In this little dialogue it would seem that Dio had chosen for discussion the most unpromising of topics. Little as is known about Briseïs, Homer at least tells us that when Agamemnon's messengers came to fetch her she followed them unwillingly, but Chryseïs, the involuntary cause of the quarrel out of which grew the Iliad, is restored to the arms of her father without giving the slightest clue to her emotions or desires. Apart from the epithet “fair-cheeked” which she shares with Briseïs, our only testimony regarding her personality is the tribute paid her by Agamemnon when he compares her with Clytemnestra to the disadvantage of the latter, a tribute, it may be, inspired as much by arrogant pride as by passion.

So far as is known, none of the Greek playwrights found in her story material suitable for dramatic treatment; yet Dio here undertakes the task of endowing this lay figure with life. His partner in the discussion is not a colourless individual, as is often the case, merely providing the cues for further argumentation and meekly assenting to the conclusions reached, but a woman with a mind of her own, repeatedly raising logical objections and asking pertinent questions. Her final utterance shows that, despite the dexterity of Dio, she has some lingering doubts about the true character of Chryseïs. It is of course peculiarly fitting that in treating such a topic as Chryseïs the interlocutor should be a woman, but that Dio should have cast a woman for such a rôle is of itself noteworthy, and there is such an atmosphere of verisimilitude surrounding the dialogue as to suggest that it may actually have taken place.

The Sixty-first Discourse:

Chryseïs

Dio. Since, as it happens, you praise Homer in no ordinary manner and you do not, like most persons, merely pretend to admire him, trusting to his reputation, but instead have discerned that quality in the poet in which he is most effective, his acquaintance with the passions of mankind, let us, if you please, pass by all else for the moment, the fortunes of kings and generals, and turn our attention to discover how the poet has depicted the daughter of the priest whom he has mentioned at the very beginning of his poem. For Agamemnon seems to praise not only the beauty but also the character of the young woman, for he says that she is in no wise inferior in mind to his own wife1 — clearly believing that Clytemnestra has intelligence.

2 Interlocutor. What of it? Has he not said this thoughtlessly, beguiled by his infatuation?

Dio. That is worth looking into; and yet it is very difficult to convince men who are in love, for most of them are suspicious and easily angered, and they never admit that they are loved as they deserve by their beloved, especially when they are so superior in station to the objects of their passion and associate with them by virtue of authority.

Int. That kind of thing, in my opinion, happens with lovers of the low sort.

Dio. Well then, if Agamemnon was of the superior kind, he was right in his appraisal of the girl; but if he was no better than most men, it is not easy for a woman of low degree to please a man like him to the point of taking her to be noble. Well now, let us examine also the other points.

3 Int. Why, what additional proof have you in Homer of the character of the woman? At any rate he has not depicted her as doing or saying anything, but rather as being silently handed over to her father.

Dio. What! Could one not deduce her faculties of mind from what took place in connexion with her, provided one were to consider the matter in a manner not wholly superficial and foolish?

Int. Perhaps.

Dio. Are we, then, to suppose that against the wishes of his daughter Chryses came into the camp, bearing the fillets of the god along with the ransom, and besought the assembly and the kings to release her,2 or, on the contrary, was it because she kept begging her father to aid her if he could? 4 For if Chryseïs was content with her situation and wished to live with Agamemnon, Chryses would never have chosen at one and the same time to grieve his daughter and to incur the malice of the king, not being unaware of the king's feelings toward her. For it was no less to the interest of Chryses that Chryseïs should live with the king, so long as he was fond of her, since the priest's country, his sanctuary, and he himself had come under the sway of the Achaeans, and Agamemnon was their sovereign. 5 And, besides, how is it that immediately after her capture, at a time when she might be expected to be in greater distress, Chryses neither came nor made any mention of ransom, but rather some time later, at a time when her grief had diminished and her intimacy with Agamemnon had increased? For the poet says these things took place in the tenth year of the siege — I mean the coming of the priest and the bringing of the ransom — while it is reasonable to suppose that the cities in the neighbourhood of Troy, and especially the smaller ones, would have been taken in the very beginning of the war, and it is to this group that Chrysa and its sanctuary belonged.3

Int. Then this reasoning of yours attributes to Chryseïs very singular conduct, in that formerly she endured her lot as a captive, though newly robbed of her father and her country, but after ten years had passed she took it hard.

6 Dio. Yes, at least if you listen to what else I have to say;4 for it is not pleasant for free women to abandon even an ordinary man, once he has become their lover, to say nothing of the most illustrious and wealthy man, king of all the Greeks, a man who held the greatest power of all among the men of that day, who had authority over not merely Chryseïs but her father and her country too, and who expected in a short time to become lord of Asia as well — for Ilium had long been in a bad way and its people were having difficulty in defending the city itself and no one went out for battle. And observe also that the king had no casual regard for her, but even openly admitted that he preferred her to his own wife.5 That she should spurn such numerous and exceptional advantages, and in particular a lover who was not only a great king and had few who vied with him in valour, but was also young and handsome, as Homer says in comparing him to Zeus,6 and that she should then go to her native land, now a prize of war, and live as the wife of one of Agamemnon's slaves — that is, assuming that she would wed one of the men of the district — is not that singular? 7 For that she was a prisoner of war and for that reason did not care for the man who got her is not enough to explain her conduct. At any rate Briseïs apparently loved Achilles, and that although, as she declares, it was he who slew her husband and her brothers.7 But as for Agamemnon, nothing like that had been done regarding Chryseïs.

Int. Very good. Then from this line of reasoning it follows that Chryseïs did not wish to be parted from Agamemnon, but that Chryses was conducting these negotiations independently; or else, if indeed she did wish it, she would be rather foolish and the case you have made out it contrary to what you promised.8

8 Dio. Well now, as the saying goes, do not judge a case before you hear both sides.9 Of course you speak of Homer as being a man of wisdom?

