Delphi Complete Works of Dio Chrysostom

by Dio Chrysostom

  The authenticity of this encomium on Fortune was denied long ago by Emperius, and his judgement has been reaffirmed by Arnim. The criteria are stylistic: there is a notable disregard of hiatus, a phenomenon not to be expected of an able sophist in a composition such as this — Arnim cites the particularly objectionable passage in § 5: πολλὰ δὲ αὕτη ἔχουσα χρώματα ἐοικότα ἀφρῷ ἡμαγμένῳ ἐφήρμοσε τῇ γραφῇ — and the subject matter is treated in a dull and uninspired fashion. The one redeeming feature of the document is the anecdote, elsewhere recorded only by Sextus Empiricus, of Apelles and his sponge.

  Although Tychê appears in Hesiod’s Theogony among the progeny of Tethys and Oceanus and is occasionally named by poets of later date, notably Pindar, the personification seems not to have taken firm hold upon Greek imagination. With the Romans, however, the case was different, and Tychê in her Latinized form, Fortuna, received ample honours as a deity in many parts of the Empire, being intimately associated with the ruling house.

  The Sixty-third Discourse: On Fortune (I)

  Mankind seems to feel toward Fortune as sailors do toward the winds that waft them on their way; for sailors gladly and with vigour apply themselves to their course, and those who have the breeze reach the port for which they aimed, while those who are abandoned by it in the midst of the open sea lament to no avail; so too when men have Fortune with them they rejoice and are glad, but when she is absent they are grieved and distressed. Yes, everything is the work of this goddess, for indeed when she is present the difficult appears easy, the weak strong, the ugly beautiful, and poverty turns to wealth.

  [2] For instance, when Fortune comes at sea a ship has fair sailing, and when she shows herself in the atmosphere a farmer prospers. Moreover, a man’s spirit rejoices when uplifted by Fortune, yet should Fortune fail, it goes about in its body as in a tomb. For neither does a man win approval if he speaks, nor does he succeed if he acts, nor is it any advantage to have been born a man of genius when Fortune fails. For when she is not present learning is not forthcoming, nor any other good thing. Why, even valour gains recognition for its achievements only when Fortune is present; on the other hand, if valour should be left to itself it is just a word, productive of no noble action. In time of war Fortune means victory; in time of peace, concord; at a marriage, goodwill; with lovers, enjoyment — in short, success in each and every undertaking.

  [3] When Fortune deserts a land, then that land is shaken and trembles and tosses the lovely things upon it in all directions — this too a disease of the earth, Fortune not being present. Again, as a ship moves aimlessly and founders quickly when deprived of a pilot, or as fortifications crumble when foundations are damaged, so a city goes to utter ruin for lack of Fortune. Athens once suffered wrong to its orators and Demosthenes was haled to prison, all because Fortune no longer was watching over Athens. But, methinks, even the sky has Fortune, when it has clear weather instead of darkness.

  [4] But one should consider also the resourcefulness of the goddess. For example, there have been times when a man who had fallen overboard from a ship at sea was able to save his life because Fortune came to his aid. Moreover, what happened to Apelles the painter because of Fortune deserves recounting. For, as the story goes, he was painting a horse — not a work-horse but a war-horse. Its neck was high arched, its ears erect, its eyes fierce, like one come not from work but from war, with the spirit of the charge in theirº glance, and its feet were rising in the air, touching the ground lightly one after the other. Moreover, the driver had a firm grip on the reins, throttling the martial gallop of the horse in mid-career. [5] But though the picture had everything true to life, there was lacking a colour wherewith to depict froth such as there would be when blood and saliva have mixed in constant intermingling, the panting breath driving before it the moisture of the lips and forming froth because of laboured breathing, while the cruel bit spattered blood upon the froth. So, then, Apelles knew not how to represent froth of a horse wearied in action. But as he was more and more perplexed, finally in a fit of desperation he hurled his sponge at the painting, striking it near the bit. But the sponge, containing as it did many colours, which when taken together resembled bloody froth, fitted its colour to the painting. And at the sight Apelles was delighted by what Fortune had accomplished in his moment of despair and finished his painting, not through his art, but through the aid of Fortune.

  [6] Again, what else was it that made Heracles most mighty? Why, he not only throttled and choked to death a lion, pursued winged creatures of the air, ejected the Hydra from the swamp, crushing its heads, and refused to be frightened by the boar which haunted Erymanthus; he even journeyed to the West and bore away the fruit of the tree which grew there. Moreover, he carried off the cattle of Geryones, fine animals that they were, admonished Diomedes the Thracian to give his horses grain, not men, to eat, and proved the Amazons to be mere women. But all these exploits he was able to accomplish because Fortune attended him.

