuch as they are keeping their thoughts intent on the good to be accomplished by their activity; and by the joy or earnestness in their souls they completely dwarf their other desires. There is a jocose remark attributed to Epameinondas in regard to a good man who fell ill and died about the time of the battle of Leuctra: “Great Heavens! How did he find time to die when there was so much going on?” This may be repeated with truth in the case of a man who has in hand some public activity or philosophic meditation: “What time has this man now for indigestion or drunkenness or carnal desires?” But when such men find themselves again at leisure following upon their activities, they compose and rest their bodies, guarding against unnecessary pleasures, on the ground that they are inimical to Nature.
[De tuenda san. 26] 26 1 I have heard that the Tiberius Caesar once said that a man over sixty who holds out his hand to a physician is ridiculous. To me that seems a pretty strong statement, but this does seem to be true, that each person ought neither to be unacquainted with the peculiarities of his own pulse (for there are many individual diversities), nor ignorant of any idiosyncrasy which his body has in regard to temperature and dryness, and what things in actual practice have proved to be beneficial or detrimental to it. For the man has no perception regarding himself, and is but a blind and deaf tenant in his own body, who gets his knowledge of these matters from another, and must inquire of his physician whether his health is better in summer or winter, whether he can more easily tolerate liquid or solid foods, and whether his pulse is naturally fast or slow. For it is useful and easy for us to know things of this sort, since we have daily experience and association with them.
[De tuenda san. 26b] In regard to food and drink it is expedient to note what kinds are wholesome rather than what are pleasant, and to be better acquainted with those that are good in the stomach rather than in the mouth, 137 and those that do not disturb the digestion rather than those that greatly tickle the palate. For to inquire of a physician what is hard or easy for oneself to digest, and what is constipating or laxative, is no less disgraceful than to inquire what is sweet and what is bitter and what is sour. But nowadays people correct the chefs, being expert at detecting what dish has in it more sweetening or salt or sourness than is proper; but they do not themselves know what, when taken into their own bodies, will be light and painless and beneficial. Therefore, a mistake is not often made in seasoning a soup at their houses, but by their vile and pernicious seasoning of themselves every day they provide a plentiful business for the physicians. Now such persons do not regard the sweetest soup as the best, but they mix in also bitter and pungent flavourings; on the other hand, they inject into the body numerous cloying pleasures, partly from ignorance, and partly because they do not remember that to whatever is healthful and beneficial nature adds a pleasure which causes neither pain nor repentance. But we must keep in mind both those things that are congenial and suitable to the body, and, conversely, as changes attendant on the season occur and different circumstances arise, we should, in full knowledge of the facts, suitably adjust our mode of living to each.
[De tuenda san. 27] 27 1 Now as to various difficulties, due to observance of petty detail and to lack of freedom, which most men encounter — men who are engaged in the toilsome business of harvesting and caring for their crops and by sleepless nights and running hither and thither bring to light the latent infirmities of their bodies — there is no good reason to fear that such will be experienced by scholars and men in public life, with reference to whom our discussion has taken its present form; but these must guard against another and more subtle kind of pettiness that inheres in letters and learning, an influence which compels them to be unsparing and careless of their body, so that they oftentimes, when the body is ready to succumb, will not surrender, but will force the mortal to be partner with the immortal, and the earth-born with the celestial, in rivalry and achievement. Then later, to quote the words of the ox to his fellow-servant the camel, who was unwilling to lighten his burden: “Well, before long you will be carrying me as well as all this load” (as actually resulted when the ox fell dead). And this is just what happens to the mind: if it is unwilling to relax a little and give up to the body in distress and need, a little later a fever or a vertigo attacks it, and it is compelled to give up its books and discussions and studies, and share with the body its sickness and weariness. Plato was right, therefore, in advising that there should be no movement of the body without the mind or of the mind without the body, but that we should preserve, as it were, the even balance of a well-matched team; when the body shares most in the work and weariness of the mind we should repay it by giving it the most care and attention, and we should feel that of the good gifts which fair and lovely Health bestows the fairest is the unhampered opportunity to get and to use virtue both in words and in deeds.

## Advice to bride and groom

138 From Plutarch to Pollianus and Eurydice, health and prosperity.
[Coniug. praec. 0] Following close upon the time-honoured rites which the priestess of Demeter applied to you when you were retiring together to the bridal chamber, a discourse which equally touches both of you and swells the nuptial song will, I think, have a useful effect which will also accord with convention.
[Coniug. praec. 0b] In music they used to call one of the conventional themes for the flute the “Horse Rampant,” a strain which, as it seems, aroused an ardent desire in horses and imparted it to them at the time of mating. Of the many admirable themes contained in philosophy, that which deals with marriage deserves no less serious attention than any other, for by means of it philosophy weaves a spell over those who are entering together into a lifelong partnership, and renders them gentle and amiable toward each other. I have therefore drawn up a compendium of what you, who have been brought up in the atmosphere of philosophy, have often heard, putting it in the form of brief comparisons that it may be more easily remembered, and I am sending it as a gift for you both to possess in common; and at the same time I pray that the Muses may lend their presence and co operation to Aphrodite, and may feel that it is no more fitting for them to provide a lyre or lute well attuned than it is to provide that the harmony which concerns marriage and the household shall be well attuned through reason, concord, and philosophy. Indeed, the ancients gave Hermes a place at the side of Aphrodite, in the conviction that pleasure in marriage stands especially in need of reason; and they also assigned a place there to Persuasion and the Graces, so that married people should succeed in attaining their mutual desires by persuasion and not by fighting and quarrelling.
[Coniug. praec. 1] 1 1 Solon directed that the bride should nibble a quince before getting into bed, intimating, presumably, that the delight from lips and speech should be harmonious and pleasant at the outset.
[Coniug. praec. 2] 2 1 In Boeotia, after veiling the bride, they put on her head a chaplet of asparagus; for this plant yields the finest flavoured fruit from the roughest thorns, and so the bride will provide for him who does not run away or feel annoyed at her first display of peevishness and unpleasantness a docile and sweet life together. e Those who do not patiently put up with the early girlish disagreements are on a par with those who on account of the sourness of green grapes abandon the ripe clusters to others. Again, many of the newly married women because of their first experiences get annoyed at their husbands, and find themselves in like predicament with those who patiently submit to the bees’ stings, but abandon the honeycomb.
[Coniug. praec. 3] 3 1 In the beginning, especially, married people ought to be on their guard against disagreements and clashes, for they see that such household vessels as are made of sections joined together are at the outset easily pulled apart by any fortuitous cause, but after a time, when their joints have become set, they can hardly be separated by fire and steel.
[Coniug. praec. 4] 4 1 Just as fire catches readily in chaff, fibre, and hares’ fur, but goes out rather quickly, unless it gets hold of some other thing that can retain it and feed it, so the keen love between newly married people that blazes up fiercely as the result of physical attractiveness must not be regarded as enduring or constant, unless, by being centred about character and by gaining a hold upon the rational faculties, it attains a state of vitality.
[Coniug. praec. 5] 5 1 139 Fishing with poison is a quick way to catch fish and an easy method of taking them, but it makes the fish inedible and bad. In the same way women who artfully employ love-potions and magic spells upon their husbands, and gain the mastery over them through pleasure, find themselves consorts of dull-witted, degenerate fools. The men bewitched by Circe were of no service to her, nor did she make the least use of them after they had been changed into swine and asses, while for Odysseus, who had sense and showed discretion in her company, she had an exceeding great love.
[Coniug. praec. 6] 6 1 Women who prefer to have power over fools rather than to hearken to sensible men, are like persons who prefer to guide the blind on the road rather than to follow persons possessed of knowledge and sight.
[Coniug. praec. 7] 7 1 Women will not believe that Pasiphaë, the consort of a king, fell in love with a bull, in spite of the fact that they see some of their sex who feel bored by uncompromising and virtuous men, and take more pleasure in consorting with those who, like dogs and he-goats, are a combination of licentiousness and sensuality.
[Coniug. praec. 8] 8 1 Men who through weakness or effeminacy are unable to vault upon their horses teach the horses to kneel of themselves and crouch down. In like manner, some who have won wives of noble birth or wealth, instead of making themselves better, try to humble their wives, with the idea that they shall have more authority over their wives if these are reduced to a state of humility. But, as one pays heed to the size of his horse in using the rein, so in using the rein on his wife he ought to pay heed to her position.
[Coniug. praec. 9] 9 1 Whenever the moon is at a distance from the sun we see her conspicuous and brilliant, but she disappears and hides herself when she comes near him. Contrariwise a virtuous woman ought to be most visible in her husband’s company, and to stay in the house and hide herself when he is away.
[Coniug. praec. 10] 10 1 Herodotus was not right in saying that a woman lays aside her modesty along with her undergarment. On the contrary, a virtuous woman puts on modesty in its stead, and husband and wife bring into their mutual relations the greatest modesty as a token of the greatest love.
[Coniug. praec. 11] 11 Whenever two notes are sounded in accord the tune is carried by the bass; and in like manner every activity in a virtuous household is carried on by both parties in agreement, but discloses the husband’s leadership and preferences.
[Coniug. praec. 12] 12 1 The Sun won a victory over the North Wind. For the wind tried by force to rob a man of his cloak, and blew briskly against him, but the man only drew his garment closer, and held it more tightly together. But when the heat of the sun succeeded the wind, the man began to get warm, and later very hot, and ended by stripping off his shirt as well as his cloak. This is the way most women act. When their husbands try forcibly to remove their luxury and extravagance they keep up a continual fight and are very cross; but if they are convinced with the help of reason, they peaceably put aside these things and practise moderation.
[Coniug. praec. 13] 13 1 Cato expelled from the Senate a man who kissed his own wife in the presence of his daughter. This perhaps was a little severe. But if it is a disgrace (as it is) for man and wife to caress and kiss and embrace in the presence of others, is it not more of a disgrace to air their recriminations and disagreements before others, and, granting that his intimacies and pleasures with his wife should be carried on in secret, to indulge in admonition, fault-finding, and plain speaking in the open and without reserve?
[Coniug. praec. 14] 14 1 Just as a mirror, although embellished with gold and precious stones, is good for nothing unless it shows a true likeness, so there is no advantage in a rich wife unless she makes her life true to her husband’s and her character in accord with his. If the mirror gives back a gloomy image of a glad man, or a cheerful and grinning image of a troubled and gloomy man, it is a failure and worthless. So too a wife is worthless and lacking in sense of fitness who puts on a gloomy face when her husband is bent on being sportive and gay, and again, when he is serious, is sportive and mirthful. The one smacks of disagreeableness, the other of indifference. 140 Just as lines and surfaces, in mathematical parlance, have no motion of their own but only in conjunction with the bodies to which they belong, so the wife ought to have no feeling of her own, but she should join with her husband in seriousness and sportiveness and in soberness and laughter.
[Coniug. praec. 15] 15 1 Men who do not like to see their wives eat in their company are thus teaching them to stuff themselves when alone. So those who are not cheerful in the company of their wives, nor join with them in sportiveness and laughter, are thus teaching them to seek their own pleasures apart from their husbands.
[Coniug. praec. 16] 16 1 The lawful wives of the Persian kings sit beside them at dinner, and eat with them. But when the kings wish to be merry and get drunk, they send their wives away, and send for their music-girls and concubines. In so far they are right in what they do, because they do not concede any share in their licentiousness and debauchery to their wedded wives. If therefore a man in private life, who is incontinent and dissolute in regard to his pleasures, commit some peccadillo with a paramour or a maidservant, his wedded wife ought not to be indignant or angry, but she should reason that it is respect for her which leads him to share his debauchery, licentiousness, and wantonness with another woman.
[Coniug. praec. 17] 17 1 Kings fond of the arts make many persons incline to be artists, those fond of letters make many want to be scholars, and those fond of sport make many take up athletics. In like manner a man fond of his personal appearance makes a wife all paint and powder; one fond of pleasure makes her meretricious and licentious, while a husband who loves what is good and honourable makes a wife discreet and well-behaved.
[Coniug. praec. 18] 18 1 A young Spartan woman, in answer to an inquiry as to whether she had already made advances to her husband, said, “No, but he has made them to me.” This behaviour, I take it, is characteristic of the true mistress of the household, on the one hand not to avoid or to feel annoyed at such actions on the part of her husband if he begins them, and on the other not to take the initiative herself; for the one course is meretricious and froward, the other disdainful and unamiable.
[Coniug. praec. 19] 19 1 A wife ought not to make friends of her own, but to enjoy her husband’s friends in common with him. The gods are the first and most important friends. Wherefore it is becoming for a wife to worship and to know only the gods that her husband believes in, and to shut the front door tight upon all queer rituals and outlandish superstitions. For with no god do stealthy and secret rites performed by a woman find any favour.
[Coniug. praec. 20] 20 1 Plato asserts that the state is prosperous and happy in which the people hear “mine” and “not mine” most rarely uttered, the reason being that the citizens, so far as in them lies, treat all things of real importance as common property. Much more should such expressions be eliminated from the married state; save that, as physicians tell us that blows on the left side of the body record the sensation on the right side, so, in the same way, it is a lovely thing for the wife to sympathize with her husband’s concerns and the husband with the wife’s, so that, as ropes, by being intertwined, get strength from each other, thus, by the due contribution of goodwill in corresponding measure by each member, the copartnership may be preserved through the joint action of both. For Nature unites us through the commingling of our bodies, fin order that, by taking and blending together a portion derived from each member of a pair, the offspring which she produces may be common to both, so that neither can define or distinguish his own or the other’s part therein. Such a copartnership in property as well is especially befitting married people, who should pour all their resources into a common fund, and combine them, and each should not regard one part as his own and another part as the other’s, but all as his own and nothing as the other’s. As we call a mixture “wine,” although the larger of the component parts is water, so the property and the estate ought to be said to belong to the husband even though the wife contribute the larger share.
[Coniug. praec. 21] 21 1 Helen was fond of wealth and Paris of pleasure; Odysseus was sensible and Penelope virtuous. Therefore the marriage of the latter pair was happy and enviable, 141 while that of the former created an “Iliad of woes” for Greeks and barbarians.
[Coniug. praec. 22] 22 1 The Roman, on being admonished by his friends because he had put away a virtuous, wealthy, and lovely wife, reached out his shoe and said, “Yes, this is beautiful to look at, and new, but nobody knows where it pinches me.” A wife, then, ought not to rely on her dowry or birth or beauty, but on things in which she gains the greatest hold on her husband, namely conversation, character, and comradeship, which she must render not perverse or vexatious day by day, but accommodating, inoffensive, and agreeable. For, as physicians have more fear of fevers that originate from obscure causes and gradual accretion than of those which may be accounted for by manifest and weighty reasons, so it is the petty, continual, daily clashes between man and wife, unnoticed by the great majority, that disrupt and mar married life.
[Coniug. praec. 23] 23 1 King Philip was enamoured of a Thessalian woman who was accused of using magic charms upon him. Olympias accordingly made haste to get the woman into her power. But when the latter had come into the queen’s presence and was seen to be beautiful in appearance, and her conversation with the queen was not lacking in good-breeding or cleverness, Olympias exclaimed, “Away with these slanders! You have your magic charms in yourself.” And so a wedded and lawful wife becomes an irresistible thing if she makes everything, dowry, birth, magic charms, and even the magic girdle itself, to be inherent in herself, and by character and virtue succeeds in winning her husband’s love.
[Coniug. praec. 24] 24 1 On another occasion, when a young man of the court had married a beautiful woman of bad reputation, Olympias said, “That fellow has no brains; else he would not have married on sight.” Marriages ought not to be made by trusting the eyes only, or the fingers either, as is the case with some who take a wife after counting up how much she brings with her, but without deciding what kind of a helpmate she will be.