Int. Possibly.

Dio. Then you should assume that he tells some things but leaves others to the perception of his readers. But this is not one of the very obscure instances. For Chryseïs at the outset apparently was content to remain with Agamemnon for the reasons I have named, and she was grateful to the gods that she had not been given to any of the less illustrious persons, but rather to the king of all, and also that he was not indifferent toward her; and so she made no move regarding ransom. 9 But when she heard what conditions were like in the house of Agamemnon, how disagreeable they were, and what she heard also about the cruelty of Clytemnestra and about her boldness, then she looked with dread to her arrival in Argos. Moreover, although she had hitherto remained with Agamemnon, possibly for love of him, still when the war was near its close and a report was current that the Trojans no longer would be able to hold out, she did not wait for the capture of Ilium. For she knew that in general men who are victorious grow arrogant, and that the time when religious scruples are more potent is when men are at war.

10 For these reasons at that juncture she summoned her father and bade him entreat the Achaeans; for she learned, it would appear, that the Atreidae were dominated by their wives and that the wives felt themselves superior to these men, not alone because of their beauty, but also because they believed that the right to rule belonged rather to themselves. For the Atreidae were descendants of Pelops and newcomers in Greece,10 whereas they themselves were women of Achaia, daughters of Tyndareüs and Leda. Now Tyndareüs had been illustrious and king of Sparta, and so not only had Helen on this account been courted by the noblest among the Greeks, but they had sworn to render aid in case of need.11 11 Besides, these women were sisters of Castor and Polydeuces, who had come to be regarded as sons of Zeus,12 and who to this day are deemed gods by all men because of the power they acquired at that time. For not only were they pre-eminent among the dwellers in the Peloponnese, but among those outside the Peloponnese the greatest power was that of Athens, and Castor and Polydeuces had overwhelmed that city in a campaign which they made in the reign of Theseus.13 Furthermore, Meleager, the noblest among the Greeks, had been a cousin of theirs.14

Now though Chryseïs did not know these things, she did hear of the proud spirit of the women, and she learned how far above her husband Helen stood — so far that, when Helen heard of the great advantages of Asia, due alike to excellence of soil and size of population and abundance of riches, she came to scorn, not only Menelaüs, but Agamemnon too and Greece as a whole and she chose the one in preference to the other. 12 Now Menelaüs had been accustomed to yield to Helen in everything before her elopement, and also, when later he took her captive, he was kind to her in spite of all;15 but Agamemnon, puffed up because of his position as commander, had disparaged Clytemnestra, and so it was clear that they were not going to get along well together, but that instead there would be just about such actions as came to pass.16 Nor was Chryseïs pleased when Agamemnon said what he did, moreover publicly in the assembly of the Achaeans, namely, that he prized her more than his own wife and thought her not inferior to her, for Chryseïs knew that such talk breeds envy and jealousy. 13 Then too, she observed Agamemnon's character and saw that he was not stable but arrogant and overbearing, and she calculated what he would do to her, a captive, when he ceased to desire her, seeing that he referred to his wife, queen though she was and the mother of his children, in such disparaging terms. For though foolish women delight in their lovers when they are seen to disparage all other women, those who are sensible discern the true nature of the man who acts or talks that way.

14 And at the same time Chryseïs was aware that he was insolent too in his treatment of herself, and that too at a time when he was most in love with her. For example, that he should so roughly have driven off the father of his beloved, instead of sparing him on her account, to say nothing of his not having soothed the old man by saying that his daughter had nothing to fear from him, but, on the contrary, not only threatening him but also speaking slightingly of Chryseïs by saying,

But I'll not free her ere old age o'ertakes
Her far from home, at Argos, in our house,
Plying the loom and visiting my couch.17

What overweening insolence! Why, what would he have done later on, seeing that while still in love he talks of her in such a fashion? Therefore, to guard again these things and to forecast them is the mark of a woman by no means ordinary. 15 However, to my way of thinking, what happened in Argos both to Cassandra and to Agamemnon himself18 revealed that Chryseïs was a sensible woman to have saved herself from these disasters. Accordingly, that neither passion nor kingly station nor those things which are deemed glorious and good turned her head, young though she was, and that she did not plunge into perilous ventures and a disordered house and envy and jealousy — these are the marks of a prudent woman, one truly worthy of being daughter of a priest, nurtured in the house of a god.

Int. How so? Do you mean that these are the reasons why Agamemnon thought her wise?

16 Dio. By no means, for it is not likely that she said any such thing to him; rather that he formed his judgement on the basis of her conduct in general.

Int. Why, then, does not the poet say that she departed in gladness, just as he says that Briseïs departed in sorrow?19

Dio. Because in this too she was showing her prudence, her aim being not to exasperate Agamemnon or drive him to contentiousness. However, the poet makes the situation plain in the passage in which he says she was restored by Odysseus to her father beside the altar:

Thus having said, he placed her in his arms,
And he rejoicing took his darling child.20

For, methinks, if she were sorrowing, her father would not be receiving her “rejoicing”; nor, perchance, would the poet have called her “darling” unless she loved her father dearly for what had taken place.

17 Int. Very well; yet why did Chryseïs reason thus rather than Chryses on his own account?

Dio. Because it was to be expected that what concerned Clytemnestra would hold greater interest for Chryseïs; but even if it was her father who reasoned thus and she agreed with him and followed his advice, that was no trifling feat either. At any rate most women in their folly are more devoted to their lovers than to their parents.

Int. Why, then, if she really was sensible, did she not try to prevent Chryses from appealing to Agamemnon publicly, in order that he might be less angry?