  [7] Moreover, the riddles of the ancients in their representations of Fortune are not without merit. For instance, some have placed her on a razor’s edge, others on a sphere, others have given her a rudder to wield, while those who depict her most effectively have given her the horn of Amaltheia, full to overflowing with the fruits of the seasons, the horn which Heracles in battle broke off from Acheloüs. Now the razor’s edge betokens the abruptness with which good fortune changes; the sphere, that change of fortune is easy, for the divine power is, in fact, ever in motion; the rudder indicates that Fortune directs the life of men; and the horn of Amaltheia calls attention to the giving of good things and prosperity. Let us not, then, call any fortune evil; for one does not say that virtue is evil, or that goodness is evil.

  THE SIXTY-FOURTH DISCOURSE: ON FORTUNE (II)

  This laudatio of the goddess Fortune, though longer than the foregoing, is hardly on a higher level. Arnim was doubtless correct in denying it a place among the genuine works of Dio. There is a monotony in its phrasing which one would be reluctant to associate with him, and also a certain indifference toward hiatus. But more objectionable still is a tedious parade of erudition, ranging all the way from the commonplaces of myth and history to points so obscure that one is tempted to ascribe them to the fertile imagination of the author. Was it his purpose to overawe with his learning a less erudite company?

  Where was his address delivered? In §§ 12-17 he traces the ancestry of his hearers to Athens via Euboea. His account sounds a bit fanciful and the twofold migration from Athens is not found elsewhere in Greek tradition, so that it is impossible to identify with certainty the people to whom he is speaking. However, Strabo (5.246) reports that, after the original settlement of Naples by citizens of Cumae, additional settlers later came from Athens. Furthermore, a Neapolitan coin of about the middle of the fifth century B.C. depicts Pallas wearing an olive crown, and at some time or other the name Phaleron came to be associated with Naples. Finally, the complimentary remarks regarding the city in which the address was being delivered seem to fit Naples better than any other likely possibility. It might seem surprising, however, that the Naples of the first century of our era should still cherish the memory of Athenian contributions to its parent stock. Possibly our Discourse was addressed to a select group of Neapolitans, who, however unintelligently, strove to keep alive traditions of ancient days.

  The Sixty-fourth Discourse: On Fortune (II)

  The charges which men lay to the account of Fortune I would consider to be highest encomia in her favour. For example, the inscrutable vicissitudes in their affairs they ascribe to her, and whenever they unwisely set their hands to certain projects and meet with failure they imagine they have been robbed of their purposes by her, since, in their opinion, she could do any and every thing if she only would. Again, you may hear farmers, shippers, and men of wealth blaming her for their loss of money, dandies for their persons, Pantheia for her husband, Croesus for his son, Astyages for hi
s defeat, and Polycrates for his capture. Moreover, the Persians blamed Fortune after the slaying of Cyrus, as did the Macedonians after Alexander’s death.

  [2] Furthermore, men even reproach Fortune for some of their own emotional weaknesses — Medea for her passion, Midas for his prayer, Phaedra for her false accusation, Alcmaeon for his wandering, Orestes for his madness. But I will tell you also a certain Cyprian tale if you wish. The days of old produced women of distinction as well as men — Rhodogunê the warrior, Semiramis the queen, Sappho the poetess, Timandra the beauty; just so Cyprus too had its Demonassa, a woman gifted in both statesmanship and law-giving. [3] She gave the people of Cyprus the following three laws: a woman guilty of adultery shall have her hair cut off and be a harlot — her daughter became an adulteress, had her hair cut off according to the law, and practised harlotry; whoever commits suicide shall be cast out without a burial — this was the second law of Demonassa; third, a law forbidding the slaughter of a plough-ox. Of the two sons which she had, the one met his death for having slain an ox, while the other, who slew himself, she refrained from burying. [4] Now for a time she not only bore with fortitude the loss of her children but also persevered in her regulations; but having observed a cow lowing in sorrow over a calf which was dying, and having recognized her own misfortune in the case of another, Demonassa melted bronze and leaped into the molten mass. And there used to be at that place an ancient tower holding a bronze image, an image embedded in bronze, both in order to insure the stability of the statue and also as a representation of the story; and near-by on a tablet there was an inscription:

  Wise was I, yet in everything ill-starred.

