Delphi Complete Works of Dio Chrysostom

by Dio Chrysostom

  [4] However, such is the spell of this infatuation that, though you will buy from the dyers for two or three minas a handsome purple mantle, should you wish one by public award it would cost you very many talents. Again, though you will buy the ribbons of the market-place for a few drachmas, those of the Assembly will often cost you all your fortune. Furthermore, while persons who are cried for sale in the market-place all deem wretched, those cried in the theatre they deem fortunate; besides, they claim that the latter are cried, the former decried, a single syllable evidently constituting the sole difference!

  [5] Yes, so completely did the men of old despise mankind, and so clearly did they see their fatuity, that as a reward for the greatest hardships and buffetings they offered leaves! Yet there are some who to gain those leaves elect to die. But no nanny-goat would hurl herself over a cliff for the sake of a sprig of wild olive, especially when other pasturage is handy. And yet, though goats do not find the wild olive distasteful, a human being could not eat it. Again, take the Isthmian pine; while it is no greener than the other varieties, with much toil and hardship men strive to gain it, often paying much money for it — and that too, although the tree has no utility at all, for it can neither provide shade nor bear fruit, and, besides, the leaf is acrid and smoky; on the other hand, no one turns his head to look at the pine from Megara. Moreover, if any one else has his head bound — unless he has suffered a fracture — he is the object of ridicule; yet for kings the headband is thought becoming and untold thousands have given their lives for the sake of this scrap of cloth.

  [6] Why, because of a golden lamb it came to pass that a mighty house like that of Pelops was overturned, as we learn from the tragic poets. And not only were the children of Thyestes cut in pieces, but Pelopia’s father lay with her and begot Aegistheus; and Aegistheus with Clytemnestra’s aid slew Agamemnon, “the shepherd of the Achaeans”; and then Clytemnestra’s son Orestes slew her, and, having done so, he straightway went mad. One should not disbelieve these things, for they have been recorded by no ordinary men — Euripides and Sophocles — and also are recited in the midst of the theatres. Furthermore, one may behold another house, more affluent than that of Pelops, which has been ruined because of a tongue, and, in sooth, another house which is now in jeopardy.

  [7] But such being the accompaniments of notoriety, yes, and countless others even more absurd, why is not he who gapes hungrily in that direction altogether more disgusting than the person who is distraught with passion for anything else at all? The gourmet is satisfied with a single fish and none of his enemies would interfere with his enjoyment of it; similarly he who is a pitiable victim of lust for boys, if he comes upon a handsome lad, devotes himself to this one only and often prevails upon him at a small cost. A single jar of Thasian wine is all the drunkard can hold, and when he has swallowed it he sleeps more sweetly than Endymion; yet your notoriety-seeker would not be satisfied with the praise of just one person, nay, not even with that of a thousand on many instances.

  [8] Who would not agree that it is easier to handle the most difficult youth than the most moderate community? And yet the farther the craze for notoriety progresses, so much the more impossible it is to get any sleep; instead, like the victims of delirium, your seeker after fame is always up in the air both night and day. “Right, by Heaven,” somebody may say, “but you can see those other chaps busy with their wine and their mistresses and their kitchens.” Yes, but does not the seeker after fame find it necessary to buy a lot of food and wine? And he must collect flute-players and mimes and harpists and jugglers and, more than that, pugilists and pancratiasts and wrestlers and runners and all that tribe — at least unless he intends to entertain the mob in a cheap and beggarly manner.

  [9] For though there has never been a gourmet so voracious as to crave a savage lion or a hundred bulls, those who wish to please the masses crave not merely the things just listed but things too numerous to mention. For “not with a few nets,” as the saying goes, or with two or three harlots, or even with ten Lesbian girls, is popularity hunted and a whole community rendered obedient and friendly, since thousands are competing for it; nay, he who courts popular favour must have a whole city’s licentiousness and be a devotee of singing, of dancing, of drinking, of eating, and, indeed, of all such things, not as one single individual, but rather as ten thousand or twenty thousand or a hundred thousand, in keeping with the size of the city whose favour he is courting. [10] At such a person’s house you will always find

  The shrill of flute and pipes, the din of men.

  And at his house tables are laden with bread and meat, and from mixing-bowls cupbearers bear drink.

  By day the hall with fatty savour reeks

  And makes the court to echo with its din,

  While in the night, beside their wives revered —

  they never sleep, not though they spread beneath them very many rugs.

  [11] Thus the boy-lovers, I fancy, count themselves extremely fortunate as they compare themselves with the popularity-seekers, seeing that they themselves seek only quails or a cock or a tiny nightingale, while those others, they observe, must needs seek some Amoebeus or Polus or hire some Olympic victor for a fee of five talents. Moreover, while they themselves have filled the belly of one man, the tutor or the attendant of the lad, the others, unless they provide a sumptuous banquet for at least a hundred daily, derive no advantage at all.