18 Dio. Because she knew that, though in private lovers desire in every matter to gratify their passion, they are sometimes embarrassed in the presence of the crowd, and she believed that the fillets of the god had a certain power with the people, as proved to be the case.21

Int. Still here is something that troubles me. How did it happen that Agamemnon not only fell in love with the priest's daughter at the time in question, but afterwards with Cassandra too, a divinely inspired and holy maid?22

Dio. Because this too is a sign of pride and wantonness — to desire the forbidden and rare rather than the easily obtainable.

Int. I do not gainsay that Chryseïs was prudent, if these things took place as you claim.

Dio. Would you rather hear how they assuredly did take place, or how it would be well for them to have taken place?a

The complimentary address contained in §§ 1 and 3 of our Discourse could hardly have been intended for any one but Trajan. Yet the document is so abrupt in both beginning and ending and so brief when compared with the four treatises on kingship supposed to have been addressed to Trajan (Or. 1 4) that it is difficult to imagine that it ever was delivered as a distinct entity in the form in which we have it. It is of course conceivable that we are dealing with a fragment of a fifth speech on kingship addressed to the much-enduring Trajan, but it is more likely that we have before us a variant version of a portion of one of the addresses just mentioned. Dio himself makes it plain (Or. 57.10 12) that on occasion he took the liberty of repeating to other hearers speeches previously delivered before “the Emperor.” On such an occasion he doubtless felt free to modify the original wording, and such a procedure would explain the existence of certain doublets in his text. We may conjecture that his editor, finding the substance of Or. 62 imbedded in such a variant version of one of the four speeches to which we have referred and not wishing to discard it, gave it independent existence here. Finally, it may be noted that, though the second element in the title, tyranny, is not specifically mentioned in our document, it is dealt with in Or. 3, and also that there is a notable similarity between Or. 3.10 and Or. 62.3.

The Sixty-second Discourse:

On Kingship and Tyranny

And indeed, if a person is not competent to govern a single man, and that too a man who is very close to him, in fact his constant companion,1 and if, again, he cannot guide a single soul, and that his own, how could he be king, as you are,2 over unnumbered thousands scattered everywhere, many even dwelling at the ends of the earth, most of whom he has not even seen and never could see, and whose speech he will not understand? Why, it is as if one were to say of the man with vision so impaired that he cannot see even what lies at his feet but needs some one to lead him by the hand, that he can reach with his eyes the most distant objects, like those who at sea behold from afar both the mountains and the islands; or as if one were to say of the man who cannot make himself heard even by those who stand beside him, that he is able to speak so as to be heard by whole communities and armies. 2 In fact, the intellect has something comparable to vision — as vision, when it is ruined, can see nothing even of what is very near, although when in health it can reach sky and stars, just so the mind of the prudent man shows itself competent to direct all men whatsoever, whereas the mind of the fool cannot protect a single body, his own, or a single household.

Take, for example, most men who hold unbridled power — because they have the power to obtain every thing, they crave everything; because justice is lodged in their hands, for this reason they are unjust; because they do not fear the laws, they do not even believe in their existence; because they are not compelled to labour, they never cease their luxurious living; because no one defends himself when maltreated, they never cease maltreating; because they lack no pleasure, they never get their fill of it; because no one censures them openly, they miss no occasion for unjust criticism; because no one wishes to hurt their feelings, for this reason they display ill-temper toward everyone; because they have it in their power to do anything when enraged, for this reason they are continually in a rage. 3 On the other hand, the good ruler, such as you are, practises the opposite conduct — he covets nothing for the reason that he feels he has everything; he is sparing in his pleasures for the reason that he would lack for no pleasure he might crave; he is more just than any other man inasmuch as he provides justice for all; he delights in labour because he labours of his own accord; he cherishes the laws because he does not fear them.

Moreover, he is right in reasoning so. For who needs ampler wisdom than he who deliberates on so many matters? Who needs stricter justice than he who is superior to the laws? Who needs more steadfast self-control than he to whom anything is permissible? 4 Who needs greater courage than he who is the preserver of all? Furthermore, he who is to govern many others needs, not only very great outlay of wealth, but also armies, both infantry and cavalry, and in addition fortifications, ships, and engines of war, if he is to control his subjects, defend himself against the foe, and, should some one try to revolt from his authority, reduce him to subjection. However, to control one's self is of all things least costly, least difficult, least dangerous; for neither costly nor laborious nor precarious is the life of the man of self-control; yet for all that, though so desirable, it is naturally the most difficult thing of all.

5 For instance, the famous Sardanapallus,3 whose name is a by word, held Nineveh and Babylon as well, the greatest cities that had yet existed, and all the nations which occupy the second continent,4 as far as what are called the uninhabited parts of the earth, were subject to him; but to kingship he could lay no claim, no more than could some rotting corpse. For the fact is, he neither would nor could take counsel or give judgement or lead troops. 6 On the contrary, it was his custom to slip away into the women's quarters in his palace and there sit with legs drawn up on a golden couch, sheltered by purple bed-hangings, just like the Adonis who is lamented by the women,5 his voice shriller than that of eunuchs, his neck lolling to one side, his face pale and twitching from indolence and living in the shade, his body livid, his eyes upturned as if he were being throttled — in short, one whom it would be impossible to distinguish from his concubines. And yet for a time, as it seemed, he maintained his empire,6 though it was drifting aimlessly, just as, for instance, a ship without a helmsman, roving on the sea, with no one in control, as fate directs, so long as fair weather holds; then, should a little sea arise, even a single wave easily swamps it. 7 Yes, and one may also see a chariot, with no one holding the reins, wobbling crazily in a race, a chariot which, while it could never win a victory, nevertheless throws into confusion and even works destruction in the mob of spectators near the course.

Nay, there will never be a foolish king any more than there could be a blind guide for a traveller; nor an unjust king any more than a crooked, uneven measuring-rod needing a second rod to set it straight; nor a timid king any more than a lion with the spirit of a deer, or than iron softer than wax or lead. On the contrary, to whom appropriately belongs a sterner self-control than to him who lives surrounded by the greatest number of pleasures, who administers the greatest number of affairs, who has the least leisure, and who is concerned over the greatest and most numerous problems?

