Delphi Complete Works of Lucian

by Lucian Samosata

  Seventh D. A difficult question. I don’t know which way I should get him back soonest. In Heaven’s name, answer for me, and save the child before he is eaten up.

  Chrys. Ha, ha. I will teach you far other things than that.

  Seventh D. For instance?

  Chrys. There is the ‘Reaper.’ There is the ‘Rightful Owner.’ Better still, there is the ‘Electra’ and the ‘Man in the Hood.’

  Seventh D. Who was he? and who was Electra?

  Chrys. She was the Electra, the daughter of Agamemnon, to whom the same thing was known and unknown at the same time. She knew that Orestes was her brother: yet when he stood before her she did not know (until he revealed himself) that her brother was Orestes. As to the Man in the Hood, he will surprise you considerably. Answer me now: do you know your own father?

  Seventh D. Yes.

  Chrys. Well now, if I present to you a man in a hood, shall you know him? eh?

  Seventh D. Of course not.

  Chrys. Well, but the Man in the Hood is your father. You don’t know the Man in the Hood. Therefore you don’t know your own father.

  Seventh D. Why, no. But if I take his hood off, I shall get at the facts. Now tell me, what is the end of your philosophy? What happens when you reach the goal of virtue?

  Chrys. In regard to things external, health, wealth, and the like, I am then all that Nature intended me to be. But there is much previous toil to be undergone. You will first sharpen your eyes on minute manuscripts, amass commentaries, and get your bellyful of outlandish terms. Last but not least, it is forbidden to be wise without repeated doses of hellebore.

  Seventh D. All this is exalted and magnanimous to a degree. But what am I to think when I find that you are also the creed of cent-per-cent, the creed of the usurer? Has he swallowed his hellebore? is he made perfect in virtue?

  Chrys. Assuredly. On none but the wise man does usury sit well. Consider. His is the art of putting two and two together, and usury is the art of putting interest together. The two are evidently connected, and one as much as the other is the prerogative of the true believer; who, not content, like common men, with simple interest, will also take interest upon interest. For interest, as you are probably aware, is of two kinds. There is simple interest, and there is its offspring, compound interest. Hear Syllogism on the subject. ‘If I take simple interest, I shall also take compound. But I shall take simple interest: therefore I shall take compound.’

  Seventh D. And the same applies to the fees you take from your youthful pupils? None but the true believer sells virtue for a fee?

  Chrys. Quite right. I take the fee in my pupil’s interest, not because I want it. The world is made up of diffusion and accumulation. I accordingly practise my pupil in the former, and myself in the latter.

  Seventh D. But it ought to be the other way. The pupil ought to accumulate, and you, ‘sole millionaire,’ ought to diffuse.

  Chrys. Ha! you jest with me? Beware of the shaft of insoluble syllogism.

  Seventh D. What harm can that do?

  Chrys. It cripples; it ties the tongue, and turns the brain. Nay, I have but to will it, and you are stone this instant.

  Seventh D. Stone! You are no Perseus, friend?

  Chrys. See here. A stone is a body?

  Seventh D. Yes.

  Chrys. Well, and an animal is a body?

  Seventh D. Yes.

  Chrys. And you are an animal?

  Seventh D. I suppose I am.

  Chrys. Therefore you are a body. Therefore a stone.

  Seventh D. Mercy, in Heaven’s name! Unstone me, and let me be flesh as heretofore.

  Chrys. That is soon done. Back with you into flesh! Thus: Is every body animate?

  Seventh D. No.

  Chrys. Is a stone animate?

  Seventh D. No.

  Chrys. Now, you are a body?

  Seventh D. Yes.

  Chrys. And an animate body?

  Seventh D. Yes.

  Chrys. Then being animate, you cannot be a stone.

  Seventh D. Ah! thank you, thank you. I was beginning to feel my limbs growing numb and solidifying like Niobe’s. Oh, I must have you. What’s to pay?

  Her. Fifty pounds.

  Seventh D. Here it is.

  Her. Are you sole purchaser?

  Seventh D. Not I. All these gentlemen here are going shares.

  Her. A fine strapping lot of fellows, and will do the ‘Reaper’ credit.

  Zeus. Don’t waste time. Next lot, — the Peripatetic!

  Her. Now, my beauty, now, Affluence! Gentlemen, if you want Wisdom for your money, here is a creed that comprises all knowledge.

  Eighth D. What is he like?

  Her. He is temperate, good-natured, easy to get on with; and his strong point is, that he is twins.

  Eighth D. How can that be?

  Her. Why, he is one creed outside, and another inside. So remember, if you buy him, one of him is called Esoteric, and the other Exoteric.

  Eighth D. And what has he to say for himself?

  Her. He has to say that there are three kinds of good: spiritual, corporeal, circumstantial.

  Eighth D. There’s something a man can understand. How much is he?

  Her. Eighty pounds.

  Eighth D. Eighty pounds is a long price.

  Her. Not at all, my dear sir, not at all. You see, there is some money with him, to all appearance. Snap him up before it is too late. Why, from him you will find out in no time how long a gnat lives, to how many fathoms’ depth the sunlight penetrates the sea, and what an oyster’s soul is like.