[Coniug. praec. 25] 25 1 Socrates used to urge the ill-favoured among the mirror-gazing youth to make good their defect by virtue, and the handsome not to disgrace their face and figure by vice. So too it is an admirable thing for the mistress of the household, whenever she holds her mirror in her hands, to talk with herself — for the ill-favoured woman to say to herself, “What if I am not virtuous?” and the beautiful one, “What if I am virtuous as well?” For if the ill-favoured woman is loved for her character, that is something of which she can be very proud, far more than if she were loved for her beauty.
[Coniug. praec. 26] 26 1 The Sicilian despot sent clothing and jewellery of the costly kind to the daughters of Lysander; but Lysander would not accept them, saying, “These adornments will disgrace my daughters far more than they will adorn them.” But Sophocles, before Lysander, had said this:
[Coniug. praec. 26b] Adornment! No, you wretch! Naught that adorns
‘Twould seem to be — your crazy mind’s desire.
[Coniug. praec. 26c] For, as Crates used to say, “adornment is that which adorns,” and that adorns or decorates a woman which makes her more decorous. It is not gold or precious stones or scarlet that makes her such, but whatever invests her with that something which betokens dignity, good behaviour, and modesty.
[Coniug. praec. 27] 27 1 Those who offer sacrifice to Hera, the Protectress of Wedlock, do not consecrate the bitter gall with the other parts of the offering, but remove it and cast it beside the altar — an intimation on the part of him who established this custom that bitterness and anger ought never to find a place in married life. For the acerbity of the mistress, like that of wine, ought to be salutary and pleasant, not bitter like that of aloes, nor suggestive of a dose of medicine.
[Coniug. praec. 28] 28 1 Plato advised Xenocrates, who was somewhat churlish in character but otherwise a good and honourable man, to sacrifice to the Graces. It is my opinion that the virtuous woman has especial need of graces in her relations with her husband, in order that, as Metrodorus used to put it, 142 “she may live pleasantly with him and not be cross all the time because she is virtuous.” The thrifty woman must not neglect cleanliness, nor the loving wife cheerfulness; for asperity makes a wife’s correct behaviour disagreeable, just as untidiness has a similar effect upon plain living.
[Coniug. praec. 29] 29 1 The woman who is afraid to laugh and jest a bit with her husband, lest possibly she appear bold and wanton, is no different from one who will not use oil on her head lest she be thought to use perfume, or from one who will not even wash her face lest she be thought to use rouge. But we observe both poets and public speakers, such as try to avoid vulgarity, narrowness, and affectation in their diction, employing all artistry to move and stir the hearer by means of their subject matter, their handling of it, and their portrayal of characters. So too the mistress of the household, just because she avoids and deprecates everything extravagant, meretricious and ostentatious (and she does well to do so), ought all the more, in the graces of her character and daily life, to employ all artistry upon her husband, habituating him to what is honourable and at the same time pleasant. However, if a woman is naturally uncompromising, arbitrary, and unpleasant, the husband must be consider, and do as Phocion did when Antipater prescribed for him a dishonourable and unbecoming course of action. Phocion said, “You cannot use me as a friend and flatterer both,” and so the husband must reason about his virtuous and uncompromising wife, “I cannot have the society of the same woman both as wife and as paramour.”
[Coniug. praec. 30] 30 1 The women of Egypt, by inherited custom, were not allowed to wear shoes, so that they should stay at home all day; and most women, if you take from them gold-embroidered shoes, bracelets, anklets, purple, and pearls, stay indoors.
[Coniug. praec. 31] 31 1 Theano, in putting her cloak about her, exposed her arm. Somebody exclaimed, “A lovely arm.” “But not for the public,” said she. Not only the arm of the virtuous woman, but her speech as well, ought to be not for the public, and she ought to be modest and guarded about saying anything in the hearing of outsiders, since it is an exposure of herself; for in her talk can be seen her feelings, character, and disposition.
[Coniug. praec. 32] 32 1 Pheidias made the Aphrodite of the Eleans with one foot on a tortoise, to typify for womankind keeping at home and keeping silence. For a woman ought to do her talking either to her husband or through her husband, and she should not feel aggrieved if, like the flute-player, she makes a more impressive sound through a tongue not her own.
[Coniug. praec. 33] 33 1 Rich men and princes by conferring honours on philosophers adorn both themselves and the philosophers; but, on the other hand, philosophers by paying court to the rich do not enhance the repute of the rich but lower their own. So is it with women also; if they subordinate themselves to their husbands, they are commended, but if they want to have control, they cut a sorrier figure than the subjects of their control. And control ought to be exercised by the man over the woman, not as the owner has control over a piece of property, but, as the soul colonists the body, by entering into her feelings and being knit to her through goodwill. As, therefore, it is possible to exercise care over the body without being a slave to its pleasures and desires, so it is possible to govern a wife, and at the same time to delight and gratify her.
[Coniug. praec. 34] 34 1 Philosophers say of bodies that some are composed of separate elements, as a fleet or an army, others of elements joined together, as a house or a ship, and still others form together an intimate union, as is the case with every living creature. In about the same way, the marriage of a couple in love with each other is an intimate union; that of those who marry for dowry or children is of persons joined together; and that of those who merely sleep in the same bed is of separate persons who may be regarded as cohabiting, but not really living together. As the mixing of liquids, according to what men of science say, extends throughout their entire content, 143 so also in the case of married people there ought to be a mutual amalgamation of their bodies, property, friends, and relations. In fact, the purpose of the Roman law-giver who prohibited the giving and receiving of presents between man and wife was, not to prevent their sharing in anything, but that they should feel that they shared all things in common.
[Coniug. praec. 35] 35 1 In Leptis, a city of Africa, it is an inherited custom for the bride, on the day after her marriage, to send to the mother of the bridegroom and ask for a pot. The latter does not give it, and also declares that she has none, her purpose being that the bride may from the outset realize the stepmother’s attitude in her mother-in law, and, in the event of some harsher incident later on, may not feel indignant or resentful. A wife ought to take cognizance of this hostility, and try to cure the cause of it, which is the mother’s jealousy of the bride as the object of her son’s affection. The one way at once cure this trouble is to create an affection for herself personally on the part of her husband, and at the same time not to divert or lessen his affection for his mother.
[Coniug. praec. 36] 36 1 Mothers appear to have a greater love for their sons because of a feeling that their sons are able to help them, and fathers for their daughters because of a feeling that the daughters have need of their help. Perhaps, also, because of the honour accorded by man and wife to each other, the one wishes openly to show that he feels greater esteem and affection for the attributes which are more characteristic of the other. And herein there may perhaps be a divergence, but, on the other hand, it is a nice thing if the wife, in the deference she shows, is observed to incline rather toward her husband’s parents than her own, and, if she is distressed over anything, to refer it to them without the knowledge of her own parents. For seeming confidence begets confidence, and love, love.
[Coniug. praec. 37] 37 1 The generals issued orders to the Greeks in Cyrus’s army, that if the enemy advanced shouting they should receive them with silence, but, on the other hand, if the enemy kept silent, they should charge against them with a shout. Women who have sense keep quiet while their husbands in their fits of anger vociferate, but when their husbands are silent they talk to them and mollify them by words of comfort.
[Coniug. praec. 38] 38 1 Euripides is right in censuring those who employ the lyre as an accompaniment to wine. For music ought rather to be invoked on occasions of anger and grief rather than to be made an added attraction for those who are engaged in their pleasures. So you two must regard those persons in error who for the sake of pleasure occupy the same bed, but when they get into some angry disagreement repose apart; they ought, instead, at that time especially to invoke Aphrodite, who is the best physician for such disorders. Such no doubt is the teaching of the poet when he represents Hera as saying,
[Coniug. praec. 38b] I will settle their uncomposed quarrels,
Sending them back to their bed to a union of loving enjoyment.
[Coniug. praec. 39] 39 1 At all times and in all places a wife ought to try to avoid any clash with her husband, and a husband with his wife, but they ought to be especially on their guard against doing this in the privacy of their bedchamber. The woman in travail and pain kept saying to those who were trying to make her go to bed, “How can the bed cure this ailment which I contracted in bed?” But the disagreements, recriminations, and angry passions which the bed generates are not easily settled in another place and at another time.
[Coniug. praec. 40] 40 1 Hermione seems to speak the truth when she says,
Bad women’s visits brought about my fall.
[Coniug. praec. 40b] This, however, does not come about so simply, but only when marital disagreements and jealousies open not only a wife’s doors but also her hearing to such women. So, at such a time especially, a woman who has sense ought to stop her ears, and be on her guard against whispered insinuations, so that fire may not be added to fire, and she ought to have ready in mind the saying of Philip. For it is told that when he was being incited by his friends against the Greeks on the ground that they were being well treated, but were speaking ill of him, he said, 144 “What would happen, then, if we were to treat them ill?” So when these back-biters say, “Your husband treats grievously his loving and virtuous wife.” “Yes, what would happen, then, if I were to begin to hate him and wrong him?”
[Coniug. praec. 41] 41 1 A man whose slave had run away, on catching sight of the fugitive some time later, ran after him; but when the slave got ahead of him by taking refuge in a treadmill, the master said, “Where else could I have wished to find you rather than here?” So then let the woman who, on account of jealousy, is entering a writ of divorce, and is in a high dudgeon, say to herself, “Where else would my rival like better to see me, what would she rather have me do, than feel aggrieved with my husband and quarrel with him and abandon my very home and chamber?”
[Coniug. praec. 42] 42 1 The Athenians observe three sacred ploughings: the first at Scirum in commemoration of the most ancient of sowings; the second in Raria, and the third near the base of the Acropolis, the so called Buzygius (the ox-yoking). But most sacred of all such sowings is the marital sowing and ploughing for the procreation of children. It is a beautiful epithet which Sophocles applied to Aphrodite when he called her “bountiful-bearing Cytherea.” Therefore man and wife ought especially to indulge in this with circumspection, keeping themselves pure from all unholy and unlawful intercourse with others, and not sowing seed from which they are unwilling to have any offspring, and from which if any issue does result, they are ashamed of it, and try to conceal it.
[Coniug. praec. 43] 43 1 When the orator Gorgias read to the Greeks at Olympia a speech about concord, Melanthius said, “This fellow is giving us advice about concord, and yet in his own household he has not prevailed upon himself, his wife, and maidservant, three persons only, to live in concord.” For there was, apparently, some love on Gorgias’s part and jealousy on the wife’s part towards the girl. A man therefore ought to have his household well harmonized who is going to harmonize State, Forum, and friends. For it is much more likely that the sins of women rather than sins against women will go unnoticed by most people.
[Coniug. praec. 44] 44 1 They say that the cat is excited to frenzy by the odour of perfumes. Now if it happened that women were similarly made furious and frantic by perfumes, it would be a dreadful thing for their husbands not to abstain from perfume, but for the sake of their own brief pleasure to permit their wives to suffer in this way. Now inasmuch as women are affected in this way, not by their husband’s using perfume, but by their having connexion with other women, it is unfair to pain and disturb them so much for the sake of a trivial pleasure, and not to follow with wives the practice observed in approaching bees (because these insects are thought to be irritable and bellicose towards men who have been with women) — to be pure and clean from all connexion with others when they approach their wives.
[Coniug. praec. 45] 45 1 Those who have to go near elephants do not put on bright clothes, nor do those who go near bulls put on red; for the animals are made especially furious by these colours; and tigers, they say, when surrounded by the noise of beaten drums go completely mad and tear themselves to pieces. Since, then, this is also the case with men, that some cannot well endure the sight of scarlet and purple clothes, while others are annoyed by cymbals and drums, what terrible hardship is it for women to refrain from such things, and not disquiet or irritate their husbands, but live with them in constant gentleness?
[Coniug. praec. 46] 46 1 A woman once said to Philip, who was trying to force her to come to him against her will, “Let me go. All women are the same when the lights are out.” This is well said as an answer to adulterous and licentious men, but the wedded wife ought especially when the light is out not to be the same as ordinary women, but, when her body is invisible, her virtue, her exclusive devotion to her husband, her constancy, and her affection, ought to be most in evidence.
[Coniug. praec. 47] 47 1 Plato used to advise the elderly men more especially to have the sense of shame before the young, so that the young may be respectful toward them; for where the old men are without sense of shame, he felt, no respect or deference is engendered for the young. The husband ought to bear this in mind, and show no greater respect for anybody than for his wife, 145 seeing that their chamber is bound to be for her a school of orderly behaviour or of wantonness. The man who enjoys the very pleasures from which he tries to dissuade his wife is in no wise different from him who bids her fight to the death against the enemies to whom he has himself surrendered.
[Coniug. praec. 48] 48 1 In regard to love of finery, I beg, Eurydice, that you will read and try to remember what was written to Aristylla by Timoxena; and as for you, Pollianus, you must not think that your wife will refrain from immoderate display and extravagance if she sees that you do not despise these things in others, but, on the contrary, find delight in gilded drinking-cups, pictured walls, trappings for mules, and showy neckbands for horses. For it is impossible to expel extravagance from the wife’s part of the house when it has free range amid the men’s rooms.
[Coniug. praec. 48b] Besides, Pollianus, you already possess sufficient maturity to study philosophy, and I beg that you will beautify your character with the aid of discourses which are attended by logical demonstration and mature deliberation, seeking the company and instruction of teachers who will help you. And for your wife you must collect from every source what is useful, as do the bees, and carrying it within your own self impart it to her, and then discuss it with her, and make the best of these doctrines her favourite and familiar themes. For to her
[Coniug. praec. 48c] Thou art a father and precious-loved mother,
Yea, and a brother as well.
No less ennobling is it for a man among other things hear his wife say, “My dear husband,
Nay, but thou art to me
[Coniug. praec. 48d] guide, philosopher, and teacher in all that is most lovely and divine.” Studies of this sort, in the first place, divert women from all untoward conduct; for a woman studying geometry will be ashamed to be a dancer, and she will not swallow any beliefs in magic charms while she is under the charm of Plato’s or Xenophon’s words. And if anybody professes power to pull down the moon from the sky, she will laugh at the ignorance and stupidity of women who believe these things, inasmuch as she herself is not unschooled in astronomy, and has read in the books about Aglaonice, the daughter of Hegetor of Thessaly, and how she, through being thoroughly acquainted with the periods of the full moon when it is subject to eclipse, and, knowing beforehand the time when the moon was due to be overtaken by the earth’s shadow, imposed upon the women, and made them all believe that she was drawing down the moon.
[Coniug. praec. 48e] It is said that no woman ever produced a child without the co operation of a man, yet there are misshapen, fleshlike, uterine growths originating in some infection, which develop of themselves and acquire firmness and solidity, and are commonly called “moles.” Great care must be taken that this sort of thing does not take place in women’s minds. For if they do not receive the seed of good doctrines and share with their husbands in intellectual advancement, they, left to themselves, conceive many untoward ideas and low designs and emotions.
[Coniug. praec. 48f] And as for you, Eurydice, I beg that you will try to be conversant with the sayings of the wise and good, and always have at your tongue’s end those sentiments which you used to cull in your girlhood’s days when you were with us, so that you may give joy to your husband, and may be admired by other women, adorned, as you will be, without price, with rare and precious jewels. For you cannot acquire and put upon you this rich woman’s pearls or that foreign woman’s silks without buying them at a high price, but the ornaments of Theano, Cleobulina, Gorgo, the wife of Leonidas, Timocleia, the sister of Theagenes, Claudia of old, Cornelia, daughter of Scipio, and of all other women who have been admired and renowned, you may wear about you without price, and, adorning yourself with these, you may live a life of distinction and happiness.