The 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,1 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.2 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.3 But all these exploits he was able to accomplish because Fortune attended him.

7 Moreover, the riddles4 of the ancients in their representations of Fortune are not without merit. For instance, some have placed her on a razor's edge,5 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.6 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.

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,1 Croesus for his son,2 Astyages for his defeat,3 and Polycrates for his capture.4 Moreover, the Persians blamed Fortune after the slaying of Cyrus,5 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,6 Midas for his prayer,7 Phaedra for her false accusation,8 Alcmaeon for his wandering,9 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,10 Semiramis the queen,11 Sappho the poetess, Timandra the beauty;12 just so Cyprus too had its Demonassa,13 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.14

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 ship15 and preserves all on board — the Assyrians until the wanton luxury of Sardanapalus;16 the Medes until the rearing of Cyrus; the Persians until they crossed the sea;17 the Athenians until their capture;18 Croesus until the visit of Solon?19

6 At first a fortunate man was Oedipus.20

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.21 For let Tellus behold his children,22 and Cydippê,23 and Aeolus,24 and whoever else may have been fortunate as a parent; yet by his blindness Oedipus

Will gain escape from shameful sights.25

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,26 and life of the Cyclopes27 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.28

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.29

With ease the eminent he curbs, the meek
Exalts, makes straight the crooked, blasts the proud.30

9 This refers, of course, to Zeus, holding in his right hand his weapon31 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;32

he also utters reproof in the following, when he says
To slender hopes do they entrust themselves.

10 O son of Mnesarchides,33 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 doth meet with men beloved of Zeus.34

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,35 or being neighbour to narrow waters and subjected to many shifts of condition, more numerous than the shifts of current in the strait?36 At one moment you must needs endure the Boeotians and the stupidity of the Thebans,37 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,38 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,39 offering me the whole earth and its cities, neither would I choose the luxury of Lydia or the thrift of Attica40 or the meagre living of Laconia, nor would I choose Croton or Sybaris,41 because they do not toil, or the Scythians, because they do not farm,42 or the Egyptians, because they farm for others,43

15 And Libya, where the lambs have horns at birth44 —

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 steeds45 —

a life for grooms and gate-keepers!

In Delos such a tree I once did see
Beside Apollo's altar46 —

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 youth47 —

This land48 not only is not rugged but a nurse of youth besides.

16 O Athens, august mistress of them all!49

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.50

Peiraeus is a lovely sight.51

Yes, for your mind's eye still sees it with its walls.52
What other city yet obtained such groves!53

It did have, yes, but it was ravaged and, like a woman 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?54

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,55 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 Anaxarchus56 — still, let me ask you, with how many shafts has she hit this difficult mark itself?57 She made you an exile; she brought you to Athens; she introduced you to Antisthenes;58 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,59 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;60 that a shepherd would become king of the Lydians;61 that a woman would become leader of Asia;62 that a tunic and a woman would cause the death of Heracles;63 that a slave and a goblet would cause the death of Alexander?64 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;65 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.66 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!”67 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,68 and many other tribes and kings I might name, yet in Babylon, remote from battle and from wounds, our warrior died!

22 But what should one say of those who took over his empire, or of those who followed after them, with their braggart titles69 — Thunderbolts, Takers-of cities, Eagles, Gods? One of the lot death proved mistaken; another found Fortune to be a loftier being than himself, though he had considered her pedestrian; our Taker-of cities, Demetrius, was taken captive and died a shameful death from wine and drunkenness, beleagueredº as he was by Fortune! Why, then, are tyrants proud of their ramparts? Why does Amphion sing,70 Deïoces toil,71 Semiramis build,72 Apollo work for hire,73 Meles encompass the wall with his lion?74 For Cyrus will master the Medes, Zopyrus the Babylonians,75 a Mardian Sardis, and the horse Troy!

23 Yes, as some one has put it, Fortune is a great weight in the scales, or rather the whole thing.76 She found the infant Pindar lying exposed in Boeotia, Telephus in Arcadia, the kings of Rome in Italy; and to Pindar she sent honey-bees,77 to the kings of Rome shepherds,78 to Telephus a deer,79 and to Cyrus either a dog or a woman.80 Eumenes was a wagoner's son, but for all that he became king;81 Heracles was Alexander's son, yet he did not become king;82 in fact, his body, denied the rites of burial, was brought to Olympias, and after mourning for him she too died, a god's mother, forsooth! 24 Moreover the mother of Darius made obeisance, not merely to Alexander, but, what is more disgraceful, to Hephaestion.83 What about the king of the Libyans? Did he not sack five hundred cities of the Romans? Did he not lift up his tunic and display it to his fellow townsmen filled with Roman finger rings, each of which he had as loot from foes he had slaughtered? yet after he had done all this he met an ignominious death, having contended much with Fortune all in vain.84

25 This, it seems to me, is why men entrust all their important matters to Fortune, making their public offices and generalships subject to allotment;85 brothers also divide their patrimony in that way. And so Polyneices too, if indeed he had been well advised, ought to have drawn lots with his brother for the throne; but as it was, not only was he himself slain, he destroyed his brother as well, all because he referred the matter to priority of birth and not to Fortune.86

26 Now shake the lot in turn and see who draws;

For the well-greaved Achaeans he will aid87 —

and, having drawn, aid he did; however, Hector was defeated because he trusted to judgement and not to Fortune. For on his threshold Zeus has set two jars.88