  Eighth D. Heracles! Nothing escapes him.

  Her. Ah, these are trifles. You should hear some of his more abstruse speculations, concerning generation and birth and the development of the embryo; and his distinction between man, the laughing creature, and the ass, which is neither a laughing nor a carpentering nor a shipping creature.

  Eighth D. Such knowledge is as useful as it is ornamental. Eighty pounds be it, then.

  Her. He is yours.

  Zeus. What have we left?

  Her. There is Scepticism. Come along, Pyrrhias, and be put up. Quick’s the word. The attendance is dwindling; there will be small competition. Well, who buys Lot 9?

  Ninth D. I. Tell me first, though, what do you know?

  Sc. Nothing.

  Ninth D. But how’s that?

  Sc. There does not appear to me to be anything.

  Ninth D. Are not we something?

  Sc. How do I know that?

  Ninth D. And you yourself?

  Sc. Of that I am still more doubtful.

  Ninth D. Well, you are in a fix! And what have you got those scales for?

  Sc. I use them to weigh arguments in, and get them evenly balanced, They must be absolutely equal — not a feather-weight to choose between them; then, and not till then, can I make uncertain which is right. Ninth D. What else can you turn your hand to?

  Sc. Anything; except catching a runaway.

  Ninth D. And why not that?

  Sc. Because, friend, everything eludes my grasp.

  Ninth D. I believe you. A slow, lumpish fellow you seem to be. And what is the end of your knowledge?

  Sc. Ignorance. Deafness. Blindness.

  Ninth D. What! sight and hearing both gone?

  Sc. And with them judgement and perception, and all, in short, that distinguishes man from a worm.

  Ninth D. You are worth money! — What shall we say for him?

  Her. Four pounds.

  Ninth D. Here it is. Well, fellow; so you are mine?

  Sc. I doubt it.

  Ninth D. Nay, doubt it not! You are bought and paid for.

  Sc. It is a difficult case…. I reserve my decision.

  Ninth D. Now, come along with me, like a good slave.

  Sc. But how am I to know whether what you say is true?

  Ninth D. Ask the auctioneer. Ask my money. Ask the spectators.

  Sc. Spectators? But can we be sure there are any?
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br />   Ninth D. Oh, I’ll send you to the treadmill. That will convince you with a vengeance that I am your master.

  Sc. Reserve your decision.

  Ninth D. Too late. It is given.

  Her. Stop that wrangling and go with your purchaser. Gentlemen, we hope to see you here again to-morrow, when we shall be offering some lots suitable for plain men, artisans, and shopkeepers.

  THE FISHERMAN — Ἀναβιοῦντες ἢ Ἁλιεύς

  Translated by H. W. Fowler and F. G. Fowler

  THE FISHER

  A RESURRECTION PIECE

  Lucian or Parrhesiades. Socrates, Empedocles. Plato. Chrysippus.

  Diogenes. Aristotle. Other Philosophers. Platonists. Pythagoreans.

  Stoics. Peripatetics. Epicureans. Academics. Philosophy. Truth.

  Temperance. Virtue. Syllogism. Exposure. Priestess of Athene.

  Soc. Stone the miscreant; stone him with many stones; clod him with clods; pot him with pots; let the culprit feel your sticks; leave him no way out. At him, Plato! come, Chrysippus, let him have it! Shoulder to shoulder, close the ranks;

  Let wallet succour wallet, staff aid staff!

  We are all parties in this war; not one of us but he has assailed.

  You, Diogenes, now if ever is the time for that stick of yours; stand

  firm, all of you. Let him reap the fruits of his reveling. What,

  Epicurus, Aristippus, tired already? ’tis too soon; ye sages,

  Be men; relume that erstwhile furious wrath!

  Aristotle, one more sprint. There! the brute is caught; we have you, villain. You shall soon know a little more about the characters you have assailed. Now, what shall we do with him? it must be rather an elaborate execution, to meet all our claims upon him; he owes a separate death to every one of us.

  First Phil. Impale him, say I.

  Second Phil. Yes, but scourge him first.

  Third Phil. Tear out his eyes.

  Fourth Phil. Ah, but first out with the offending tongue.

  Soc. What say you, Empedocles?

  Emp. Oh, fling him into a crater; that will teach him to vilify his betters.

  Pl. ‘Twere best for him, Orpheus or Pentheus like, to

  Find death, dashed all to pieces on the rock;

  so each might have taken a piece home with him.

  Lu. Forbear; spare me; I appeal to the God of suppliants.

  Soc. Too late; no loophole is left you now. And you know your Homer:

  ‘Twixt men and lions, covenants are null.’

  Lu. Why, it is in Homer’s name that I ask my boon. You will perhaps pay reverence to his lines, and listen to a selection from him:

  Slay not; no churl is he; a ransom take

  Of bronze and gold, whereof wise hearts are fain.

  Pl. Why, two can play at that game; exempli gratia,

  Reviler, babble not of gold, nor nurse

  Hope of escape from these our hands that hold thee.