[Coniug. praec. 48g] If Sappho thought that her beautiful compositions in verse 146 justified her in writing to a certain rich woman,
[Coniug. praec. 48h] Dead in the tomb shalt thou lie,
Nor shall there be thought of thee there,
For in the roses of Pierian fields
Thou hast no share,
[Coniug. praec. 48i] why shall it not be even more allowable for you to entertain high and splendid thoughts of yourself, if you have a share not only in the roses but also in the fruits which the Muses bring and graciously bestow upon those who admire education and philosophy?

## Dinner of the seven wise men

[Sept. sap. conv. 1] (146 B) IT seems fairly certain, Nicarchus, that the lapse of time will bring about much obscurity and complete uncertainty regarding actual events, if at the present time, in the case of events so fresh and recent, false accounts that have been concocted obtain credence. For, in the first place, the dinner was not a dinner of the Seven alone, as you and your friends have been told, but of more than twice that number, including myself; for I was on intimate terms with Periander by virtue of my profession, and I was also the host of Thales, for he stayed at my house by command of Periander. In the second place, your informant, whoever he was, did not report the conversation correctly; apparently he was not one of those at the dinner. However, since there is nothing that demands my attention just now, and old age is too untrustworthy to warrant postponing the narration, I will begin at the beginning, and tell you, without any omissions, the story which you all seem eager to hear.
[Sept. sap. conv. 2] 2 1 Periander had arranged for the entertainment, not in the city but in the dining-hall in the vicinity of Lechaeum, close by the shrine of Aphrodite, in whose honour the sacrifice was offered that day. For Periander, ever since his mother’s love-affair which had led to her self-destruction, had offered no sacrifice to Aphrodite, but now, for the first time, owing to certain dreams of Melissa’s, he had set about honouring and conciliating the goddess.
[Sept. sap. conv. 2b] For each of the invited guests a carriage and pair, fashionably caparisoned, was brought to the door; for it was summer-time, and the whole length of the street even to the water’s edge was one mass of dust and confusion by reason of the great crowd of vehicles and people. Thales, however, when he saw the equipage at the door, smiled and dismissed it. And so we set out on foot, leaving the road and going through the fields in a leisurely fashion, and with us two was Neiloxenus of Naucratis, an able man, who had been on terms of intimacy with Solon and Thales and their group in Egypt. He, as it happened, had been sent a second time on a mission to Bias, the reason for which he did not know, save only that he suspected that he was bringing for Bias a second problem sealed up in a packet. His instructions were, that if Bias should give up trying to solve it, he should show the packet to the wisest among the Greeks.
[Sept. sap. conv. 2c] “It is a piece of good fortune for me,” said Neiloxenus, “to have found you all together here, and, as you see, I am bringing the packet with me to the dinner”; and at the same time he showed it to us.
[Sept. sap. conv. 2d] Thales began to laugh, and said, “If it is anything bad, go to Priene again! For Bias will have a solution for this, just as he had his own solution of the first problem.”
[Sept. sap. conv. 2e] “What,” said I, “was the first problem?”
“The king,” said he, “sent to Bias an animal for sacrifice, with instructions to take out and send back to him the worst and best portion of the meat. And our friend’s neat and clever solution was, to take out the tongue and send it to him, with the result that he is now manifestly in high repute and esteem.”
[Sept. sap. conv. 2f] 147”Not for this alone,” said Neiloxenus, “but he does not try to avoid, as the rest of you do, being a friend of kings and being called such. In your case, for instance, the king finds much to admire in you, and in particular he was immensely pleased with your method of measuring the pyramid, because, without making any ado or asking for any instrument, you simply set your walking-stick upright at the edge of the shadow which the pyramid cast, and, two triangles being formed by the intercepting of the sun’s rays, you demonstrated that the height of the pyramid bore the same relation to the length of the stick as the one shadow to the other. But, as I said, you have been unjustly accused of having an animosity against kings, and certain offensive pronouncements of yours regarding despots have been reported to him. For example, he was told that, when you were asked by Molpagoras the Ionian what was the most paradoxical thing you had ever seen, you replied, ‘A despot that lived to be old.’ And again he was told that on a certain convivial occasion there was a discussion about animals, and you maintained that of the wild animals the worst was the despot, and of the tame the flatterer. Now kings, although they would make out that they are altogether different from despots, do not take kindly to such remarks.”
[Sept. sap. conv. 2g] “But the fact is,” said Thales, “that Pittacus is responsible for that statement, which was once made in jest with reference to Myrsilus. But, as for myself, I should be amazed to see,” he continued, “not a despot but a pilot that lived to be old. However, so far as concerns transferring this from the one to the other, my feeling is exactly that of the young man who threw a stone at his dog, but hit his stepmother, whereupon he exclaimed, ‘Not so bad after all!’ This is the reason why I regarded Solon as very wise in refusing to accept the position of despot. And as for your friend Pittacus, if he had never addressed himself to the task of ruling single-handed, he would not have said that ‘it is hard to be good.’ But Periander, apparently, in spite of his being afflicted with despotism as with an inherited disease, is making fair progress towards recovery by keeping wholesome company — at least up to the present time — and by bringing about conferences with men of sense, and by refusing to entertain the suggestions offered by my fellow-citizen Thrasybulus about lopping off the topmost.
[Sept. sap. conv. 2h] Indeed, a despot who desires to rule slaves rather than men is not unlike a farmer who is willing to gather in a harvest of darnel and rest-harrow rather than of wheat and barley. For the exercise of dominion possesses one advantage to set against its many disadvantages, and this is the honour and glory of it, if rulers rule over good men by being better than they, and are thought to surpass their subjects in greatness. But rulers that are content with safety without honour ought to rule over a lot of sheep, horses, and cattle, and not over men. But enough of this,” he continued, “for our visitor here has precipitated us into a conversation that is quite inappropriate, since he has not been careful to bring up topics and questions suitable for persons on their way to dinner. Do you not honestly believe that, as some preparation is necessary on the part of the man who is to be host, there should also be some preparation on the part of him who is to be a guest at dinner?
[Sept. sap. conv. 2i] People in Sybaris, as it appears, have their invitations to women presented a year in advance so as to afford them plenty of time to provide themselves with clothes and jewellery to wear when they come to dinner; but I am of the opinion that the generous preparation on the part of the man who is to be the right kind of guest at dinner requires even a longer time, inasmuch as it is more difficult to discover the fitting adornment for character than the superfluous and useless adornment for the body. In fact, the man of sense who comes to dinner does not betake himself there just to fill himself up as though he were a sort of pot, but to take some part, be it serious or humorous, and to listen and to talk regarding this or that topic as the occasion suggests it to the company, if their association together is to be pleasant. Now an unsavoury dish can be declined, and, if the wine be poor, one may find refuge with the water-sprites; but a guest at dinner who gives the others a headache, and is churlish and uncivil, ruins and spoils the enjoyment of any wines and viands or of any girl’s music; nor is there any ready means by which one can spew out this sort of unsavouriness, 148 but with some persons their mutual dislike lasts for their entire lifetime — stale dregs, as it were, of some insult or fit of temper which was called into being over wine.
[Sept. sap. conv. 2j] Wherefore Chilon showed most excellent judgement when he received his invitation yesterday, in not agreeing to come until he had learned the name of every person invited. For he said that men must put up with an inconsiderate companion on shipboard or under the same tent, if necessity compels them to travel or to serve in the army, but that to trust to luck regarding the people one is to be associated with at table is not the mark of a man of sense. Now the skeleton which in Egypt they are wont, with fair reason, to bring in and expose at their parties, urging the guests to remember that what it is now, they soon shall be, although it is an ungracious and unseasonable companion to be introduced at a merry-making, yet has a certain timeliness, even if it does not incline the guests to drinking and enjoyment, but rather to a mutual friendliness and affection, and if it urges upon them that life, which is short in point of time, should not be made long by evil conduct.
[Sept. sap. conv. 3] 3 1 Engaging in such discourse as this along the way, we arrived at the house. Thales did not care to bathe, for we had already had a rub-down. So he visited and inspected the race-tracks, the training-quarters of the athletes, and the beautifully kept park along the shore; not that he was ever greatly impressed by anything of the sort, but so that he should not seem to show disdain or contempt for Periander’s ambitious designs. As for the other guests, each one, after enjoying a rub-down or a bath, was conducted by the servants to the dining-room through the open colonnade.
[Sept. sap. conv. 3b] Anacharsis was seated in the colonnade, and in front of him stood a girl who was parting his hair with her hands. This girl ran to Thales in a most open-hearted way, whereupon he kissed her and said laughingly, “Go on and make our visitor beautiful, so that we may not find him terrifying and savage in his looks, when he is, in reality, most civilized.”
[Sept. sap. conv. 3c] When I inquired about the girl and asked who she was, he replied, “Have you not heard of the wise and far-famed Eumetis? Really, though, that is only her father’s name for her, and most people call her Cleobulina after her father.”
[Sept. sap. conv. 3d] “I am sure,” said Neiloxenus, “that when you speak so highly of the maiden you must have reference to the cleverness and skill that she shows in her riddles; for it is a fact that some of her conundrums have even found their way to Egypt.”
[Sept. sap. conv. 3e] “No indeed,” said Thales, “for these she uses like dice as a means of occasional amusement, and risks an encounter with all comers. But she is also possessed of wonderful sense, a statesman’s mind, and an amiable character, and she has influence with her father so that his government of the citizens has become milder and more popular.”
[Sept. sap. conv. 3f] “Yes, said Neiloxenus, “that must be apparent to anybody who observes her simplicity and lack of affectation. But what is the reason for her loving attentions to Anacharsis?”
[Sept. sap. conv. 3g] “Because,” replied Thales, “he is a man of sound sense and great learning, and he has generously and readily imparted to her the system of diet and purging which the Scythians employ in treating their sick. And I venture to think that at this very moment, while she is bestowing this affectionate attention on the man, she is gaining some knowledge through further conversation with him.”
[Sept. sap. conv. 3h] We were already near the dining-room when Alexidemus of Miletus met us. He was a son of the despot Thrasybulus, but born out of wedlock. He was coming out in a state of great agitation, angrily talking to himself, but saying nothing that was intelligible to us. When he saw Thales he recovered himself a little, stopped, and exclaimed, “What an insult! To think that Periander should behave so toward us! Why, he would not hear of my going away when I was bent on going, but begged me to stay over for the dinner; and then when I came he assigned to me an ignominious place, setting Aeolians, and men from the islands, and what not, above Thrasybulus. For it is plain that in my person he wishes to offer insult to Thrasybulus, who delegated me to come, and to put him low down to show that he purposely ignores him.”
[Sept. sap. conv. 3i] 149”So then,” said Thales, “as the Egyptians say of the stars, when they gain or lose altitude in their courses, that they are growing better or worse than they were before, do you fear that obscuration and degradation affecting you because of your place at table will be brought about in a similar way? And you will be contemptible when compared with the Spartan who in a chorus was put by the director in the very last place, whereupon he exclaimed, ‘Good! You have found out how this may be made a place of honour.’ When we have taken our places,” continued Thales, “we ought not to try to discover who has been placed above us, but rather how we may be thoroughly agreeable to those placed with us, by trying at once to discover in them something that may serve to initiate and keep up friendship, Band, better yet, by harbouring no discontent but an open satisfaction in being placed next to such persons as these. For, in every case, a man that objects to his place at table is objecting to his neighbour rather than to his host, and he makes himself hateful to both.”
[Sept. sap. conv. 3j] “All this,” said Alexidemus, “is merely talk that means nothing. As a matter of fact, I observe that all you wise men too make it your aim in life to have honour shown you”; and with that he passed by us and departed.
[Sept. sap. conv. 3k] Thales, in answer to our look of astonishment at the man’s extraordinary conduct, said, “A crazy fellow, and uncouth by nature; as an instance, when he was still a boy, some especially fine perfume was brought to Thrasybulus, and this the youngster emptied into a big wine-cooler, and on top of it poured strong wine, and drank it off, thus creating enmity instead of friendship for Thrasybulus.”
[Sept. sap. conv. 3l] Just then a servant made his way to us and said, “Periander bids you, and Thales too, to take your friend here with you and inspect something which has just now been brought to him, to determine whether its birth is of no import whatever, or whether it is a sign and portent; at any rate, he himself seemed to be greatly agitated, feeling that it was a pollution and blot upon his solemn festival.” With these words he conducted us to one of the rooms off the garden. Here as a youth, a herdsman apparently, beardless as yet, and not bad-looking withal, unfolded a piece of leather, and showed us a newly-born creature which he asserted was the offspring of a mare. Its upper parts as far as the neck and arms were of human form, and the sound of its crying was just like that of newly-born infants, but the rest of its body was that of a horse. Neiloxenus merely exclaimed, “God save us,” and turned his face away; but Thales fixed his gaze upon the youth for a long time, and then, with a smile (for he was in the habit of joking with me about my profession), said, “No doubt, Diocles, you are minded to set in operation your ritual of atonement, and to trouble the gods who deliver us from evil, since you must feel that something terrible and momentous has befallen?”
[Sept. sap. conv. 3m] “Why not?” said I, “since this thing is a sign of strife and discord, Thales, and I fear that it may go so far as to affect even marriage and offspring, because, even before we have made full atonement for the first fault that moved the goddess to wrath, she plainly shows us, as you see, that there is a second.”
[Sept. sap. conv. 3n] To all this Thales made no answer, but withdrew, laughing all the while. Periander met us at the door, and inquired about what we had seen; whereupon Thales left me and took his hand, saying, “Whatever Diocles bids you do you will carry out at your own convenience, but my recommendation to you is that you should not employ such young men as keepers of horses, or else that you should provide wives for them.”
[Sept. sap. conv. 3o] It seemed to me that Periander, on hearing his words, was mightily pleased, for he burst out laughing and embraced Thales most affectionately. “I think, Diocles,” said Thales, “that the sign has already had its fulfilment, for you see what a bad thing has happened to us in that Alexidemus would not dine with us!”
[Sept. sap. conv. 4] 4 1 When we had entered the dining-room, Thales, in a louder voice than usual, said, “Where is the place at table to which the man objected?” And when its position was pointed out to him he made his way to it, and placed himself and us there, at the same time remarking, “Why, I would have given money to share the same table with Ardalus.” This Ardalus was from Troezene, a flute-player and a priest of the Ardalian Muses, 150 whose worship his forefather, Ardalus of Troezene, had established.
[Sept. sap. conv. 4b] Aesop too, as it happened, having been sent by Croesus only a short time before on a mission both to Periander and to the god at Delphi, was present at the dinner, seated on a low chair next to Solon, who occupied the place just above. Aesop said: “A Lydian mule caught sight of his own image reflected in a river, and, suddenly struck with admiration at the beauty and great size of his body, tossed his mane and started to run like a horse, but then, recalling that his sire was an ass, he soon stopped his running, and gave up his pride and animation.”
[Sept. sap. conv. 4c] Whereupon Chilon, dropping into Laconian dialect, remarked, “It’s slow ye are, and ye’re running on like the mule.”
Just then Melissa came in took her place on the couch next to Periander, but Eumetis sat during the dinner. Then Thales, addressing himself to me (my place was just above that of Bias), said, “Diocles, why do you not tell Bias at once that our guest from Naucratis has again come to him with a king’s problems, so that he may hear them stated while he is sober and circumspect?”
[Sept. sap. conv. 4d] “Hear that!” said Bias; “this man has been trying for a long time to terrify me with such adjurations; but I know that Dionysus, besides being clever in other ways, is called the ‘solver’ by virtue of wisdom, so I have no fears that if I become filled with his spirit I shall compete with less courage.”