These are storage jars for mankind in the keeping of the gods; however, it is Fortune who administers them with regard to what is allotted — to orator or to general, to rich or poor, to old or young. 27 To Croesus she gives gold, to Candaules a wife,89 to Peleus a sword,90 to Nestor a shield,91 to Pterelas golden locks,92 to Nisus a purple tress,93 to Alcibiades beauty, to Socrates wisdom, to Aristeides uprightness, to Spartans land, to Athenians a sea. Then in turn she takes from these and gives to others. And it seems to me that the life of man in its daily vicissitudes is in no wise different from a procession.94

This essay deals with the injustice of human behaviour with respect to Fortune. Unlike the two essays on Fortune which precede it, there seems to be no good reason to doubt its authenticity; yet there are signs which suggest that its present form is not that in which it was composed. The author seems to repeat himself to an extent not to be expected in so brief a composition. Besides, one misses from time to time those particles and formulas commonly employed by Dio and other Greek writers to indicate transition and to knit together the argument, e.g., at the beginning of the new paragraph in § 7 and at the beginning of §§ 8, 10, and 13. On the other hand, the γὰρ which is found in the beginning of the new paragraph in § 4 seems so unwarranted in that setting that Wilamowitz proposed to strike it out. In view of these phenomena it is not unlikely that we have before us, not one unified composition, but rather a collection of passages drawn from various contexts and here put together because of their common theme. It is possible that Dio's editor desired thus to preserve passages in writings now lost to us which he deemed noteworthy; though Dio himself may for his own convenience have grouped together paragraphs on related topics. It is worth noticing that the passages that have been cited as marked by asyndeton have the earmarks of prooemia. For a fuller discussion of the general problem see von Arnim, Dio von Prusa 268 271.

The Sixty-fifth Discourse:

On Fortune (III)

Those who have relied greatly on Fortune and are elated by her presence are, it seems to me, her most effective advocates and insure that, whenever she does shift, no one shall blame her for it. For, on the contrary, all men, being disgusted at the offensiveness of those who enjoy good fortune and having come to hate their insolence, as soon as Fortune abandons any of these, applaud and declare that the change of fortune they have experienced is deserved. Nay, men of intelligence should so employ the blessings which so come to them unearned that, while they last, no one may censure them and, if some day they come to an end, no one may rejoice thereat. 2 For it is altogether better that one should be in straitened circumstances but well liked, and that he should be thought by all to be getting less than his deserts, than, on the contrary, that he should be prosperous but hated, and, besides, become the occasion for blasphemous railing at Fortune as preferring to benefit the wicked rather than the good. Now though most men say that those who are obnoxious in their use of the gifts of Fortune are wicked and unworthy of their blessings, they assuredly do not as a rule call them unfortunate; yet to me, on the contrary, such persons seem to have become the most unfortunate of all. 3 For when from what commonly are deemed blessings one reaps nothing that is good, but rather vilification and hatred, besides making his own wickedness more notorious for all the world, how can that be anything but a great and conspicuous misfortune? And so, in my opinion, for those who lack intelligence it is in every way more profitable to be in needy circumstances and to acquire neither power nor riches nor any such thing at all. For as long as they were in lowly station most persons would fail to perceive their true character, whereas if they are exalted by Fortune their villainy is made conspicuous. 4 Accordingly, just as with those whose bodies are in bad condition it is better that they undress in private and never in public, in order that they may have no witness of their shame in that respect, in the same way, I fancy, those whose misfortune it has been to possess a soul which is ignoble and corrupt would surely find it to their interest to remain inconspicuous as to their lives and obscure as to their fortunes.

It seems to me unfair that most men arraign Fortune on the ground that she has no stability or trustworthiness but all too speedily deserts those whom she visits and shifts to others. 5 For if we could observe that the recipients of her blessings were for the most part making an honourable use of them and not, on the contrary, becoming filled immediately with arrogance and malevolence and effrontery, Fortune would not be acting right if she did not remain with the same people; but as it is, I imagine, she chooses in each instance to benefit a person because she supposes him to be a good man and worthy of her gifts, but when she finds him to be mean and base, bringing shame upon her benevolence, with good reason she leaves him and seeks somebody else in turn, hoping to find some one who is more honourable. 6 But since most men are evil and human nature rarely produces anybody fitted to enjoy prosperity, Fortune must needs shift continuously, and much rather because of our nature than because of her own. Yet it is strange that one who cannot himself endure some who enjoy the favours of Fortune, but who after a brief association leaves them and prefers to bear his own poverty as best he can rather than put up with cheap and senseless manners, nevertheless expects Fortune, goddess though she be, to live with these same persons for ever and, though frequently subjected to outrageous insults, to remain with an utterly worthless slave! 7 For the fact is that the insolence shown by the rich toward the human beings with whom they live consists of abusive language, contumely, ridicule, and often a blow, but toward Fortune herself it is arrogance, harshness, captiousness.

Most unfair, it seems to me, are the charges most men bring against Fortune. For as it is they find fault with her as being untrustworthy and having no constancy at all. Yet if she always stayed with the same persons she would inevitably incur an altogether more serious and justifiable accusation. For when you now see that the prosperous are so base and disagreeable, even though what is in store for them is uncertain, with what arrogance and boorishness do you suppose they would be filled if they were not at all apprehensive of a change?

8 Many charge that Fortune lacks discrimination and stays with bad persons but neglects the good, when they observe that those who have been deemed worthy of her favours are disagreeable and hard to deal with and ignoble. But it seems to me that Fortune might justly say to them that, being naturally benevolent, she is always helping some among us, without selecting the deserving or the base either, but that invariably the character they have when she comes to them is that which they show when the moral test is applied; and that therefore they should blame their own nature, not hers, 9 as being so constituted that he who is faring somewhat badly immediately seems worthy of better fortune, while he who receives her favours turns out to be a knave. Aye, it is very much as if, given a number of vessels and not one of them sound, one were to find fault with the person pouring liquid into them, on seeing that whatever vessel was being filled leaked. For the man might say, “Why, they all are like that: however, so long as they are empty it is unnoticed.”