  [5] Well then, let not Fortune be condemned unheard, and let us not fear the clamour of those who accuse her. For perhaps even she herself might aid us somewhat in speaking well of her. In the first place, the artists are believed to have revealed her power by the way they have equipped her. For, to begin with, she stands ready for her tasks; secondly, in her right hand she holds a rudder and, as one might say, she is sailing a ship. But why, then was this? Was it in the belief that sailors more than others need Fortune, or was it because she steers our lives like some great ship and preserves all on board — the Assyrians until the wanton luxury of Sardanapalus; the Medes until the rearing of Cyrus; the Persians until they crossed the sea; the Athenians until their capture; Croesus until the visit of Solon?

  [6] At first a fortunate man was Oedipus.

  Yes, for Fortune, trying to provide freedom from suffering, granted him ignorance, which was tantamount to freedom from suffering. Then at one and the same time he reached the end of his good fortune and began to understand. For my part I call even his blindness good fortune. For let Tellus behold his children, and Cydippê, and Aeolus, and whoever else may have been fortunate as a parent; yet by his blindness Oedipus

  Will gain escape from shameful sights.

  [7] And, to resume, in her other hand the goddess holds fruits plucked and ready for use, indicating the multitude of good things she herself provides — this, you see, would be both Golden Age and Isles of the Blest, as it were, with foods for the taking, and Horn of Heracles, and life of the Cyclopes all in one, since to those who have toiled for their living an abundance of good things comes thereafter spontaneously. But Tantalus, you know, was idle in old age; on that account, therefore, he was prosperous only as far as his lips, fortunate only with his eyes, while all those things he longed for — lake, fruits, food, and drink — vanished, snatched away by Fortune as by a blast of wind.

  [8] Again, Fortune has been given many names among men. Her impartiality has been named Nemesis or Retributive Justice; her obscurity, Elpis or Hope; her inevitability, Moira or Fate; her righteousness, Themis or Law — truly a deity of many names and many ways. Farmers have given her the name Demeter; shepherds Pan; sailors Leucothea, pilots Dioscuri.

  With ease the eminent he curbs, the meek

  Exalts, makes straight the crooked, blasts the proud.

  [9] This refers, of course, to Zeus, holding in his right hand his weapon and in his left his sceptre, for the reason that to martial men he gives kingship too.

  Furthermore, Euripides censures the sailor

  Untimely seeking to cross the broad sea’s waves;

  he also utters reproof in the following, when he says

  To slender hopes do they entrust themselves.

  [10] O son of Mnesarchides, you were a poet, to be sure, yet not at all wise! For they entrust this lives to neither pitch nor ropes, nor is it a two-inch plank of pine that keeps them safe; nay, they entrust them to a sure and mighty thing, Fortune. A weak thing is wealth unless accompanied by Fortune; an uncertain thing is friendship unless Fortune bears a hand. She preserves alike the sick man in his extremity, the swimmer amidst the waves, Agamemnon sailing with his thousand ships, and Odysseus drifting on his raft. [11] What dost thou fear, thou craven? Dost fear the vastness of the sea? Poseidon, indeed, will spy thee, summon his winds, seize his trident, and stir up all the blasts; yet he will not slay thee, for Fortune wills it not.

  Thus do thou wander now upon the deep,

  With many an evil mischance, till the day

  When thou dost meet with men beloved of Zeus.

  An utterance of a god vanquished by Fortune!

  [12] What is more, the ancient stock of your ancestors, those autochthonous and earliest Athenians who boasted the soil as mother, Demeter as nurse, and Athena as namesake and ally, Fortune first led forth from Athens to Euboea; but since if they remained there the sea could not please them nor the land support, and since also they could not endure the disgrace of what had happened, their having turned islanders instead of occupants of the mainland, Fortune made a second and better plan. [13] For though Euboea is truly a venerable island, still who among you ever was able to endure dwelling in a rugged land, or being neighbour to narrow waters and subjected to many shifts of condition, more numerous than the shifts of current in the strait? At one moment you must needs endure the Boeotians and the stupidity of the Thebans, and the next it was the Athenians, who treated you no longer as sons, but rather as slaves. So it came to pass that the goddess took and established you here, with one of her hands contriving and directing the voyage, and with the other abundantly providing and bestowing her fruits.