[Sept. sap. conv. 4e] In such repartee as this did those men indulge while dining; but to me, as I was noticing that the dinner was plainer than usual, there came the thought that the entertainment and invitation of wise and good men involves no expense, but rather curtails expense, since it does away with over-elaborate viands and imported perfumes and sweetmeats and the serving of costly wines, all of which were in fairly free use every day with Periander in his royal position and wealth and circumstance. But on this occasion he tried to make an impression on the men by simplicity and restraint in expenditure. Nor was this limited to these other matters, but he also made his wife put aside and out of sight her usual elaborate attire, and present herself inexpensively and modestly attired.
[Sept. sap. conv. 5] 5 1 After the tables had been cleared away, and garlands distributed by Melissa, and we had poured libations, and the flute-girl, after playing a brief accompaniment for our libations, had withdrawn, then Ardalus, addressing Anacharsis, inquired if there were flute-girls among the Scythians.
[Sept. sap. conv. 5b] He answered on the spur of the moment, “No, nor grape-vines either.”
[Sept. sap. conv. 5c] When Ardalus again said, “But the Scythians must have gods,” he replied, “Certainly, they have gods who understand the language of men; they are not like the Greeks, who, although they think they converse better than the Scythians, yet believe that the gods have more pleasure in listening to the sound produced by bits of bone and wood.”
[Sept. sap. conv. 5d] Thereupon Aesop said, “I would have you know, my friend, that the modern flute-makers have given up the use of bones from fawns, and use bones from asses, asserting that the latter have a better sound. This fact underlies the riddle which Cleobulina made in regard to the Phrygian flute:
[Sept. sap. conv. 5e] Full on my ear with a horn-bearing shin did a dead donkey smite me.
[Sept. sap. conv. 5f] So we may well be astonished that the ass, which otherwise is most gross and unmelodious, yet provides us with a bone which is most fine and melodious.”
[Sept. sap. conv. 5g] “That, without question,” said Neiloxenus, “is the reason for the complaint which the people of Busiris make against us of Naucratis; for we are already using asses’ bones for our flutes. But for them even to hear a trumpet is a sin, because they think it sounds like the bray of an ass; and you know, of course, that an ass is treated with contumely by the Egyptians on account of Typhon.”
[Sept. sap. conv. 6] 6 1 There was a pause in the conversation, and Periander, noticing that Neiloxenus wanted to begin his remarks, but was hesitating, said, 151”I am inclined to commend both states and rulers that take up the business of strangers first and of their own citizens afterwards; and now it seems to me that we should for a few minutes put a check on our own words, which are, as it were, in their own land where they are well known, and grant audience, as in a legislative sitting, to the royal communication from Egypt, which our excellent friend Neiloxenus has come to bring to Bias, and which Bias wishes to consider with all of us together.”
[Sept. sap. conv. 6b] “Indeed,” said Bias, “in what place or company would a man more readily take the risk, if he must, of answering such questions, especially since the king has given instructions to begin with me, and after that the matter is to come round to all the rest of you?”
As he said this Neiloxenus offered him the packet, but Bias bade him by all means to open it and read it aloud. The contents of the letter were to this effect:
[Sept. sap. conv. 6c] “Amasis, king of the Egyptians, to Bias, wisest of the Greeks.
[Sept. sap. conv. 6d] “The king of the Ethiopians is engaged in a contest in wisdom against me. Repeatedly vanquished in all else, he has crowned his efforts by framing an extraordinary and awful demand, bidding me to drink up the ocean. My reward, if I find a solution, is to have many villages and cities of his, and if I do not, I am to withdraw from the towns lying about Elephantine. I beg therefore that you will consider the question, and send back Neiloxenus without delay. And whatever is right for your friends or citizens to receive from us shall meet with no let or hindrance on my part.”
[Sept. sap. conv. 6e] After this had been read Bias did not wait long, but, after a few minutes of abstraction and a few words with Cleobulus, whose place was near his, he said, “What is this, my friend from Naucratis? Do you mean to say that Amasis, who is king of so many people and possessed of such an excellent great country, will be willing, for the consideration of some insignificant and miserable villages, to drink up the ocean?”
[Sept. sap. conv. 6f] Neiloxenus answered with a laugh, “Assume that he is willing, and consider what is possible for him to do.”
[Sept. sap. conv. 6g] “Well, then,” said Bias, “let him tell the Ethiopian to stop the rivers which are now emptying into the ocean depths, while he himself is engaged in drinking up the ocean that now is; for this is the ocean with which the demand is concerned, and not the one which is to be.”
[Sept. sap. conv. 6h] As soon as Bias had said these words, Neiloxenus, for very joy, hastened to embrace and kiss him. The rest of the company also commended the answer, and expressed their satisfaction with it, and then Chilon said with a laugh, “My friend, before the ocean disappears entirely in consequence of being drunk up, I beg that you sail back to your home in Naucratis and take word to Amasis not to be trying to find out how to make way with so much bitter brine, but rather how to render his government potable and sweet to his subjects; for in these matters Bias is most adept and a most competent instructor, and if Amasis will only learn them from him, he will have no further need of his golden foot-tub to impress the Egyptians, but they will all show regard and affection for him if he is good, even though he be shown to be in his birth ten thousand times more lowly than at present.”
[Sept. sap. conv. 6i] “Yes, indeed,” said Periander, “it surely is right and proper that we all contribute an offering of this sort to the king, ‘each man in his turn,’ as Homer has said. For to him these extra items would be more valuable than the burden of his mission, and as profitable for ourselves as anything could be.”
[Sept. sap. conv. 7] 7 1 Chilon thereupon said that it was only right that Solon should take the lead in speaking on this subject, not merely because he was most advanced in years and was occupying the place of honour, but because he held the greatest and most perfect position as a ruler by getting the Athenians to accept his laws. Thereupon Neiloxenus quietly remarked to me, “It is certain, Diocles, that a good many things come to be believed quite contrary to fact, and most people take delight in fabricating out of their own minds unwarranted tales about wise men, and in readily accepting such tales from others. Such, for instance, was the report, which was brought to us in Egypt, in regard to Chilon, to the effect that he had broken off his friendship and his hospitable relations with Solon 152 because Solon asserted that laws are subject to revision.”
[Sept. sap. conv. 7b] “The story is ridiculous,” said I; “for in such case Chilon ought first to renounce Lycurgus and all his laws, for Lycurgus revised completely the Spartan connect.”
[Sept. sap. conv. 7c] Solon then, after a moment’s delay, said, “In my opinion either a king, or a despot, would best gain repute if out of a monarchy he should organize a democracy for his people.”
Next Bias said, “If he should be the very first to conform to his country’s laws.”
[Sept. sap. conv. 7d] Following him Thales said that he accounted it happiness for a ruler to reach old age and die a natural death.
[Sept. sap. conv. 7e] Fourth, Anacharsis said, “If only he have sound sense.”
Fifth, Cleobulus, “If he trust none of his associates.”
Sixth, Pittacus, “If the ruler should manage to make his subjects fear, not him, but for him.”
[Sept. sap. conv. 7f] Chilon followed by saying that a ruler’s thoughts should never be the thoughts of a mortal, but of an immortal always.
[Sept. sap. conv. 7g] When these sentiments had been expressed, we insisted that Periander himself should also say something. And he, not very cheerful, but with a hard set face, said, “Well, I may add my view, that the opinions expressed, taken as a whole, practically divorce any man possessed of sense from being a ruler.”
[Sept. sap. conv. 7h] Whereupon Aesop, as though taking us to task, said, “You ought, then, to have carried out this discussion by yourselves, and not, while professing to be counsellors and friends, to have made yourselves complainants against rulers.”
Solon then, laying his hand on Aesop’s head and smiling the while, said, “Don’t you think that anyone could make a ruler more moderate and a despot more reasonable if he could persuade them that it is better not to rule than to rule?”
“Who,” he replied, “would believe you in this matter in preference to the god who said, according to the oracle referring to you,
[Sept. sap. conv. 7i] Blessed the city that hears the command of one herald only?”
[Sept. sap. conv. 7j] “Yet it is a fact,” said Solon, “that even now the Athenians hearken to one herald and ruler only, and that one, the law, under their democratic constitution. You are clever in understanding ravens and jackdaws, but you have no true ear for the voice of equality, but think that, according to the god, the city which hearkens to one man fares the best, whereas in a social gathering you regard it as a virtue to have everybody talk and on every sort of subject.”
[Sept. sap. conv. 7k] “Yes,” said Aesop, “that is because you have not yet written a law that slaves shall not get drunk, which would be a similar law to fit this case, as at Athens you wrote a law that slaves shall not have any love-affair and shall not rub down like athletes.”
Solon laughed at this and Cleodorus the physician said, “Nevertheless rubbing down dry is similar to talking when soaked with wine in that it is most agreeable.”
[Sept. sap. conv. 7l] And Chilon, interrupting, said, “The more reason then for refraining from it.”
“I could swear,” said Aesop, speaking again, “that Thales appeared to bid a man to grow old as fast as possible.”
[Sept. sap. conv. 8] 8 1 Periander at this burst out laughing, and said, “We are fittingly punished, Aesop, for becoming involved in other subjects before introducing all of those from Amasis, to which we gave precedence. I beg, Neiloxenus, that you will look at the rest of the letter and take advantage of the fact that the men are all here together.”
[Sept. sap. conv. 8b] “Well, in truth,” said Neiloxenus, “the demand of the Ethiopian can hardly be called anything but a ‘depressing cryptic dispatch,’ to borrow a phrase from Archilochus, but your friend Amasis is more civilized and cultivated in proposing such questions; for he bade the king name the oldest thing, the most beautiful, the greatest, the wisest, the most common, and besides these, as I can attest, to name also the most helpful thing and the most harmful, and strongest and the easiest.”
[Sept. sap. conv. 8c] “Did the Ethiopian king give an answer and a solution for each of these questions?”
“Yes, in his way,” said Neiloxenus, “but you must judge for yourselves when you hear his answers. For my king holds it to be a very important matter 153 not to be caught impugning the answers falsely; and likewise, if the respondent is making any slip in these, he would not have this pass unquestioned. I will read the answers of the Ethiopian as he gave them:
[Sept. sap. conv. 8d] (a) ‘What is the oldest thing?’ ‘Time.’
(b) ‘What is the greatest?’ ‘The universe.’
[Sept. sap. conv. 8e] (c) ‘What is the wisest?’ ‘Truth.’
(d) ‘What is the most beautiful?’ ‘Light.’
[Sept. sap. conv. 8f] (e) ‘What is most common?’ ‘Death.’
(f) ‘What is most helpful?’ ‘God.’
[Sept. sap. conv. 8g] (g) ‘What is most harmful?’ ‘An evil spirit.’
(h) ‘What is strongest?’ ‘Fortune.’
(i) ‘What is easiest?’ ‘Pleasure.’
[Sept. sap. conv. 9] 9 1 After this second reading, there was silence for a time, and then Thales asked Neiloxenus if Amasis had approved the answers. When Neiloxenus replied that Amasis had accepted some, but was much dissatisfied with others, Thales said, “As a matter of fact there is not a thing in them that cannot be impugned, but they all contain gross errors and evidences of ignorance. For instance, in the very first one, how can time be the oldest thing if a part of it is past, a part present, and a part future? For the time which is to come would clearly be younger than events and persons that now are. And to hold that truth is wisdom seems to me no different from declaring that light is the eye. If he thought the light beautiful, as it really is, how did he come to overlook the sun itself? Among the others the answer about gods and evil spirits evinces boldness and daring, but the one about Fortune contains much bad logic; Cfor Fortune would not be so fickle about abiding with one if it were the mightiest and strongest thing in existence. Nor is death, in fact, the most common thing; for it does not affect the living. But, to avoid giving the impression of merely passing judgement upon the statements of others, let us compare answers of our own with his. And I offer myself as the first, if Neiloxenus so desires, to be questioned on each topic; and taking the questions in the order given, I will repeat them, together with my answers:
[Sept. sap. conv. 9b] (a) ‘What is the oldest thing?’ ‘God,’: said Thales, “for God is something that has no beginning.’
[Sept. sap. conv. 9c] (b) ‘What is the greatest?’ ‘Space; for while the universe contains within it all else, this contains the universe.’
[Sept. sap. conv. 9d] (c) ‘What is the most beautiful?’ ‘The Universe; for everything that is ordered as it should be is a part of it.’
[Sept. sap. conv. 9e] (d) ‘What is the wisest?’ ‘Time; for it has discovered some things already, and shall discover all the rest.’
[Sept. sap. conv. 9f] (e) ‘What is most common?’ ‘Hope; for those who have nothing else have that ever with them.’
[Sept. sap. conv. 9g] (f) ‘What is most helpful?’ ‘Virtue; for it makes everything else helpful by putting it to a good use.’
[Sept. sap. conv. 9h] (g) ‘What is most harmful?’ ‘Vice; for it harms the greatest number of things by its presence.’
[Sept. sap. conv. 9i] (h) ‘What is strongest?’ ‘Necessity; for that alone is insuperable.’
[Sept. sap. conv. 9j] (i) ‘What is easiest?’ ‘To follow Nature’s course; because people often weary of pleasures.’ “
[Sept. sap. conv. 10] 10 1 When all had expressed their satisfaction with Thales, Cleodorus said, “Asking and answering such questions is all right for kings. But the barbarian who would have Amasis drink up the ocean to do him honour needed the terse retort which Pittacus used to Alyattes, when the latter wrote and sent an overbearing command to the Lesbians. The only answer he made was to tell Alyattes to eat onions and hot bread.”
[Sept. sap. conv. 10b] Periander now entered into the conversation, and said, “Nevertheless it is a fact, Cleodorus, that the ancient Greeks also had a habit of propounding such perplexing questions to one another. For we have the story that the most famous poets among the wise men of that time gathered at Chalcis to attend the funeral of Amphidamas. Now Amphidamas was a warrior who had given much trouble to the Eretrians, and had fallen in one of the battles for the possession of the Lelantine plain. But since the verses composed by the poets made the decision a difficult and troublesome matter because they were so evenly matched, and since the repute of the contestants, Homer and Hesiod, caused the judges much perplexity as well as embarrassment, 154 the poets resorted to questionings of this sort, and Homer, as Lesches asserts, propounded this:
[Sept. sap. conv. 10c] Tell me, O Muse, of events which never have happened aforetime,
Nor in the future shall ever betide,
and Hesiod answered quite off-hand:
When round Zeus in his tomb rush the steeds with galloping hoof-beats,
Crashing car against car, as they eagerly run for a trophy.
[Sept. sap. conv. 10d] And for this it is said that he gained the greatest admiration and won the tripod.”
“But what difference is there,” said Cleodorus, “between things like this and Eumetis’s riddles? Perhaps it is not unbecoming for her to amuse herself and to weave these as other girls weave girdles and hair-nets, and to propound them to women, but the idea that men of sense should take them at all seriously is ridiculous.”
[Sept. sap. conv. 10e] Eumetis, to judge by her appearance, would have liked to give him an answer, but restrained herself with all modesty, and her face was covered with blushes. But Aesop, as though he would take her part, said, “Is it not then even more ridiculous not to be able to solve these? Take, for instance, the one which she propounded to us a few minutes before dinner:
[Sept. sap. conv. 10f] Sooth I have seen a man with fire fasten bronze on another.
[Sept. sap. conv. 10g] Could you tell me what this is?”
[Sept. sap. conv. 10h] “No,” said Cleodorus, “and I don’t want to be told, either.”