10 I wonder why in the world most persons say that Fortune is precarious and that none of her gifts is to be relied upon. For whenever she gives any one her good things — wealth, power, fame, honours — she never prevents him from using these in a proper way or, by Heaven, from storing them away in safety for himself; and I do not mean indoors in the house, or in the storehouse, or putting them under lock and key — for none of her gifts is protected by these things — but rather storing them away in goodwill toward mankind, in service to one's country, in aid to friends. 11 Assuredly, Fortune never takes away from those who have once acquired them any of the things thus stored away. For these are dependable repositories and visible to all wherein to store the windfalls of Fortune. However, if after having got them a man squanders them or even, by Heaven, puts them in the wrong place, trusting to doors and seals and locks, no longer, I fancy, is their loss ascribable to her.

12 And here is something else which is very strange; besides the many verbal blasphemies against Fortune, sculptors and painters alike also traduce her, some representing her as mad and tossing her gifts recklessly about, some as standing on a sphere, as if to say that she has no safe or secure support, whereas it is ourselves that we ought to mould or paint like that, since we treat everything in a mad and evil fashion — and not, by Heaven, standing on a sphere but rather on folly — in place of idly finding fault with Fortune.

13 While on virtually every topic most men make incorrect assumptions, the opinion they hold regarding Fortune is particularly false and erroneous. For they say that, though she gives mankind their good things, she lightly takes them away again; and for that reason they malign her as being untrustworthy and jealous. But I claim that Fortune does not really give any of these things, as most men think she does. 14 For that which gives each man control over his possessions and through which alone it is possible to have secure possession of one's goods she does not bestow upon them along with their wealth and fame and power. No, that thing it is without which it is not possible to possess any of the other things but only to imagine that one does and to be the victim of delusion. For example, just as when we bring some one into our house or our farm or when we provide certain equipment, we ourselves do not forthwith appoint him master over those things, unless there is included in the transaction some written guarantee, so also Fortune does not make any one master of the things offered by her, unless there is attached to the grant the stipulation that they are accepted with intelligence and good judgement.

15 Most men, of course, are wont immediately to congratulate those whom they see supplied with the gifts of Fortune, just as people rejoice with men at sea when they observe they have a breeze, although they know neither whether this breeze is favourable to them nor whether they have a helmsman with experience. But as for myself, I believe the time to judge fortunate those who are surrounded in abundance with the gifts of Fortune is when they have prudence too. For manifestly these gifts of themselves, should they become the property of fools, might be a source of danger and disaster.

The theme of this Discourse is the fickleness of the crowd and the folly of those who seek to win and hold its favour. Dio regards those who yield to that ambition as victims of delusion. The public honours for which they strive have no real utility and are purchased at too high a price sometimes reducing to beggary those who aim to reach them. What is more, the aspirant for popular acclaim sacrifices his independence. He is followed to order his life to suit the whims of those whose favour he is courting — in itself an impossible task — and he cringes before the hostile criticism of citizen and alien alike. No matter what scheme of life a man adopts, he is sure to be maligned. The sane policy is, therefore, to steel oneself against criticism, in other words, to adopt the attitude of the philosopher.

Arnim argues that the Discourse originally ended in the midst of § 26, and that what follows has been appended by Dio's editor, who, coming upon three passages of similar purport, chose to preserve them through inclusion in the Discourse. He is led to this belief by the presence in the section referred to of the sentence beginning τί δεῖ δόξης ἐπιθυμεῖν, which is thought to form a logical close. He might have found additional support for his belief in the fact that the beginning of each of the succeeding passages is marked by asyndeton. All three resemble introductory paragraphs of exordia. The extant work of Dio reveals other instances of the existence of variant versions of a common theme, apparently testifying to his practice of delivering a given speech on more than one occasion.

Peculiar interest attaches to the present Discourse because of an allusion in § 6: ἔτι δὲ ἰδεῖν ἔστιν οἰκίαν συντριβεῖσαν πλουσιωτέραν ἐκείνης διὰ γλῶτταν καὶ νὴ Δία ἑτέραν κινδυνεύουσαν. The two “houses” there referred to are thought by Arnim to have been respectively that of Nero, whose pretensions as a singer (διὰ γλῶτταν) are being credited with his downfall, and that of Domitian, whose assassination is here predicted. Arnim observes that toward the close of Domitian's career such predictions were current, even being known by the emperor himself, and he points out that Apollonius of Tyana was able to announce in Ephesus the murder of Domitian at the very moment when it was taking place in Rome! If Arnim's reasoning is correct, our Discourse can with confidence be dated shortly before Domitian's death, while Dio was still in exile.

The Sixty-sixth Discourse:

On Reputation

There are some who brand as dissolute and ill-starred such men as have a craving for money or for dainties or for wine or who are inflamed with lust for women or boys, and they regard each of these vices as the greatest disgrace, yet those who crave distinction and reputation, on the contrary, they applaud, thinking them illustrious; and therefore, while each one of his own accord, if a gourmet or a tippler or a lover of somebody, feels ashamed and tries to cloak his incontinence, yet when seeking reputation and distinction he does not want to escape the eye of any man on earth, but rather he carries on his quest in the open.

2 And no wonder, for among men in general each speaks well of this type of malady, deeming it advantageous for himself. Furthermore, by official act virtually all the states have devised lures of every kind for the simpletons — crowns and front seats and public proclamations. Accordingly, in some instances men who craved these things have actually been made wretched and reduced to beggary, although the states held before them nothing great or wonderful at all, but in some cases led their victims about with a sprig of green, as men lead cattle,1 or clapped upon their heads a crown or a ribbon.2 Therefore, while a fool like that, if he so desired, might have for the asking any number of crowns, not merely of olive or of oak, but even of ivy or of myrtle,3 often he sells his house and his lands and thereafter goes about hungry and clad in a shabby little cloak. Ah but, says he, his name is publicly proclaimed by his fellow citizens — just as is that of a runaway slave! 3 With good reason, therefore, men use in connexion with the votes passed in Assembly the branch of the olive,4 because of its native bitterness! For the notoriety-seekers are driven out of their fields by the democracies with shouting and clamour,5 just as, methinks, the starlings are driven out by the farmers. Moreover, though the starlings withdraw for a little while, the notoriety-seekers can never again return to anything that once was theirs, nay, a short while later they go about as beggars and no longer would any one of all who formerly were fain to burst their lungs with shouting greet them if he saw them.