  Again, when men are ill, their attendants provide quiet for them so that they may sleep; but with the popularity-seekers, whenever they do obtain a bit of quiet, that is the time above all when sleep will not come. [12] Now those who have been blessed with riches or ancestry or the like or with physical or mental excellence or who, at any rate, have acquired a glib tongue, these, as if endowed with wings, are all but carried to the stars, being called leaders of the people and condottieri and sophists, courting communities and satraps and pupils; but of the others, who have no adventitious backing but are victims of the same malady, each goes about living his life with his eye on somebody else and concerned about what people are saying of him, and if people speak well of him, as he imagines, he is a happy man, cheerful of countenance, but otherwise he is depressed and downcast and considers himself but the sort of man they say he is. Again, if he is involved in litigation with any one before an arbitrator or a judge, he does not expect the arbitrator or the judge to heed chance witnesses, and yet he himself in matters which concern himself regards all and sundry as worthy of credence.

  [13] What, then, is more ill-starred than human beings who are at the mercy of others and in the power of any one who meets them, always compelled to keep their eye on him and to watch his countenance, just as slaves must watch the countenance of their masters? Now any servitude is hard, but those whom fate has doomed to servitude in a house in which there are two or three masters, and masters, too, who differ in both age and disposition — for example, a niggardly old man and that man’s youthful sons, bent on drinking and extravagance — who would not agree that slaves so placed are more wretched than the others, seeing that they must serve so many masters, each of whom desires and orders something different?

  But suppose a person were to be slave of a community consisting of old and young, of poor and rich, of wastrels and misers, what would the condition of such a person be? Again, methinks, if a man of wealth were forced to live in the kind of city in which all were free to plunder the possessions of their neighbours and there were no allow to prevent it, he would renounce his wealth forthwith, no matter if he had surpassed all the world in avarice. This, in fact, is the case with popularity to-day. [14] For in that respect licence has been granted to any one who so desires, whether citizen or alien or foreign resident, to injure any one.

  [15] To the disfranchised life seems with good reason not worth living, and many choose death rather than life after losing their citizenship, for whoever so desires is free to strike them and there exists no private means of punishing him who treats them with contum
ely. Well then, all are free to give the popularity-seeker blows altogether more grievous than those which are dealt the body. Yet the disfranchised, one would find, are not lightly subjected to this treatment by any one; for most men are on their guard against righteous indignation and ill will, and, finally, the disfranchised have naught to fear from any who are weaker than they. When it comes to vituperation, however, especially vituperation of those who are thought to enjoy esteem, no one forbears, and no one is so powerless as not to be able to utter some telling phrase. [16] For that very reason a certain mild-tempered man of olden days, when somebody kept bringing him reports of that kind of language, was moved to say, “If you do not stop listening to bad words about me, I too shall listen to bad words about you.” But perhaps it would be better, in case some one starts using abusive language, not even to notice whether the man is speaking at all.

  The slave who is unrestrained and given to jesting, if his master catches him at it, is often made to smart for it; but the person who is subservient to public opinion is humbled by any one at all with a single word. If one were acquainted with spells learned from Medea or the Thessalians which were so potent that by uttering them he could make any one he pleased weep and suffer pain though confronted by no misfortune, would not his power be regarded as tyranny? While, in dealing with one who has become puffed up by reputation there is none who does not have this power; [17] for by speaking two or three words you have plunged him into misery and anguish. Again, if because of some supernatural influence one’s body were to be so constituted that, if any one should curse him, he would immediately have a fever or a headache, that man would be more wretched than the thrice wretched; and if one were to be so feeble-minded that, in case some one should revile him, he would immediately become deranged, why would not life for such a man be a thing to shun?

  Or let us put it this way. Suppose one were to be put on trial every day concerning anything whatever, whether his life or his property, would it not be altogether preferable to renounce that thing and to cease being in jeopardy for the future — if it be property, then the property; if it be life, then his life? [18] How then? Is not the trial concerning reputation always in progress wherever there are men — that is, foolish men — not merely once a day but many times, and not before a definite panel of judges but before all men without distinction, and, moreover, men not bound by oath, men without regard for either witnesses or evidence? For they sit in judgement without either having knowledge of the case or listening to testimony or having been chosen by lot, and it makes no difference to them if they cast their vote at a drinking bout or at the bath and, most outrageous of all, he who to-day is acquitted to-morrow is condemned. [19] Accordingly, whoever is the victim of this malady of courting popularity is bound to be subject to criticism as he walks about, to pay heed to everyone, and to fear lest wittingly or unwittingly he give offence to somebody, but particularly to one of those who are bold and of ready wit. For if he should have the misfortune to have offended somebody never so little, as often happens, straightway the offended person lets fly a harsh word; and if with that word he perhaps misses his mark, nevertheless he causes dismay, while if he should hit the vital spot he has destroyed his victim forthwith. For the fact is, many are so constituted that they are overwhelmed and made to waste away by anything.

  [20] Not only so, but also sometimes one set of things is more potent with one kind of person and another with another; just as, I believe, each youngster fears some bogey peculiar to himself and is wont to be terrified by this — of course lads who are naturally timid cry out no matter what you produce to scare them — however, at least with these more important fellows, certain things are a source of shame with reference to certain persons. The beggar who is a braggart and seeks to appear a Croesus is confounded by Irus; and he does not even read the Odyssey because of the lines which say

  In came a public beggar, who through the town

  Of Ithaca was wont to beg his way.