[Sept. sap. conv. 10i] “Yet it is a fact,” said Aesop, “that nobody knows this more perfectly than you, or does it better, either; and if you deny this, I have cupping-glasses to testify to it.”
[Sept. sap. conv. 10j] At this Cleodorus laughed; for of all the physicians of his time he was most given to the use of cupping-glasses, and it was largely owing to him that this form of treatment has come to have such repute.
[Sept. sap. conv. 11] 11 Mnesiphilus the Athenian, a warm friend and admirer of Solon’s, said, “I think it is no more than fair, Periander, that the conversation, like the wine, should not be apportioned on the basis of wealth or rank, but equally to all, as in a democracy, and that it should be general. Now in what has just been said dealing with dominion and kingdom, we who live under a popular government have no part. Therefore I think that at this time each of you ought to contribute an opinion on the subject of republican government, beginning again with Solon.”
[Sept. sap. conv. 11b] It was accordingly agreed to do this, and Solon began by saying, “But you, Mnesiphilus, as well as all the rest of the Athenians, have heard the opinion which I hold regarding government. However, if you wish to hear it again now, I think that a State succeeds best, and most effectively perpetuates democracy, Ein which persons uninjured by a crime, no less than the injured person, prosecute the criminal and get him punished.”
[Sept. sap. conv. 11c] Second was Bias, who said that the most excellent democracy was that in which the people stood in as much fear of the law as of a despot.
Following him Thales said that it was the one having citizens neither too rich nor too poor.
[Sept. sap. conv. 11d] After him Anacharsis said that it was the one in which, all else being held in equal esteem, what is better is determined by virtue and what is worse by vice.
[Sept. sap. conv. 11e] Fifth, Cleobulus said that a people was most righteous whose public men dreaded censure more than they dreaded the law.
[Sept. sap. conv. 11f] Sixth, Pittacus said that it was where bad men are not allowed to hold office, and good men are not allowed to refuse it.
[Sept. sap. conv. 11g] Chilon, turning to the other side, declared that the best government is that which gives greatest heed to laws and least heed to those who talk about them.
[Sept. sap. conv. 11h] Finally, Periander once more concluded the discussion with the decisive remark, that they all seemed to him to approve a democracy which was most like an aristocracy.
[Sept. sap. conv. 12] 12 1 When this discussion had come to an end, I said that it seemed to me to be only fair that these men should tell us how a house should be managed. “For,” said I, “but few persons are in control of kingdoms and states, whereas we all have to do with a hearth and home.”
[Sept. sap. conv. 12b] Aesop laughed and said, “Not all, if you include also Anacharsis in our number; 155 for not only has he no home, but he takes an immense pride in being homeless and in using a wagon, after the manner in which they say the sun makes his rounds in a chariot, occupying now one place and now another in the heavens.”
[Sept. sap. conv. 12c] “And that, I would have you know,” said Anacharsis, “is precisely the reason why he solely or pre-eminently of all the gods is free and independent, and rules over all and is ruled by none, but is king, and holds the reins. Only you seem to have no conception of his chariot, how surpassing it is in beauty, and wondrous in size; else you would not, even in jest, have humorously compared it to ours. It seems to me, Aesop, that your idea of a home is limited to these protective coverings made of mortar, wood, and tiles, just as you were to regard a snail’s shell, and not the creature itself, as a snail. Quite naturally, then, Solon gave you occasion to laugh, because, when he had looked over Croesus’s house with its costly furnishings, he did not instantly declare that the owner led a happy and blessed existence therein, for the good reason that he wished to have a look at the good within Croesus rather than at his good surroundings. But you, apparently, do not remember your own fox. For the fox, having entered into a contest with the leopard to determine which was the more ingeniously coloured, insisted it was but fair that the judge should note carefully what was within her, for there she said she should show herself more ingenious. But you go about, inspecting the works of carpenters and stone-masons, and regarding them as a home, and not the inward and personal possessions of each man, his children, his partner in marriage, his friends, and servants; and though it be in an ant-hill or a bird’s nest, yet if these are possessed of sense and discretion, and the head of the family shares with them all his worldly goods, he dwells in a goodly and a happy home. This then,” said he, “is my answer to Aesop’ insinuation, and my contribution to Diocles. And now it is but right that each of the others should disclose his own opinion.”
[Sept. sap. conv. 12d] Thereupon Solon said that the best home seemed to him to be where no injustice is attached to the acquisition of property, no distrust to keeping it, and no repentance to spending it.
[Sept. sap. conv. 12e] Bias said, “It is the home in which the head of the household, because of his own self, maintains the same character that he maintains outside of it because of the law.”
[Sept. sap. conv. 12f] Thales said, “The home in which it is possible for the head of the household to have the greatest leisure.”
[Sept. sap. conv. 12g] Cleobulus said, “If the head of the household have more who love him than fear him.”
[Sept. sap. conv. 12h] Pittacus said that the best home is that which needs nothing superfluous, and lacks nothing necessary.
[Sept. sap. conv. 12i] Chilon said that the home ought to be most like to a State ruled by a king; and then he added that Lycurgus said to the man who urged him to establish a democracy in the State, “Do you first create a democracy in your own house.”
[Sept. sap. conv. 13] 13 1 When this discussion had come to its end, Eumetis withdrew, accompanied by Melissa. Then Periander drank to Chilon in a big beaker, and Chilon did the same to Bias, whereupon Ardalus arose, and addressing himself to Aesop, said, “Won’t you send the cup over here to us, seeing that these people are sending it to and fro to one another as though it were the beaker of Bathycles, and are not giving anybody else a chance at it?”
[Sept. sap. conv. 13b] And Aesop said, “But this cup is not democratic either, since it has been resting all the time by Solon only.”
[Sept. sap. conv. 13c] Thereupon Pittacus, addressing Mnesiphilus, asked why Solon did not drink, but by his testimony was discrediting the verses in which he had written
[Sept. sap. conv. 13d] Give me the tasks of the Cyprus-born goddess and Lord Dionysus,
Yea, and the Muses besides; tasks which bring cheer among men.
[Sept. sap. conv. 13e] Before the other could reply Anacharsis hastened to say, “He is afraid of you, Pittacus, and that harsh law of yours in which you have decreed, ‘If any man commit any offence when drunk, his penalty shall be double that prescribed for the sober.’ “
[Sept. sap. conv. 13f] And Pittacus said, “But you at any rate showed such insolent disregard for the law, that last year, at the house of Alcaeus’s brother, you were the first to get drunk and you demanded as a prize a wreath of victory.”
156”And why not?” said Anacharsis. “Prizes were offered for the man who drank the most, and I was the first to get drunk; why should I not have demanded the reward of my victory? Else do you instruct me as to what is the aim in drinking much strong wine other than to get drunk.”
[Sept. sap. conv. 13g] When Pittacus laughed at this, Aesop told the following story: “A wolf seeing some shepherds in a shelter eating a sheep, came near to them and said, ‘What an uproar you would make if I were doing that!’ “
[Sept. sap. conv. 13h] “Aesop,” said Chilon, “has very properly defended himself, for a few moments ago he had his mouth stopped by us, and now, later, he sees that others have taken the words out of Mnesiphilus’s mouth; for it was Mnesiphilus who was asked for a rejoinder in defence of Solon.”
[Sept. sap. conv. 13i] “And I speak,” said Mnesiphilus, “with full knowledge that it is Solon’s opinion that the task of every art and faculty, both human and divine, is the thing that is produced rather than the means employed in its production, and the end itself rather than the means that contribute to that end. For a weaver, I imagine, would hold that his task was a cloak or a mantle rather than the arrangement of shuttle-rods or the hanging of loom weights; and so a smith would regard the welding of iron or the tempering of an axe rather than any one of the things that have to be done for this purpose, such as blowing up the fire or getting ready for lux. Even more would an architect find fault with us, if we should declare that his task is not a temple or a house, but to bore timbers and mix mortar. And the Muses would most assuredly feel aggrieved, if we should regard as their task a lyre or flutes, and not the development of the characters and the soothing of the emotions of those who make use of songs and melodies. And so again the task of Aphrodite is not carnal intercourse, nor is that of Dionysus strong drink and wine, but rather the friendly feeling, the longing, the association, and the intimacy, one with one another, which they create in us through these agencies. These are what Solon calls ‘tasks divine,’ and these he says he loves and pursues above all else, now that he has become an old man. And Aphrodite is the artisan who creates concord and friendship between men and women, for through their bodies, under the influence of pleasure, she at the same time unites and welds together their souls. And in the case of the majority of people, who are not altogether intimate or too well known to one another, Dionysus softens and relaxes their characters with wine, as in a fire, and so provides some means for beginning a union and friendship with one another. However, when such men as you, whom Periander has invited here, come together, I think there is nothing for the wine-cup or ladle to accomplish, but the Muses set discourse in the midst before all, a non-intoxicating bowl as it were, containing a maximum of pleasure in jest and seriousness combined; and with this they awaken and foster and dispense friendliness, allowing the ‘ladle,’ for the most part, to lie untouched ‘atop of the bowl’ — a thing which Hesiod would prohibit in a company of men better able to drink than to converse. As a matter of fact,” he continued, “as nearly as I can make out, among the men of olden time the practice of drinking healths was not in vogue, since each man drank one ‘goblet,’ as Homer has said, that is a measured quantity, and later, like Ajax, shared a portion with his neighbour.”
[Sept. sap. conv. 13j] When Mnesiphilus had said this, Chersias the poet F(having been already absolved from the charge against him, and recently reconciled with Periander at Chilon’s solicitation) said, “Is it to be inferred, then, that Zeus used to pour out the drink for the gods also in measured quantity, as Agamemnon did for his nobles, when the gods, dining with Zeus, drank to one another?”
[Sept. sap. conv. 13k] And Cleodorus said, “But, Chersias, if certain doves bring to Zeus his ambrosia, as you poets say, and with great difficulty hardly manage to fly over the ‘clashing rocks,’ do you not believe that his nectar is hard for him to get and scarce, 157 so that he is sparing of it, and doles it out charily to each god?”
[Sept. sap. conv. 14] 14 1 “Possibly,” said Chersias, “but since talk of household management has come up again, who among you will tell us about what was omitted? The topic omitted was, I think, the acquisition of some measure of property which shall be sufficient in itself and adequate.”
[Sept. sap. conv. 14b] “But,” said Cleobulus, “for the wise the law has given the measure, but with reference to those of the baser sort I will tell a story of my daughter’s which she told to her brother. She said that the moon wanted her mother to weave for her a garment to fit her measure; and the mother said, ‘How can I weave it to fit your measure? For now I see you full and round, and at another time crescent-shaped, and at still another but little more than half your full size.’ And in the same way you see, my dear Chersias, there is no measure of possessions that can be applied to a foolish and worthless man. Sometimes he is one man and sometimes another in his needs, which vary according to his desires and fortunes; he is like Aesop’s dog, who, as our friend here says, in the winter-time curled up as closely as possible because he was so cold, and was minded to build himself a house, but when summer returned again, and he had stretched himself out to sleep, he appeared to himself so big that he thought it was neither a necessary nor a small task to construct a house large enough to contain him. Have you not often noticed also, Chersias,” he continued, “those detestable people who at one time restrict themselves to utterly small limits as though they purposed to live the simple Spartan life, and at another time they think that, unless they have everything possessed by all private persons and kings as well, they shall die of want?”
[Sept. sap. conv. 14c] As Chersias lapsed into silence, Cleodorus took up the conversation and said, “But we see that the possessions which even you wise men have are distributed by unequal measure, if you be compared one with another.”
[Sept. sap. conv. 14d] And Cleobulus said, “Yes, for the law, my good sir, like a weaver, assigns to each one of us so much as is fitting, reasonable, and suitable. And you, using reason as your law in prescribing diet, regimen, and drugs for the sick, do not apportion an equal amount to each one, but the proper amount in all cases.”
[Sept. sap. conv. 14e] Ardalus then joined in and said, “Well, then, is there some law which commands that comrade of all of you, Solon’s foreign friend, Epimenides, to abstain from all other kinds of food, and by taking into his mouth a bit of the potent ‘no-hunger,’ which he himself compounds, to go all day without luncheon and dinner?”
[Sept. sap. conv. 14f] This remark arrested the attention of the whole company, and Thales said jestingly that Epimenides showed good sense in not wishing to have the trouble of grinding his grain and cooking for himself like Pittacus. “For,” said he, “when I was at Eresus, I heard the woman at whose house I stayed singing at the mill:
[Sept. sap. conv. 14g] Grind, mill, grind;
Yes, for Pittacus used to grind
King of great Mytilene.”
[Sept. sap. conv. 14h] Solon said that he was surprised at Ardalus if he had not read the regulations governing the manner of living of the man in question, which are given in writing in Hesiod’s verses. For Hesiod is the one who first sowed in the mind of Epimenides the seeds of this form of nourishment, inasmuch as it was he who taught that one should seek to find
[Sept. sap. conv. 14i] How in mallow and asphodel lies an immense advantage.
[Sept. sap. conv. 14j] “Do you really think,” said Periander, “that Hesiod ever had any such idea in mind? Do you not rather think that, since he was always sounding the praises of frugality, he was also summoning us to the simplest of dishes as being the most pleasant? For the mallow is good eating, and the stalk of the asphodel is luscious; but these no-hunger and no-thirst drugs (for they are drugs rather than foods), I understand, include in their composition a sweet gum and a cheese found among barbarian peoples, and a great many seeds of a sort hard to procure. How, then, can we concede to Hesiod his
[Sept. sap. conv. 14k] Rudder on high in the smoke
suspended, and
All the labours of oxen and stout-toiling mules be abolished,
[Sept. sap. conv. 14l] if there is to be need of all this preparation? I am surprised at your friend from abroad, Solon, 158 if, when he was recently carrying out his great purification for the people of Delos, he did not note the memorials and examples of the earliest forms of food being brought into the temple there, including, among other inexpensive and self-propagated foods, mallow and asphodel, whose plainness and simplicity it is most likely that Hesiod recommends to us.”
[Sept. sap. conv. 14m] “Not merely that,” said Anacharsis, “but both are commended as herbs that contribute to health also in greatest measure.”
[Sept. sap. conv. 14n] “You are quite right,” said Cleodorus; “for it is clear that Hesiod has knowledge of medicine, since there is no lack of attention or experience shown in what he has to say about the daily course of life, mixing wine, the great value of water, bathing, women, the proper time for intercourse, and the way in which infants should sit. But it seems to me that Aesop with better right than Epimenides can declare himself the pupil of Hesiod. For the words of the hawk to the nightingale first suggested to Aesop the idea of this beautiful and ingenious wisdom uttered by many different tongues. But I should be glad to listen to Solon; for it is likely that he, having been associated with Epimenides for a long time at Athens, has learned what experience of his or what sophistical argument induced him to resort to such a course of living.”
[Sept. sap. conv. 15] 15 1 Solon said, “What need was there to ask him this? For it is plain that the next best thing to the greatest and highest of all good is to require the minimum amount of food; or is it not the general opinion that the greatest good is to require no food at all?”