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.6 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-place7 all deem wretched, those cried in the theatre8 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!9 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;10 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.11 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.12 And not only were the children of Thyestes cut in pieces, but Pelopia's father13 lay with her and begot Aegistheus; and Aegistheus with Clytemnestra's aid slew Agamemnon, “the shepherd of the Achaeans”;14 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.15

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 mimes16 and harpists and jugglers and, more than that, pugilists and pancratiasts17 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.18
And at his house tables are laden with bread and meat, and from mixing-bowls cupbearers bear drink.19
By day the hall with fatty savour reeks
And makes the court to echo with its din,
While in the night, beside their wives revered20 —
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,21 while those others, they observe, must needs seek some Amoebeus22 or Polus23 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 contumely. Well then, all are free to give the popularity-seeker blows altogether more grievous than those which are dealt the body. Yet the disfranchised, one would find, are not lightly subjected to this treatment by any one; for most men are on their guard against righteous indignation and ill will, and, finally, the disfranchised have naught to fear from any who are weaker than they. When it comes to vituperation, however, especially vituperation of those who are thought to enjoy esteem, no one forbears, and no one is so powerless as not to be able to utter some telling phrase. 16 For that very reason a certain mild-tempered man of olden days, when somebody kept bringing him reports of that kind of language, was moved to say, “If you do not stop listening to bad words about me, I too shall listen to bad words about you.” But perhaps it would be better, in case some one starts using abusive language, not even to notice whether the man is speaking at all.

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 Thessalians24 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.25

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.26 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.27

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?28 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.a

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.29 Why should one crave popularity, a thing from which, even if attained, one often derives no profit?

Bion30 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.31 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.32 Why, then, you luckless creature, do you persist in pursuing a thing unattainable?33 For you could never become either perfume or a crown or wine or yet silver. 28 Besides, even if one should become silver, gold is more precious; and if gold, it will have to be refined. Indeed, each rich man resembles money, as far as any excellence is concerned. For while no one praises money, each one who gets it uses it then it is worn out by those who use it and at last is found among the coins which do not pass current. So the rich man too comes to be reckoned among the poor and those who do not pass current and no one any longer receives a man like that of all who once were filled with admiration for him; instead, they do not even turn him over before casting him aside.

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.

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

Here again we have what professes to be the report of a conversation between Dio and one of his followers. The abruptness with which it begins and ends has led Arnim to conclude that Dio did not intend it to be published, at least not in its present form. He regards it as what might be termed a stenographic record, which in some way or other found its way into the hands of Dio's editor.

The Sixty-seventh Discourse:

On Popular Opinion

Interlocutor. Well, in what particular does it seem to you that the man of self-control, the philosopher, most especially is superior to us who constitute the majority of mankind and are moved by random impulse?

Dio. It seems to me, if one should express an opinion in such plain and unadorned terms, that he is superior in respect to truth and knowledge, not merely to the majority of mankind, but also to the very few, those who are regarded as favoured by fortune — the philosopher is, I mean.

Int. Indeed your statement is truly plain and unadorned.

Dio. Well, by Heaven, tell me this. You mean, do you not, that the philosopher is superior to all others in truth and in his examining each thing in the light of truth and not in accordance with opinion?

2 Int. Why, my good sir, he would be using a poor straight-edge with which to gauge his problems, one altogether crooked, a straight-edge, by Zeus, with not just one bend but thousands, and all running counter to one another, if he tried to set things straight by means of opinion.

Dio. Well then, suppose that he views all else in the light of truth, never applying opinion as a gauge, because he believes this to be, in fact, a false and untrustworthy measuring-line, a straight-edge such as you have just described it, yet if he should measure himself with that kind of straight-edge and that kind of measuring-line, would he be acclaimed as worthy?

Int. No, by Heaven, not by any means.

Dio. Yes, it is plain that he could never come to know himself if he examined himself in that fashion.

Int. Why, of course he could not.

3 Dio. Consequently he would no longer be obeying the Delphic injunction, which has prescribed that, above all, a man must know himself.

Int. Why, of course he would not be obeying it.

Dio. Then he will not know any of the other things either, since he does not know himself, nor will he be able to examine things in the light of truth, since he has failed with himself to begin with?

Int. Why, certainly.

Dio. Then he will bid farewell to honours and dishonours and to words of censure and of praise uttered by foolish persons, whether they chance to be many or whether they be few but powerful and wealthy. Instead, what is called popular opinion he will regard as no better than a shadow, seeing that sometimes the popular view makes much of small matters and little of great ones, and often concerning the same matters it is at one time greater and at another smaller.

Int. You seem to me to have made a very excellent comparison.

4 Dio. Suppose, then, there should be a person so constituted as to live with an eye to his own shadow, with the result that as it grew he would become elated and boastful and not only offer a sacrifice of thanksgiving to the gods himself but also bid his friends to do so, while as his shadow diminished he would be grieved and show himself more humble, and the more so the smaller his shadow became, just as if he himself were wasting away, methinks he would afford wondrous amusement.

Int. Yes, he would be a much bigger booby than Margites,1 who did not know how to treat his wife once he had married her.