  Now the idea in what yet remains to say it is difficult to portray. [14] But as for me, O Mistress Fortune — for to thee, no doubt, my words would justly be addressed — if some one should raise me aloft and transport me through the sky, either, as it were, on the back of some Pegasus or in some winged car of Pelops, offering me the whole earth and its cities, neither would I choose the luxury of Lydia or the thrift of Attica or the meagre living of Laconia, nor would I choose Croton or Sybaris, because they do not toil, or the Scythians, because they do not farm, or the Egyptians, because they farm for others,

  [15] And Libya, where the lambs have horns at birth —

  a shepherd’s haven! No, I would not choose Egyptian Thebes,

  Which hath a hundred gates, and at each one

  Two hundred men go forth with chariots and steeds —

  a life for grooms and gate-keepers!

  In Delos such a tree I once did see

  Beside Apollo’s altar —

  an altar does not satisfy my wants, since I have naught to sacrifice thereon; no more do trees, if they afford no food.

  ’tis rugged, yet a goodly nurse of youth —

  This land not only is not rugged but a nurse of youth besides.

  [16] O Athens, august mistress of them all!

  Say not so, fellow: those Athenians no more are masters.

  How beauteous too thy shipyard is to view.

  Nay, rather say ugly, after the Hellespont and Lysander.

  Peiraeus is a lovely sight.

  Yes, for your mind’s eye still sees it with its walls.

  What other city yet obtained such groves!

  It did have, yes, but it was ravaged and, like a w
oman in her mourning, it had its tresses shorn.

  For climate, so they say, ’tis nobly set.

  Indeed! how so, since they are subject to plague and sickness, and more of them are slain by their climate than by the foe?

  [17] Now let no one be vexed that I speak thus of his forebears. We could not attain first rank in any other way than by competing with those who are first. Why, not only did a certain warrior of old take pride in having proved superior to his sire, but even for the Athenians it is no disgrace, ancestors of ours though they be, to be outstript by their sons. For they will share your merit while being surpassed in their own. How, then, could you help being grateful to Fortune for all this — both for parentage, in that you are Greek, and for your changed condition, in that, though once poor, you now are prosperous? Socrates, at any rate, counted himself fortunate for many reasons — not only because he was a rational being, but also because he was an Athenian. [18] Diogenes the Cynic, on the other hand, with boorishness and downright discourtesy was wont to rail at Fortune, claiming that, though she shot many shafts with him as her target, she could not hit him. I cannot endure a philosopher’s behaving so brazenly. Do not lie about Fortune, Diogenes, for the reason why she does not shoot you is that she has no wish to do so; on the contrary, if Fortune did wish it, she could easily hit you wherever you might be. While I do not use those “pithy laconic expressions” — slaves to the Persians, Dionysius at Corinth, Socrates’ condemnation, Xenophon’s exile, Pherecydes’ death, luck of Anaxarchus — still, let me ask you, with how many shafts has she hit this difficult mark itself? She made you an exile; she brought you to Athens; she introduced you to Antisthenes; she sold you into Crete. But if staff and wallet and a meagre, simple mode of living serve you as a cloak of affectation, you have Fortune to thank even for these things, for it is by grace of Fortune that you practise philosophy.

  [19] Again, there was once an Athenian general, Timotheüs, who was fortunate in everything and could not stand being made the butt of jokes; and one day he committed some act of effrontery against Fortune, and in turn he began to be unfortunate. Who would ever have expected that a barber would become ruler of the Indians; that a shepherd would become king of the Lydians; that a woman would become leader of Asia; that a tunic and a woman would cause the death of Heracles; that a slave and a goblet would cause the death of Alexander? The explanation is that Fortune has within herself the essence of royalty ever in fullest measure, and she destroys those who exalt themselves unduly. For instance, Alexander did many daring things — [20] he could not stand being called the son of Philip; he lied about Zeus; he scorned the Dioscuri; he abused Dionysus, though indulging so lavishly in that god’s gifts. Moreover, he slew his saviour Cleitus, the handsome Philotas, the aged Parmenion, his teacher Callisthenes; he aimed to slay Aristotle and had planned the death of Antipater. Therefore Fortune made him while yet alive admit that he was a human being. [21] At any rate when he had been wounded he said to his friends, “Why, this fluid which I behold is not ichor but real blood!” But by his dying he admitted fully that Fortune is a mighty being and truly invincible. At any rate after escaping from the Theban hoplites, the Thessalian cavalry, the Aetolian javelin-throwers, the Thracians with their daggers, the martial Persians, the tribe of irresistible Medes, from lofty mountains, impassable rivers, unscalable cliffs, from Darius, Porus, and many other tribes and kings I might name, yet in Babylon, remote from battle and from wounds, our warrior died!