[Sept. sap. conv. 15b] “Not mine by any means,” said Cleodorus, “if I must tell what lies in my mind, especially as a table stands here now, which they do away with when food is done away with, and it is an altar of the gods of friendship and hospitality. And as Thales says that, if the earth be done away with, confusion will possess the universe, so this is the dissolution of the household. For when the table is done away with, there go with it all these other things: the altar fire on the hearth, the hearth itself, wine-bowls, all entertainment and hospitality, — the most humane and the first acts of communion between man and man; rather is all real living abolished, Dif so be that living is a spending of time by man which involves carrying on a series of activities, most of which are called for by the need of food and its procurement. And a dreadful situation ensues, my friend, regarding agriculture itself. For let agriculture be destroyed, and it leaves us our earth again unsightly and unclean, filled with unfruitful forests and with streams sweeping on unchecked, all owing to man’s inaction. And with the destruction of agriculture goes also the destruction of all arts and crafts which she initiates, and for which she supplies the basis and the material; and these all come to naught if she vanishes from the earth. Abolished too are the honours paid to the gods, since men will have but little gratitude to the Sun, and still less to the Moon, for merely light and width. Where will there be an altar or where a sacrifice offered to Zeus who sends the rain, or to Demeter who initiates the ploughing, or to Poseidon who watches over the tender crops? How shall Dionysus be the giver of delights, if we shall require none of the gifts which he gives? What shall we offer as a sacrifice or libation, and what shall we dedicate as first-fruits? All this means the overturning and confusion of our highest concerns. To cling to every form of pleasure is utterly irrational, but to avoid every form of pleasure is utterly insensate. Let it be granted that there exist some other superior pleasures for the soul to enjoy, yet it is not possible to discover a way for the body to attain a pleasure more justifiable than that which comes from eating and drinking, and this is a fact which no man can have failed to observe; for this pleasure men put forward openly before all, and share together banquets and table, whereas their carnal delights they veil behind the screen of night and deep darkness, feeling that to share this pleasure openly is shameless and bestial, as it is also not to share the other.”
[Sept. sap. conv. 15c] I took up the conversation as Cleodorus left off, and said, “But there is another point you do not mention, that we banish sleep along with food; and with no sleep there can be no dream, 159 and our most ancient and respected form of divination is gone for ever. Life will have a monotonous sameness, and we might say that the encasement of the soul in the body will lack all purpose and effect. The most, and the most important, of the bodily organs, tongue, teeth, stomach, and liver, are provided as instruments of nutrition, no one of them is inactive, nor is it framed for any other form of usefulness. So he who has no need of food has no need of a body either; and that again would mean having no need of himself! For it is with a body that each one of us exists. This then,” said I, “makes up the contributions which we offer to the belly; and if Solon or anybody else desires to impeach them in any way, we will listen.”
[Sept. sap. conv. 16] 16 1 “Certainly,” said Solon, “let us not show ourselves to be less discriminating than the Egyptians, who cut open the dead body and expose it to the sun, and then cast certain parts of it into the river, and perform their offices on the rest of the body, feeling that this part has now at last been made clean. For this, in truth, it is which constitutes the pollution of our flesh and its bowels of Hell, as it were, teeming with frightful streams and wind, intermingled with burning fire and corpses. For no living man feeds upon another living creature; nay, we put to death the animate creatures and destroy these things that grow in the ground, which also are partakers in life, in that they absorb food, and increase in size; and herein we do wrong. For anything that is changed from what it was by nature into something else is destroyed, and it undergoes utter corruption that it may become the food of another. But to refrain entirely from eating meat, as they record of Orpheus of old, is rather a quibble than a way of avoiding wrong in regard to food. The one way of avoidance and of keeping oneself pure, from the point of view of righteousness is to become sufficient unto oneself and to need nothing from any other source. But in the case of man or beast for whom God has made his own secure existence impossible without his doing injury to another, it may be said that in the nature which God has inflicted upon him lies the source of wrong. Would it not, then, be right and fair, my friend, in order to cut out injustice, to cut out also bowels and stomach and liver, which afford us no perception or craving for anything noble, but are like cooking utensils, such as choppers and kettles, and, in another respect, like a baker’s outfit, ovens and dough-containers and kneading-bowls? Indeed, in the case of most people, one can see that their soul is absolutely confined in the darkness of the body as in a mill, making its endless rounds in its concern over its need of food; just as we ourselves, only a few minutes ago, as a matter of course, neither saw nor listened to one another, but each one was bending down, enslaved to his need of food. But now that the tables have been removed, we have, as you see, been made free, and, with garlands on, we are spending our time in conversation and in the enjoyment of one another’s society, and we have the leisure to do this now that we have come to require no more food for a time. Assuming, then, that the state in which we find ourselves at the present moment will persist without interruption throughout our whole life, shall we not always have leisure to enjoy one another’s society, having no fear of poverty and no knowledge of what wealth is? For craving for the superfluous follows close upon the use of necessities, and soon becomes a settled habit.
[Sept. sap. conv. 16b] “But Cleodorus imagines that there ought to be food, so that there may be tables and wine-bowls and sacrifices to Demeter and the Daughter. Then let the next man argue that it is but right and proper that there be battles and war, so that we may have fortifications and dockyards and arsenals, and may offer sacrifice to celebrate the slaying of an hundred foemen, as they say is the custom among the Messenians. Still another man, I imagine, may entertain a violent hatred against health; for it will be a terrible thing if nobody is ill, and there is no longer any use for a soft bed or couch, and we shall not offer sacrifice to Asclepius or the averting deities, and the profession of medicine together with its numerous instruments and remedies shall be consigned to inglorious desuetude and contempt. Yet, what difference is there between this sort of reasoning and the other? The fact is that food is taken as a remedy for hunger, and all who use food in a prescribed way are said to be giving themselves treatment, 160 not with the thought they are doing something pleasant and grateful, but that this is necessary to comply with Nature’s imperative demand. Indeed, it is possible to enumerate more pains than pleasures derived from food; or rather may it be said that the pleasure affects but a very limited area in the body, and lasts for no long time; but as for the ugly and painful experiences crowded upon us by the bother and discomfort which wait upon digestion, what need to tell their number? I think that Homer had their very number in view when, in the case of the gods, he finds an argument to prove that they do not die in the fact that they do not live by food:
[Sept. sap. conv. 16c] Since they eat no bread and drink no wine brightly sparkling,
Therefore their bodies are bloodless, and they are called the Immortals.
[Sept. sap. conv. 16d] He intimates by this that food is not only an element conducive to life, but that it is also conducive to death. For it is from this source that diseases come, thriving on the very same food as men’s bodies, which find no less ill in fulness than in fasting. For oftentimes it is harder work to use up and again to distribute food, after it has been taken into the body, than it was to procure it and get it together in the first place. But just as the Danaids would be at a loss to know what kind of life and occupation they should follow if they should be relieved of the drudgery in trying to fill the great jar, so we are at a loss to know, if perchance we should have the opportunity to cease from heaping into this relentless flesh of ours all the multitudinous products of land and sea, what we shall do, since, owing to lack of acquaintance with noble things, we now content ourselves with the life conditioned on necessities. Just as men who have been slaves, when they are set free, do for themselves on their own account those very things which they used to do in service to their masters, so the soul now supports the body with much toil and trouble, but if it be relieved of its drudgery, it will quite naturally maintain itself in its new freedom and live with an eye to itself and the truth, since there will be nothing to distract or divert it.”
[Sept. sap. conv. 16e] This then, Nicarchus, is what was said on the subject of food.
[Sept. sap. conv. 17] 17 1 While Solon was still speaking, Gorgus, Periander’s brother, came in; for it happened that, in consequence of certain oracles, he had been sent to Taenarum, Din charge of a sacred mission to offer due sacrifice to Poseidon. After we had greeted him, and Periander had embraced and kissed him, Gorgus sat down beside his brother on the couch, and gave him a report intended apparently for him alone, and he, as he listened, seemed much affected at the story; for he appeared in some ways troubled, in some ways indignant, and oftentimes incredulous, and then again amazed. Finally with a laugh he said to us, “In the circumstances I should like to tell the news which I have just heard, but I hesitate, since I heard Thales say once that what is probable one should tell, but what is impossible one should shroud in silence.”
[Sept. sap. conv. 17b] Thereupon Bias, interrupting, said, “But Thales is responsible also for this sage remark, that one should not believe enemies even about things believable, and should believe friends even about things unbelievable; the name ‘enemies’ he assigned, I think, to the wicked and foolish, and ‘friends’ to the good and sensible. And so, Gorgus,” he continued, “it should be told to all, or rather, to compete with those newly invented dithyrambs, there should be heard the stronger notes of the story which your arrival has brought to us.”
[Sept. sap. conv. 18] 18 1 Gorgus then told us that his offering of the sacrifice had taken three days, and on the last day there was a dance and merry-making, lasting the whole night long, down by the shore. The moon was shining bright upon the sea; there was no wind, but a perfect calm and stillness, when, afar off, was seen a ripple coming towards land close by the promontory, attended by some foam and much noise from its rapid movement, so that they all ran down in amazement to the place where it was coming to shore. Before they could guess what was bearing down upon them so rapidly, dolphins were seen, some forming a dense encircling line, others leading the way to the smoothest part of the shore, and still others behind, forming, as it were, a rear-guard. 161 In their midst, uplifted above the sea, was a mass like a man’s body being borne along, but indistinct and ill-defined, until the dolphins drew near together, and with one accord came close to the shore, and deposited on land a human being, in whom was still the breath of life and power to move; then they themselves put forth again towards the promontory leaping even higher than before, and sporting and frolicking apparently for joy. “Many of us,” continued Gorgus, “were panic-stricken, and fled from the sea-shore, but a few, including myself, grew bold enough to draw near, and they recognized Arion the harper, who pronounced his own name himself, and was easily recognizable by his dress; for he happened to be clad in the ceremonial robes which he had worn when he played and snag.
[Sept. sap. conv. 18b] “We accordingly conducted him to a tent, since there was really nothing the matter with him, save that he seemed somewhat unstrung and wearied by the swiftness and rush of his ride, and we heard from him a story, incredible to all men except to us who with our own eyes had seen its conclusion. Arion said that some time ago he had resolved to leave Italy, and the receipt of a letter from Periander had only stimulated his desire the more, and when a Corinthian merchant-vessel appeared there, he had at once embarked and sailed away from that land. For three days they were favoured by a moderate breeze, and there came over Arion the feeling that the sailors were plotting to make away with him, and later he learned from the pilot, who secretly gave him the information, that they were resolved to do the deed that night. Helpless and at his wits’ end, he put into execution an impulse, divinely inspired, to adorn his person, and to take for his shroud, while he was still living, the elaborate attire which he wore at competitions, and to sing a final song to life as he ended it, and not to prove himself in this respect less generous than the swans.
[Sept. sap. conv. 18c] Accordingly he made himself ready, and, first saying that he was possessed by a desire to sing through one of his songs — the ode to Pythian Apollo — as a supplication for the safety of himself and the ship and all on board, he took his stand beside the bulwark at the stern, and, after a prelude invoking the gods of the sea, he began the ode. He had not even half finished it as the sun was sinking into the sea and the Peloponnesus becoming visible. The sailors therefore waited no longer for the night-time, but advanced to the murderous deed; whereupon Arion, seeing knives bared and the pilot already covering up his face, ran back and threw himself as far away from the ship as possible. But before his body was entirely submerged, dolphins swam beneath him, and he was borne upward, full of doubt and uncertainty and confusion at first. But when he began to feel at ease in being carried in this manner, and saw many dolphins gathering around him in a friendly way, and relieving one another as though such service in alternation were obligatory and incumbent upon all, and the sight of the ship left far behind gave a means to measure their speed, there came into his thoughts, as he said, not so much a feeling of fear in the face of death, or a desire to live, as a proud longing to be saved that he might be shown to be a man loved by the gods, and that he might gain a sure opinion regarding them.
[Sept. sap. conv. 18d] At the same time, observing that the sky was dotted with stars, and the moon was rising bright and clear, while the sea everywhere was without a wave as if a path were being opened for their course, he bethought himself that the eye of Justice is not a single eye only, but through all these eyes of hers God watches in every direction the deeds that are done here and there both on land and on the sea. By these reflections, he said, the weariness and heaviness which he was already beginning to feel in his body were relieved, and when at the last, as the jutting promontory, rugged and lofty, appeared in their path, they rounded it with great caution, and skirted close to the land as if they were bringing a boat safely into harbour, 162 then he fully realized that his rescue had been guided by God’s hand.
[Sept. sap. conv. 18e] “When Arion had told all this,” continued Gorgus, “I asked him where he thought the ship would make harbour; and he replied that it would surely come to Corinth, but its arrival would be much later; for he thought that after he had thrown himself overboard in the evening, he had been carried a distance of not less than fifty or more miles, and a calm had fallen immediately.” Gorgus went on to say that he had ascertained the name of the captain and of the pilot, and the ship’s emblem, and had sent out boats and soldiers to the landing-places to keep strict watch; moreover, he had brought Arion with him, carefully concealed, so that the guilty ones might not gain any premature information of his rescue from death, and make good their escape; and in fact the whole affair seemed like an event divinely directed, for his men were here just as he arrived, and he learned that the ship had been seized, and the traders and sailors arrested.
[Sept. sap. conv. 19] 19 1 Accordingly Periander bade Gorgus to withdraw at once, and have these men put into prison where nobody should have access to them or tell them that Arion had been rescued.
[Sept. sap. conv. 19b] “Well! well!” said Aesop, “you all make fun of my jackdaws and crows if they talk with one another, and yet dolphins indulge in such pranks as this!”
[Sept. sap. conv. 19c] “Let’s change the subject, Aesop,” said I to him; “more than a thousand years have elapsed since this dolphin story has been believed and committed to writing in Greek lands, even from the days of Ino and Athamas.”
[Sept. sap. conv. 19d] Solon here entered the conversation: “Well, Diocles, let it be granted that these things are near to the gods and far beyond us; but what happened to Hesiod is human and within our ken. Very likely you have heard the story.”
[Sept. sap. conv. 19e] “No, I have not,” said I.
[Sept. sap. conv. 19f] “Well, it is really worth hearing, and so here it is. A man from Miletus, it seems, with whom Hesiod shared lodging and entertainment in Locris, had secret relations with the daughter of the man who entertained them; and when he was detected, Hesiod fell under suspicion of having known about the misconduct from the outset, and of having helped to conceal it, although he was in nowise guilty, but only the innocent victim of a fit of anger and prejudice. For the girl’s brothers killed him, lying in wait for him in the vicinity of the temple of Nemean Zeus in Locris, and with him they killed his servant whose name was Troïlus. The dead bodies were shoved out into the sea, and the body of Troïlus, borne out into the current of the river Daphnus, was caught on a wave-washed rock projecting a little above the sea-level; and even to this day the rock is called Troïlus. The body of Hesiod, as soon as it left the land, was taken up by a company of dolphins, who conveyed it to Rhium hard by Molycreia. It happened that the Locrians’ periodic Rhian sacrifice and festal gathering was being held then, which even nowadays they celebrate in a noteworthy manner at that place. When the body was seen being carried towards them, they were naturally filled with astonishment, and ran down to the shore; recognizing the corpse, which was still fresh, they held all else to be of secondary importance in comparison with investigating the murder, on account of the repute of Hesiod. This they quickly accomplished, discovered the murderers, sank them alive in the sea, and razed their house to the ground. Hesiod was buried near the temple of Nemean Zeus; most foreigners do not know about his grave, but it has been kept concealed, because, as they say, it was sought for by the people of Orchomenos, who wished, in accordance with an oracle, to recover the remains and bury them in their own land. If, therefore, dolphins show such a tender and humane interest in the dead, it is even more likely that they should give aid to the living, and especially if they are charmed by the sound of flutes or some songs or other. For we are all well aware of the fact that these creatures delight in music and follow after it, and swim along beside men who are rowing to the accompaniment of song and flute in a calm, and they enjoy travelling in this way. They take delight also in children’s swimming, and vie with them in diving. 163 For this reason they profit also by an unwritten law of immunity; for nobody hunts them or injures them except when they get into the fishermen’s nets, and do havoc with the catch, and then they are punished with a whipping like naughty children. I remember also hearing from some men of Lesbos that the rescue of a certain maiden from the sea was effected by a dolphin, but, as I am not sure of the various details, it is only right that Pittacus, who does know them, should relate the tale.”