  [21] Just so Cecrops confounds the man of servile parentage, and likewise Thersites confounds the man of shabby appearance but with ambition to be a beauty. The fact is, if by calling him a glutton or a miser or a catamite or a general blackguard you jeer at the man who plumes himself on his temperance and who has enrolled under the banner of virtue, you have ruined him completely. By carrying around the Gorgon’s head and displaying it to his foes Perseus turned them to stone; but most men have been turned to stone by just one word, if it is applied to them; besides, there is no need to carry this around, guarding it in a wallet.

  [22] And yet let me add this: if we understood also the cries of birds — for example, of the ravens or the jackdaws — and of the other creatures such as frogs or cicadae, of course we should pay heed to the cries of these as well, eager to learn what the jackdaw flying by is saying about us, or what the jay is saying and what he thinks about us. It is a lucky thing, then, that we do not understand. But how many human beings are more empty-headed than the frogs and the jackdaw! Yet for all that, the words they speak excite us and make us utterly wretched.

  [23] However, he who has asserted his independence pays no heed to the foolish talk of the crowd; rather he mocks at their loquacity, having indeed long since said in answer to them all,

  I care not; ’tis as if a woman threw

  At me, or else some witless lad; for blunt

  The missile of a feeble good-for-naught.

  Take Heracles, son of Zeus; how many, think you, were wont to disparage him, some dubbing him thief, some ruffian, some even adulterer or slayer of children? Yet he was not at all disturbed by these taunts, though perhaps there was none who spoke them openly, since he would promptly have suffered for it.

  [24] Unless you bring yourself to look with scorn upon all others, you will never end your state of wretchedness; instead, you will always lead a pitiable, yes, a painful existence, being at the mercy of all who wish to hurt you and, as the saying goes, living a hare’s life. Nay, hares fear the dogs and the nets and the eagles, but you will go about cowering and quaking before what people say, being utterly unable to provide yourself with any defence, no matter what you may be doing or if you spend your time in any way you please. [25] If you are always rushing into the market-place you will hear yourself called a market idler and a shyster, whereas if, on the contrary, you are wary of that sort of thing and keep more at home and attend to your own affairs you will be called timid and an ignoramus and a nonentity; if you give thought to learning you will be called simple-minded and effeminate; if you are in some business, vulgar; if you stroll about at your leisure, lazy; if you don rather soft apparel, ostentatious and dandified; if you go barefoot and wear a ragged little coat they will say you are crazy. [26] Socrates, they said, corrupted the young men, was irreverent toward religion; moreover, they did not merely say these things — for that would have been less shocking — no, they even killed him, exacting a penalty for his lack of shoes! Aristeides was ostracized by the Athenians, although they were clearly persuaded that he was just. Why should one crave popularity, a thing from which, even if attained, one often derives no profit?

  Bion believes it impossible for one to please the crowd except by turning into a cake or a jar of Thasian wine — foolishly so believing, in my opinion. For often even at a dinner of only ten guests the cake does not please everybody, but, on the contrary, one calls it stale, another hot, and another too sweet — unless, by Heaven, Bion means that one must turn into a cake which is both hot and stale and cold! Nay, on the whole the case is not so simple as that; of course not. [27] On the contrary, one must also turn into perfume and a flute-girl and a lovely lad and a Philip the jester. However, one thing possibly still remains which he who wants to please the mob will have to turn into — silver. Nay, even if one turns into silver one does not immediately satisfy; instead, one must also be struck and bitten. Why, then, you luckless creature, do you persist in pursuing a thing unattainable? For you could never become either perfume or a crown or w
ine or yet silver. [28] Besides, even if one should become silver, gold is more precious; and if gold, it will have to be refined. Indeed, each rich man resembles money, as far as any excellence is concerned. For while no one praises money, each one who gets it uses it then it is worn out by those who use it and at last is found among the coins which do not pass current. So the rich man too comes to be reckoned among the poor and those who do not pass current and no one any longer receives a man like that of all who once were filled with admiration for him; instead, they do not even turn him over before casting him aside.

  [29] Again, reputation is like the Furies of the tragic poets — its seeming splendour is like their torch, while one might, I fancy, liken their whip to the clapping and the shouting of the crowd, and those who sometimes hiss might be likened to the Furies’ snakes. Therefore, often when one is enjoying peace and quiet and is confronted by no evil, reputation lays violent hands on him, and, cracking her whip, drives him forth to some festal gathering or to the theatre.

  THE SIXTY-SEVENTH DISCOURSE: ON POPULAR OPINION

  Although its Greek title is the same as that of the preceding Discourse, Or. 67 gives to the word a different meaning, that of opinion. It is argued that opinion is a poor guide and that, it discover the truth about external things, one must first obey the famous motto inscribed on Apollo’s temple at Delphi — Know Thyself — the motto which formed the basic principle of the philosophy of Socrates. Proceeding from this fundamental concept, the author demonstrates the futility of being swayed by the opinions of others.