  Lu. Ah me, ah me! my best hopes dashed, with Homer! Let me fly to Euripides; it may be he will protect me:

  Leave him his life; the suppliant’s life is sacred.

  Pl. Does this happen to be Euripides too —

  Evil men evil treated is no evil?

  Lu. And will you slay me now for nought but words?

  Pl. Most certainly; our author has something on that point too:

  Unbridled lips

  And folly’s slips

  Invite Fate’s whips.

  Lu. Oh, very well; as you are all set on murdering me, and escape is impossible, do at least tell me who you are, and what harm I have done you; it must be something irreparable, to judge by your relentless murderous pursuit.

  Pl. What harm you have done us, vile fellow? your own conscience and your fine dialogues will tell you; you have called Philosophy herself bad names, and as for us, you have subjected us to the indignity of a public auction, and put up wise men — ay, and free men, which is more — for sale. We have reason to be angry; we have got a short leave of absence from Hades, and come up against you — Chrysippus here, Epicurus and myself, Aristotle yonder, the taciturn Pythagoras, Diogenes and all of us that your dialogues have made so free with.

  Lu. Ah, I breathe again. Once hear the truth about my conduct to you, and you will never put me to death. You can throw away those stones. Or, no, keep them; you shall have a better mark for them presently.

  Pl. This is trifling. This day thou diest; nay, even now,

  A suit of stones shalt don, thy livery due.

  Lu. Believe me, good gentlemen, I have been at much pains on your behalf to slay me is to slay one who should rather be selected for commendation a kindred spirit, a well-wisher, a man after your own heart, a promoter, if I may be bold to say it, of your pursuits. See to it that you catch not the tone of our latter-day philosophers, and be thankless, petulant, and hard of heart, to him that deserves better of you.

  Pl. Talk of a brazen front! So to abuse us is to oblige us. I believe you are under the delusion that you are really talking to slaves; after the insolent excesses of your tongue, do you propose to chop gratitude with us?

  Lu. How or when was I ever insolent to you? I have always been an admirer of philosophy, your panegyrist, and a student of the writings you left. All that comes from my pen is but what you give me; I deflower you, like a bee, for the behoof of mankind; and then there is praise and recognition; they know the flowers, whence and whose the honey was, and the manner of my gathering; their surface feeling is for my selective art, but deeper down it is for you and your meadow, where you put forth such bright blooms and myriad dyes, if one knows but how to sort and mix and match, that one be not in discord with another. Could he that had found you such have the heart to abuse those benefactors to whom his little fame was due? then he must be a Thamyris or Eurytus, defying the Muses who gave his gift of song, or challenging Apollo with the bow, forgetful from whom he had his marksmanship.

  Pl. All this, good sir, is quite according to the principles of rhetoric; that is to say, it is clean contrary to the facts; your unscrupulousness is only emphasized by this adding of insult to injury; you confess that your arrows are from our quiver, and you use them against us; your one aim is to abuse us. This is our reward for showing you that meadow, letting you pluck freely, fill your bosom, and depart. For this alone you richly deserve death.

  Lu. There; your ears are partial; they are deaf to the right. Why, I would never have believed that personal feeling could affect a Plato, a Chrysippus, an Aristotle; with you, of all men, I thought there was dry light. But, dear sirs, do not condemn me unheard; give me trial first. Was not the principle of your establishing — that the law of the stronger was not the law of the State, and that differences should be settled in court after due hearing of both sides? Appoint a judge, then; be you my accusers, by your own mouths or by your chosen representative; and let me defend my own case; then if I be convicted of wrong, and that be the court’s decision, I shall get my deserts, and you will have no violence upon your consciences. But if examination shows me spotless and irreproachable, the court will acquit me, and then turn you your wrath upon the deceivers who have excited you against me.

  Pl. Ah, every cock to his own dunghill! You think you will hoodwink the jury and get off. I hear you are a lawyer, an advocate, an old hand at a speech. Have you any judge to suggest who will be proof against such an experienced corrupter as you?

  Lu. Oh, be reassured. The official I think of proposing is no suspicious, dubious character likely to sell a verdict. What say you to forming the court yourselves, with Philosophy for your President?

  Pl. Who is to prosecute, if we are the jury?

  Lu. Oh, you can do both; I am not in the least afraid; so much stronger is my case; the defence wins, hands down.

  Pl. Pythagoras, Socrates, what do you think? perhaps the I man’s appeal to law is not unreasonable.

  Soc. No; come along, form the court, fetch Philosophy, and see what he has to say for himself.
To condemn unheard is a sadly crude proceeding, not for us; leave that to the hasty people with whom might is right. We shall give occasion to the enemy to blaspheme if we stone a man without a hearing, professed lovers of justice as we are. We shall have to keep quiet about Anytus and Meletus, my accusers, and the jury on that occasion, if we cannot spare an hour to hear this fellow before he suffers. Pl. Very true, Socrates. We will go and fetch Philosophy. The decision shall be hers, and we will accept it, whatever it is.