[Sept. sap. conv. 20] 20 1 Pittacus thereupon said that it was a famous story, and one mentioned by many, to this effect. An oracle had been given to those who were setting out to found a colony in Lesbos that when their voyage should bring them to a reef which is called “Midland,” then they should cast into the sea at that place a bull as an offering to Poseidon, and to Amphitrite and the Nymphs of the sea a living virgin. The commanders were seven in number, all kings, and the eighth was Echelaüs, designated by the oracle at Delphi to head the colony, although he was young and still unmarried. The seven, or as many as had unmarried daughters, cast lots, and the lot fell upon the daughter of Smintheus. Her they adorned with fine raiment and golden ornaments as they arrived opposite the spot, and purposed, as soon as they had offered prayer, to cast her into the sea. It happened that one of the company on board, a young man of no mean origin as it seems, was in love with her. His name, according to a tradition still preserved, was Enalus. He, conceiving a despairing desire to help the maiden in her present misfortune, at the critical moment hurriedly clasped her in his arms, and threw himself with her into the sea. Straightway a rumour spread, having no sure foundation, but nevertheless carrying conviction to many in the community, regarding their safety and rescue. Later, as they say, Enalus appeared in Lesbos, and told how they had been borne by dolphins through the sea, and put ashore unharmed on the mainland. Other things he related more miraculous than this, which astonished and fascinated the crowd, and he gave good grounds for believing them all by a deed which he did; for when a towering wave precipitated itself on the shores of the island, and the people were in a state of terror, he, all by himself, went to meet the sea, and cuttle-fish followed him to the shrine of Poseidon, the biggest of which brought a stone with him, and this stone Enalus took and dedicated there, and this we call Enalus. “And in general,” he continued, “if a man realizes a difference between the impossible and the unfamiliar, and between false reasoning and false opinion, such a man, Chilon, who would neither believe nor disbelieve at haphazard, would be most observant of the precept, ‘Avoid extremes,’ as you have enjoined.”
[Sept. sap. conv. 21] 21 1 Following him Anacharsis said that as Thales had set forth the excellent hypothesis that soul exists in all the most dominant and most important parts of the universe, there is no proper ground for wonder that the most excellent things are brought to pass by the will of God. “For the body,” he continued, “is the soul’s instrument, and the soul is God’s instrument; and just as the body has many movements of its own, but the most, and most excellent, from the soul, so the soul performs some actions by its own instinct, but in others it yields itself to God’s use for Him to direct it and turn it in whatsoever course He may desire, since it is the most adaptable of all instruments. For it is a dreadful mistake to assume that, on the one hand, fire is God’s instrument, and wind and water also, and clouds and rain, by means of which He preserves and fosters many a thing, and ruins and destroys many another, but that, on the other hand, He never as yet makes any use whatever of living creatures to accomplish any one of His purposes. Nay, it is far more likely that the living, being dependent on God’s power, serve Him and are responsive to His movements even more than bows are responsive to the Scythians or lyres and flutes to the Greeks.”
[Sept. sap. conv. 21b] Thereupon the poet Chersias cited, among the cases of persons who had been saved when their plight seemed hopeless, the case of Cypselus, the father of Periander, who, when he was a new-born babe, smiled at the men who had been sent to make away with him, and they turned away. And when again they changed their minds, they sought for him and found him not, for he had been put away in a chest by his mother. 164 It was because of this that Cypselus constructed the building at Delphi, firmly believing that the god had at that time stopped his crying so that he might escape the notice of those who were searching for him.
[Sept. sap. conv. 21c] And Pittacus, addressing Periander, said, “Chersias certainly did well to mention the building, for I have often desired, Periander, to ask you the reason for those frogs, and what is their significance, carved as they are in such numbers about the base of the palm-tree, and what relation they have to the god or to the dedicator.”
[Sept. sap. conv. 21d] Periander bade him ask Chersias, for Chersias, he said, knew and was present when Cypselus consecrated the building; but Chersias said with a smile, “No, I will not tell until I learn from our friends here what significance they give to the precepts, ‘Avoid extremes’ and ‘Know thyself,’ and, in particular, that one which has kept many from marrying, and many from trusting, and some even from speaking, and this is it: ‘Give a pledge, and mischief attends.’ “
[Sept. sap. conv. 21e] “What need of us to tell you that?” said Pittacus; “since for this long time you have been praising the stories which Aesop has composed touching each of them, as it seems.”
[Sept. sap. conv. 21f] And Aesop said, “Only when Chersias is poking fun at me; but when he is serious he points to Homer as their inventor, and says that Hector ‘knew himself’ because he attacked all the others, but
[Sept. sap. conv. 21g] Only with Ajax, Telamon’s son, he avoided a conflict.
[Sept. sap. conv. 21h] And Odysseus, he says, gives praise to ‘Avoid extremes’ when he enjoins
Son of Tydeus, praise me not too much nor chide me.
[Sept. sap. conv. 21i] And as for the pledge, other people think that Homer vilifies it as a worthless and futile thing when he says,
[Sept. sap. conv. 21j] Worthless are pledges of worthless folk to accept at their pledging;
[Sept. sap. conv. 21k] but Chersias here asserts that Mischief was hurled from heaven by Zeus because she was present at the pledge which Zeus gave when he was befooled in regard to the birth of Heracles.”
[Sept. sap. conv. 21l] Solon here put in his word: “Well, then, we should have faith in the very great wisdom of Homer who also says,
[Sept. sap. conv. 21m] Night-time advances apace; ‘tis well to pay heed to the night-time.
[Sept. sap. conv. 21n] So, if it please the company, let us offer a libation to the Muses and Poseidon and Amphitrite, and be going.”
[Sept. sap. conv. 21o] And thus, Nicarchus, the party came to an end.

## Superstition

[De superst. 1] 164 1 1 Ignorance and blindness in regard to the gods divides itself at the very beginning into two streams, of which the one produces in hardened characters, as it were in stubborn soils, atheism, and the other in tender characters, as in moist soils, produces superstition. Every false judgement, and especially concerning these matters, is a mischievous thing; but where emotion also enters, it is most mischievous. For every emotion is likely to be a delusion that rankles; and just as dislocations of the joints accompanied by lacerations are hardest to deal with, so also is it with derangements of the soul accompanied by emotion.
[De superst. 1b] A man thinks that in the beginning the universe was created out of atoms and void. 165 His assumption is false, but it causes no sore, no throbbing, no agitating pain.
[De superst. 1c] A man assumes that wealth is the greatest good. This falsehood contains venom, it feeds upon his soul, distracts him, does not allow him to sleep, fills him with stinging desires, pushes him over precipices, chokes him, and takes from him his freedom of speech.
[De superst. 1d] Again, some people think that virtue and vice are corporeal. This piece of ignorance is disgraceful, perhaps, but it is not worthy of wailings or lamentations. But consider judgements and assumptions that are like this:
[De superst. 1e] Poor virtue! A mere name thou art, I find,
But I did practise thee as real!
[De superst. 1f] and thereby I gave up wrongdoing which is productive of wealth, and licentiousness which begets every sort of pleasure. These it is right and proper that we pity, and at the same time loathe, because their presence engenders many distempers and emotions, like maggots and grubs, in men’s souls.
[De superst. 2] 2 1 To come now to our subject: atheism, which is a sorry judgement that there is nothing blessed or incorruptible, seems, by disbelief in the Divinity, to lead finally to a kind of utter indifference, and the end which it achieves in not believing in the existence of gods is not to fear them. But, on the other hand, superstition, as the very name (dread of deities) indicates, is an emotional idea and an assumption productive of a fear which utterly humbles and crushes a man, for he thinks that there are gods, but that they are the cause of pain and injury. In fact, the atheist, apparently, is unmoved regarding the Divinity, whereas the superstitious man is moved as he ought not to be, and his mind is thus perverted. For in the one man ignorance engenders disbelief in the one who can help him, and on the other it bestows the added idea that He causes injury. Whence it follows that atheism is falsified reason, and superstition is an emotion engendered from false reason.
[De superst. 3] 3 1 Clear it is that all distempers and emotions of the soul are disgraceful, but in some of them are to be found pride, loftiness, and exaltation, owing to their uplifting power; and no one of them, we might say, is destitute of an impulse to activity. But this general complaint may be made against every one of the emotions, that by their urgings to be up and doing they press hard upon the reasoning power and strain it. But fear alone, lacking no less in boldness than in power to reason, keeps its irrationality impotent, helpless, and hopeless. It is on this ground that the power of fear to tie down the soul, and at the same time to keep it awake, has come to be named both terror and awe.
[De superst. 3b] Of all kinds of fear the most impotent and helpless is superstitious fear. No fear of the sea has he who does not sail upon it, nor of war he who does not serve in the army, nor of highwaymen he who stays at home, nor of a blackmailer he who is poor, nor of envy he who holds no office, nor of earthquake he who is in Gaul, nor of the lightning-stroke he who is in Ethiopia; but he who fears the gods fears all things, earth and sea, air and sky, darkness and light, sound and silence, and a dream. Slaves in their sleep forget their masters, sleep makes light the chains of prisoners, and the inflammations surrounding wounds, the savage gnawing of ulcers in the flesh, and tormenting pains are removed from those who are fallen asleep:
[De superst. 3c] Dear soothing balm of sleep to help my ill,
How sweet thy coming in mine hour of need.
[De superst. 3d] Superstition does not give one a right to say this; for superstition alone makes no truce with sleep, and never gives the soul a chance to recover its breath and courage by putting aside its bitter and despondent notions regarding God; but, as it were in the place of torment of the impious, so in the sleep of the superstitious their malady calls up fearful images, and horrible apparitions and divers forms of punishment, and, by keeping the unhappy soul on the rack, chases it away from sleep by its dreams, lashed and punished by its own self as if by another, and forced to comply with dreadful and extraordinary behests. When, later, such persons arise from their beds, they do not contemn nor ridicule these things, nor realize that not one of the things that agitated them was really true, but, trying to escape the shadow of a delusion 166 that has nothing bad at the bottom, during their waking hours they delude and waste and agitate themselves, putting themselves into the hands of conjurors and impostors who say to them:
[De superst. 3e] If a vision in sleep is the cause of your fear
And the troop of dire Hecate felt to be near,
[De superst. 3f] then call in the old crone who performs magic purifications, dip yourself in the ocean, and sit down on the ground and spend the whole day there.
[De superst. 3g] Greeks from barbarians finding evil ways!
[De superst. 3h] because of superstition, such as smearing with mud, wallowing in filth, immersions, casting oneself down with face to the ground, disgraceful besieging of the gods, and uncouth prostrations. “To sing with the mouth aright” was the injunction given to the harp-players by those who thought to preserve the good old forms of music; and we hold it to be meet to pray to the gods with the mouth straight and aright, and not to inspect the tongue laid upon the sacrificial offering to see that it be clean and straight, and, at the same time, by distorting and sullying one’s own tongue with strange names and barbarous phrases, to disgrace and transgress the god-given ancestral dignity of our religion.
[De superst. 3i] Nor is there lack of humour in what the comic poet has somewhat said with reference to those who cover their bedsteads with gold and silver:
[De superst. 3j] The one free gift the gods bestow on us,
Our sleep, why make its cost to you so much?
[De superst. 3k] But to the superstitious man it is possible to say, “The gift of sleep which the gods bestow on us as a time of forgetfulness and respite from our ills; why do you make this an everlastingly painful torture-chamber for yourself, since your unhappy soul cannot run away to some other sleep?” Heracleitus says that people awake enjoy one world in common, but of those who are fallen asleep each roams about in a world of his own. But the superstitious man enjoys no world in common with the rest of mankind; for neither when awake does he use his intelligence, nor when fallen asleep is he freed from his agitation, but his reasoning power is sunk in dreams, his fear is ever wakeful, and there is no way of escape or removal.
[De superst. 4] 4 1 A despot much feared in Samos was Polycrates, as was Periander in Corinth, but nobody feared these men Dafter he had removed to a free State governed by its own people. But as for the man who fears the rule of the gods as a sullen and inexorable despotism, where can he remove himself, where can he flee, what country can he find without gods, or what sea? Into what part of the universe shall you steal away and hide yourself, poor wretch, and believe that you have escaped God? There is a law even for slaves who have given up all hope of freedom, that they may demand a sale, and thus exchange their present master for one more mild. But superstition grants no such exchange; and to find a god whom he shall not fear is impossible for him who fears the gods of his fathers and his kin, who shudders at his saviours, and trembles with terror at those gentle gods from whom we ask wealth, welfare, peace, concord, and success in our best efforts in speech and action.
[De superst. 4b] Then again these same persons hold slavery to be a misfortune, and say,
For man or woman ‘tis disaster dire
Sudden to be enslaved, and masters harsh
To get.
[De superst. 4c] But how much more dire, think you, is the lot of those for whom there is no escape, no running away, no chance to revolt? For a slave there is an altar to which he can flee, and there are many of our shrines where even robbers may find sanctuary, and men who are fleeing from the enemy, if once they lay hold upon a statue of a god, or a temple, take courage again. These are the very things that most inspire a shuddering fear and dread in the superstitious man, and yet it is in them that those who in fear of the most dreadful fate place their hopes. Do not drag the superstitious man away from his shrines, for it is in them that he suffers punishment and retribution.
[De superst. 4d] What need to speak at length? “In death is the end of life for all men,” but not the end of superstition; for superstition transcends the limits of life into the far beyond, making fear to endure longer than life, and connecting with death the thought of undying evils, and holding fast to the opinion, at the moment of ceasing from trouble, that now is the beginning of those that never cease. 167 The abysmal gates of the nether world swing open, rivers of fire and offshoots of the Styx are mingled together, darkness is crowded with spectres of many fantastic shapes which beset their victim with grim visages and piteous voices, and, besides these, judges and torturers and yawning gulfs and deep recesses teeming with unnumbered woes. Thus unhappy superstition, by its excess of caution in trying to avoid everything suggestive of dread, unwittingly subjects itself to every sort of dread.
[De superst. 5] 5 1 Nothing of this kind attaches to atheism, but its ignorance is distressing, and to see amiss or not to see at all in matters of such importance is a great misfortune for the soul; for it is as if the soul had suffered the extinction of the brightest and most dominant of its many eyes, the conception of God. But superstition is attended by emotion, as has already been said, and by sore distress and disturbance and mental enslavement from the very beginning. Plato says that music, the creator of harmony and order, was given to mankind by the gods not for the sake of pampering them or tickling their ears, but so that whatever in a man’s body is disturbing and errant, affecting the cycles and concords of the soul, and in many instances, for lack of culture and refinement, waxing wanton because of licentiousness and error, music should, in its own way, disengage and bring round and restore to its proper place again.
[De superst. 5b] Whatsoever things there be
Which by Zeus are not held dear,
says Pindar,
In affrighted panic flee
When the Muses’ voice they hear.
[De superst. 5c] In fact they become provoked and angry; and tigers, they say, surrounded by the sounds of beaten drums go utterly mad, and get so excited that they end by tearing themselves to pieces. There is less harm, therefore, for those who, as the result of deafness or impairment of hearing, have a feeling of indifference and insensibility toward music. Teiresias laboured under a misfortune in not being able to see his children or his intimate friends, but greater was the misfortune of Athamas and Agave, who saw them as lions and deer; and for Heracles in his madness it would undoubtedly have been better neither to see his sons, nor to realize that they were present, than to treat his nearest and dearest as enemies.
[De superst. 6] 6 1 What then? Does it not seem to you that the feeling of the atheists compared with the superstitious presents just such a difference? The former do not see the gods at all, the latter think that they do exist and are evil. The former disregard them, the latter conceive their kindliness to be frightful, their fatherly solicitude to be despotic, their loving care to be injurious, their slowness to anger to be savage and brutal. Then again such persons give credence to workers in metal, stone, or wax, who make their images of gods in the likeness of human beings, and they have such images fashioned, and dress them up, and worship them. But they hold in contempt philosophers and statesmen, who try to prove that the majesty of God is associated with goodness, magnanimity, kindliness, and solicitude. So the atheists have more than enough of indifference and distrust of the Beings who can help them, whereas the superstitious experience equal agitation and fear towards the things that can help them. Or, in fine, atheism is an indifferent feeling toward the Deity, which has no notion of the good, and superstition is a multitude of differing feelings with an underlying notion that the good is evil. For the superstitious fear the gods, and flee to the gods for help; they flatter them and assail them with abuse, pray to them and blame them. It is the common lot of mankind not to enjoy continual good fortune in all things.
[De superst. 6b] Age and illness not their lot,
Toil and labour they know not,
‘Scaped is Acheron’s loud strait,
[De superst. 6c] says Pindar of the gods, but human experiences and actions are linked with chance circumstances which move now in one course and now in another.
[De superst. 7] 7 1 Come now, observe the atheist in circumstances not desired by him, and take note of his attitude. If he be moderate in general, you will note that he takes his present fortune without a word, and tries to procure for himself means of help and comfort; but if he be given to impatience or violent emotion, you will note that he directs all his complaints against Fortune and Chance, 168 and exclaims that nothing comes about according to right or as the result of providence, but that the course of all human affairs is confusion and disorder, and that they are all being turned topsy-turvy. This, however, is not the way of the superstitious man; but if even the slightest ill befall him, he sits down and proceeds to construct, on the basis of his trouble, a fabric of harsh, momentous, and practically unavoidable experiences which he must undergo, and he also loads himself with fears and frights, suspicions and trepidations, and all this he bitterly assails with every sort of lamentation and moaning. For he puts the responsibility for his lot upon no man nor upon Fortune nor upon occasion nor upon himself, but lays the responsibility for everything upon God, and says that from that source a heaven-sent stream of mischief has come upon him with full force; and he imagines that it is not because he is unlucky, but because he is hateful to the gods, that he is being punished by the gods, and that the penalty he pays and all that he is undergoing are deserved because of his own conduct.
[De superst. 7b] The atheist, when he is ill, takes into account and calls to mind the times when he has eaten too much or drunk too much wine, also irregularities in his daily life, or instances of over-fatigue or unaccustomed changes of air or locality; and again when he has given offence in administering office, and has encountered disrepute with the masses or calumny with a ruler, he looks to find the reason in himself and his own surroundings:
[De superst. 7c] Where did I err, and what have I done? What duty of mine was neglected?
[De superst. 7d] But in the estimation of the superstitious man, every indisposition of his body, loss of property, deaths of children, or mishaps and failures in public life are classed as “afflictions of God” or “attacks of an evil spirit.” For this reason he has no heart to relieve the situation or undo its effects, or to find some remedy for it or to take a strong stand against it, lest he seem to fight against God and to rebel at his punishment; but when he is ill the physician is ejected from the house, and when he is in grief the door is shut on the philosopher who would advise and comfort him. “Oh, sir,” he says, “leave me to pay my penalty, impious wretch that I am, accursed, and hateful to the gods and all the heavenly host.”
[De superst. 7e] It is possible in the case of a man unconvinced of the existence of the gods, when he is in grief and great distress in other ways, to wipe away a tear, cut his hair, and take off his cloak; but what words can you address to the superstitious man, or in what way shall you help him? He sits outside his house with sackcloth on and filthy rags about him; and oftentimes he rolls naked in the mire as he confesses divers sins and errors of his — eating this or drinking that, or walking in a path forbidden by his conscience. But if he is very fortunate, and but mildly yoked with superstition, he sits in his house, subjecting himself to fumigation, and smearing himself with mud, and the old crones, as Bion says, “bring whatever chance directs and hang and fasten it on him as on a peg.”
[De superst. 8] 8 1 Tiribazus, they say, when an attempt was made by the Persians to arrest him, drew his sword, being a man of great strength, and fought desperately. But when the men protested and cried out that they were arresting him by the King’s command, he instantly threw down his sword and held out his hands to be bound. Is not what actually happens just like this? The rest of men fight desperately against misfortunes, and force their way through difficulties, contriving for themselves means to escape and avert things undesired; but the superstitious man, without a word from anybody, says all to himself, “This you have to undergo, poor soul, by the dispensation of Providence and by God’s command,” and casts away all hope, gives himself up, runs away, and repulses those who would help him.
[De superst. 8b] Many ills of no great moment are made to result fatally by men’s superstition. Midas of old, dispirited and disturbed, as it appears, as the result of some dreams, reached such a state of mind that he committed suicide by drinking bull’s blood. And Aristodemus, king of the Messenians in the war against the Spartans, when dogs howled like wolves, and quitch-grass began to grow around his ancestral hearth, and the seers were alarmed by these signs, lost heart and hope by his forebodings, and slew himself by his own hand. 169 It would perhaps have been the best thing in the world for Nicias, general of the Athenians, to have got rid of his superstition in the same way as Midas and Aristodemus, rather than to be affrighted at the shadow on the moon in eclipse and sit inactive while the enemy’s wall was being built around him, and later to fall into their hands together with forty thousand men, who were either slain or captured alive, and himself meet an inglorious end. For the obstruction of light caused by the earth’s coming between sun and moon is nothing frightful, nor is the meeting of a shadow with the moon at the proper time in its revolutions anything frightful, but frightful is the darkness of superstition falling upon man, and confounding and blinding his power to reason in circumstances that most loudly demand the power to reason.
[De superst. 8c] Glaucus, see, the mighty ocean
Even now with billows roars,
Round about the Gyrian summits
Sheer in air a dark cloud soars,
Sign of storm . . .;
[De superst. 8d] when the pilot sees this, he prays that he may escape the storm, and calls upon the Saviours, but while he is praying he throws the helm over, lowers the yard, and
[De superst. 8e] Furling the big main sail,
Hastens to make his escape
Out from the murky sea.
[De superst. 8f] Hesiod advises that the farmer before ploughing and sowing should
Pray to Zeus of the world below and to holy Demeter
[De superst. 8g] with his hand on the plough-handle; and Homer says that Ajax, as he was about to engage in single combat with Hector, bade the Greeks pray to the gods for him, and then, while they were praying, donned his armour; and when Agamemnon enjoined on the fighting men,
[De superst. 8h] See that each spear is well sharpened, and each man’s shield in good order,
at the same time he asked in prayer from Zeus,
Grant that I raze to the level of earth the palace of Priam;
[De superst. 8i] for God is brave hope, not cowardly excuse. But the Jews, because it was the Sabbath day, sat in their places immovable, while the enemy were planting ladders against the walls and capturing the defences, and they did not get up, but remained there, fast bound in the toils of superstition as in one great net.
[De superst. 9] 9 1 Such are the characteristics of superstition in undesired and critical (as they are called) circumstances and occasions, but it is not one bit better than atheism even under pleasurable conditions. The pleasantest things that men enjoy are festal days and banquets at the temples, initiations and mystic rites, and prayer and adoration of the gods. Note that the atheist on these occasions gives way to insane and sardonic laughter at such ceremonies, and remarks aside to his cronies that people must cherish a vain and silly conceit to think that these rites are performed in honour of the gods; but with him no harm is done save this. On the other hand the superstitious man, much as he desires it, is not able to rejoice or be glad:
[De superst. 9b] The city is with burning incense filled;
Full too of joyous hymns and doleful groans
[De superst. 9c] is the soul of the superstitious man. When the garland is on his head he turns pale, he offers sacrifice and feels afraid, he prays with quavering voice, with trembling hands he sprinkles incense, and, in a word, proves how foolish are the words of Pythagoras, who said that we reach our best when we draw near to the gods. For that is the time when the superstitious fare most miserably and wretchedly, for they approach the halls or temples of the gods as they would approach bears’ dens or snakes’ holes or the haunts of monsters of the deep.
[De superst. 10] 10 1 Hence it occurs to me to wonder at those who say that atheism is impiety, and do not say the same of superstition. Yet Anaxagoras was brought to trial for impiety on the ground that he had said the sun is a stone; but nobody has called the Cimmerians impious because they do not believe even in the existence of the sun at all. What say you? The man who does not believe in the existence of the gods is unholy? And is not he who believes in such gods as the superstitious believe in a partner to opinions far more unholy? Why, for my part, I should prefer that men should say about me that I have never been born at all, and there is no Plutarch, 170 rather than that they should say “Plutarch is an inconstant fickle person, quick-tempered, vindictive over little accidents, pained at trifles. If you invite others to dinner and leave him out, or if you haven’t the time and don’t go to call on him, or fail to speak to him when you see him, he will set his teeth into your body and bite it through, or he will get hold of your little child and beat him to death, or he will turn the beast that he owns into your crops and spoil your harvest.”
[De superst. 10b] When Timotheus, in a song at Athens, spoke of Artemis as
Ecstatic bacchic frantic fanatic,
[De superst. 10c] Cinesias, the song-writer, standing up in his place among the audience, exclaimed, “May you have a daughter like that!” It is a fact that the superstitious make assumptions like that, and even worse than that, about Artemis:
If hasting in fear from a hanging corpse,
If near to a woman in childbirth pain,
If come from a house where the dead are mourned,
Polluted you entered the holy shrine,
Or if from the triple cross-roads come
Drawn to the place by cleansing rites
For the part you bear to the guilty one.
[De superst. 10d] And they think no more reasonably than this about Apollo and about Hera and about Aphrodite. For they tremble at all of these and dread them. And yet what did Niobe say regarding Leto that was so irreverent as the belief which superstition has fixed in the minds of the unthinking regarding the goddess, that, because she was derided, she required that the unhappy woman’s
[De superst. 10e] Daughters six that she bore and six sons in the prime of young manhood
[De superst. 10f] be shot dead? So insatiable was she in doing harm to others, and so implacable! For if it were really true that the goddess cherishes anger, and hates wickedness, and is hurt at being ill spoken of, and does not laugh at man’s ignorance and blindness, but feels indignation thereat, she ought to require the death of those who falsely impute to her such savagery and bitterness, and tell and write such stories. At any rate, we bring forward the bitterness of Hecuba as something barbaric and savage when she says,
[De superst. 10g] DI wish I might eat up his liver,
Biting it ‘tween my teeth.
[De superst. 10h] And yet of the Syrian goddess the superstitious believe that if anybody eats sprats or anchovies, she will gnaw through the bones of his shins, inflame his body with sores, and dissolve his liver.
[De superst. 11] 11 Is it, then, an unholy thing to speak meanly of the gods, but not unholy to have a mean opinion of them? Or does the opinion of him who speaks malignly make his utterance improper? It is a fact that we hold up malign speaking as a sign of animosity, and those who speak ill of us we regard as enemies, since we feel that they must also think ill of us. You see what kind of thoughts the superstitious have about the gods; they assume that the gods are rash, faithless, fickle, vengeful, cruel, and easily offended; and, as a result, the superstitious man is bound to hate and fear the gods. Why not, since he thinks that the worst of his ills are due to them, and will be due to them in the future? As he hates and fears the gods, he is an enemy to them. And yet, though he dreads them, he worships them and sacrifices to them and besieges their shrines; and this is nothing surprising; for it is equally true that men give welcome to despots, and pay court to them, and erect golden statues in their honour, but in their hearts they hate them and “shake their head.” Hermolaüs attended upon Alexander, Pausanias served as bodyguard for Philip, and Chaerea for Gaius Caligula, yet each one of these must have said as he followed along:
[De superst. 11b] Verily I would have vengeance if only my strength were sufficient.
[De superst. 11c] The atheist thinks there are no gods; the superstitious man wishes there were none, but believes in them against his will; for he is afraid not to believe. And yet, as Tantalus would be glad indeed to get out from under the rock suspended above his head, so the superstitious man would be glad to escape his fear by which he feels oppressed no less than Tantalus by his rock, and he would call the condition of the atheist happy because it is a state of freedom. But, as things are, the atheist has neither part nor lot in superstition, whereas the superstitious man by preference would be an atheist, but is too weak to hold the opinion about the gods which he wishes to hold.
[De superst. 12] 12 1 171 Moreover, the atheist has no part in causing superstition, but superstition provides the seed from which atheism springs, and when atheism has taken root, superstition supplies it with a defence, not a true one or a fair one, but one not destitute of some speciousness. For it is not because these people saw in the heavens anything to find fault with, or anything not harmonious or well-ordered in the stars or seasons, or in the revolutions of the moon or in the movements of the sun around the earth, “artisans of day and night,” or in the feeding and growth of living creatures, or in the sowing and harvesting of crops, as the result of which they decided against the idea of a God in the universe; but the ridiculous actions and emotions of superstition, its words and gestures, magic charms and spells, rushing about and beating of drums, impure purifications and dirty sanctifications, barbarous and outlandish penances and mortifications at the shrines — all these give occasion to some to say that it were better there should be no gods at all than gods who accept with pleasure such forms of worship, and are so overbearing, so petty, and so easily offended.
[De superst. 13] 13 1 Would it not then have been better for those Gauls and Scythians to have had absolutely no conception, no vision, no tradition, regarding the gods, than to believe in the existence of gods who take delight in the blood of human sacrifice and hold this to be the most perfect offering and holy rite? Again, would it not have been far better for the Carthaginians to have taken Critias or Diagoras to draw up their law-code at the very beginning, and so not to believe in any divine power or god, rather than to offer such sacrifices as they used to offer to Cronos? These were not in the manner that Empedocles describes in his attack on those who sacrifice living creatures:
[De superst. 13b] Changed in form is the son beloved of his father so pious,
Who on the altar lays him and slays him. What folly!
[De superst. 13c] No, but with full knowledge and understanding they themselves offered up their own children, and those who had no children would buy little ones from poor people and cut their throats as if they were so many lambs or young birds; meanwhile the mother stood by without a tear or moan; but should she utter a single moan or let fall a single tear, she had to forfeit the money, and her child was sacrificed nevertheless; and the whole area before the statue was filled with a loud noise of flutes and drums took the cries of wailing should not reach the ears of the people. Yet, if Typhons or Giants were ruling over us after they had expelled the gods, with what sort of sacrifices would they be pleased, or what other holy rites would they require? Amestris, the wife of Xerxes, caused twelve human beings to be buried alive as an offering in her behalf to propitiate Hades, of whom Plato says that it is because he is humane and wise and rich, and controls the souls of the dead by persuasion and reason, that he has come to be called by this name. Xenophanes, the natural philosopher, seeing the Egyptians beating their breasts and wailing at their festivals, gave them a very proper suggestion: “If these beings are gods,” said he, “do not bewail them; and if they are men, do not offer sacrifices to them.”
[De superst. 14] 14 1 But there is no infirmity comprehending such a multitude of errors and emotions, and involving opinions so contradictory, or rather antagonistic, as that of superstition. We must try, therefore, to escape it in some way which is both safe and expedient, and not be like people who incautiously and blindly run hither and thither to escape from an attack of robbers or wild beasts, or from a fire, and rush into trackless places that contain pitfalls and precipices. For thus it is that some persons, in trying to escape superstition, rush into a rough and hardened atheism, thus overleaping true religion which lies between.