5 Dio. Yes, for on the same day sometimes he would be sad and sometimes happy. For instance, early in the day, when he saw his shadow at dawn very long, almost larger than the cypresses or the towers on the city walls, manifestly he would be happy, supposing himself to have suddenly grown to the size of the sons of Aloeus,2 and he would go striding into the market-place and the theatres and everywhere in the city to be observed by one and all. However, about the middle of the morning he would begin to grow more sad of countenance than he had been and would go back home. Then at noon he would be ashamed to be seen by anybody and would stay indoors, locking himself up, when he saw his shadow at his feet; yet again, toward afternoon, he would begin to recover and would show himself ever more and more exultant toward evening.

6 Int. You certainly seem to me to be fashioning a strange disposition and a foolish kind of man.

Dio. Well then, he who pays heed to popular opinion is not a bit better, but rather far more pathetic. For often he would undergo several changes on one and the same day, yet not, like the man I have imagined, at certain definite times, but, alike in the afternoon or in the early morning, nothing will keep him from being the most unfortunate of mortals, now being swept along and flying higher than the clouds, if it so happen that any have sent him forth under full sail and have praised him, now taking in his sails and abasing himself, his spirit experiencing, methinks, far more waxings and wanings than the moon. 7 Has he not, then, drawn a more wretched fate and a far more luckless lot than they say fell to Meleager, son of Althaea and Oeneus, whose span of life, men say, was in the keeping of a mere firebrand? So long as the brand blazed and the fire remained in it, just so long Meleager lived and throve, but as the brand lost its strength, he too wasted from grief and despondency, and when the fire went out he died and was gone.3

In this Discourse Dio once more approaches the subject of opinion as contrasted with knowledge. Here, however, he is stressing the practical utility of knowledge in one's daily life and business pursuits, in other words, the impossibility of achieving success in any walk of life when led by mere opinion rather than by a clear understanding of the things to be avoided or attempted and of the reasons on which one's choice should be based. Although some attention is paid to the unwisdom of following the opinion of one's neighbours, the principal emphasis is laid upon the necessity in each instance of substituting knowledge for one's own untutored opinions.

The Sixty-eighth Discourse:

On Opinion

Most men in all their pursuits and interests follow them in utter ignorance of what the nature of each is or even what practical value each has; instead, they are drawn to them by opinion or pleasure or habit. Nor, on the other hand, in the case of those pursuits and interests from which they abstain and which they avoid engaging in, do they abstain because they know which are harmful or what is the nature of the harm which they entail; instead, in these matters too, whatever they observe that their neighbours avoid or things which it has become their custom to avoid or which they suppose will be unpleasant for themselves and are reputed to be accompanied by some pain, these things they generally view with misgiving.

2 Moreover, while the sensations of pleasure and of pain are common to all men — though some are enslaved by them to a smaller and some to a greater degree — the matter of opinion varies and is not the same for all. Thus it happens that some praise or blame this and some that, frequently acting at variance in this regard. For example, pain is experienced by both the Indian and the Spartan when they are wounded or burnt, as well as by the Phrygian and the Lydian; yet while the Indian and the Spartan refuse to flinch because they have been hardened to it, the Phrygian and the Lydian do flinch, because they are weak and not hardened. Again, while pleasure inevitably is experienced in sexual relations and in food and drink which are pleasurable, not only by the Ionian but also by the Thessalian, the Italian Greek, the Getan, the Indian, and the Spartan, yet some give no thought at all to such gratifications and do not seek to know any of them in the least, while the others would accept death as the price of obtaining a little more pleasure.

3 Now apparently the matter of opinion is of every conceivable kind and the differences to be found in this matter are very numerous and very great. And it is because of this fact that in no breed of animals would one find so great dissension, nor would one find any breed so at variance with itself — take, for example, horses or dogs or lions or cattle or deer; on the contrary, animals that are alike behave alike in feeding, in begetting, and in rearing their young, and they have the same appetites and the same aversions. The reason is that in general they follow only what is pleasant and shun what is painful. 4 But the human race, which by nature partakes of wisdom, though it falls short of it through bad judgement and indifference, is inwardly full of opinion and self-deception. Moreover, men differ with one another in everything — in dress and apparel, in food and sexual pleasures, in honour and dishonour — according to nations and cities. And similarly also with the city, each one has his own individual ambition — one to obtain as much land as possible, another silver, another slaves, another all these things together, another to be admired for his eloquence and by this means to have greater power than his fellows, another strives merely to be clever and to achieve experience in politics, another to have influence for some other reason, another to indulge in luxury to the fullest extent.

5 Now, as I was saying, in no one of these pursuits, in all likelihood, would even those who are reputed to be best in their line carry it on successfully. For, not knowing what is better or what is worse or what is advantageous, they exercise no choice at all. But he who has desired wisdom and has given thought to how he should look after himself and what education he should receive in order to become a good man and superior to the masses, he, I say, has been blest with a good character and with a corresponding fortune besides. For there is hope that, if he investigates and receives instruction, he will discover what is required and with what aim and purpose he should carry on and regulate all else.

6 But he who understands this would from that moment be successful in all things, both those which are thought to be more important and those which are thought to be less; and whether he were to follow horse-racing or to devote himself to music or to agriculture, or if he should wish to be a general or to hold the other offices or to conduct the other public business in his city, he will do everything well and would make no mistakes in anything. However, without this understanding, while in each of his labours he might sometimes seem both to himself and to his neighbours to be successful — for instance, if as a farmer he were to be fortunate with his crops, or if he were to have more than ordinary acquaintance with the handling of horses, or if he were to have fairly good knowledge of music, or if in athletic contests he could overcome his competitors — still on the whole he would fail, since he would be working at these things to no good end nor in such a way as to derive benefit.

7 Therefore he is incapable of being prosperous, just as one cannot make a successful voyage if one does not know whither he is sailing, being carried along aimlessly on the sea, his ship at one moment sailing a straight course, should fortune so decree, but the next moment yawing, at one moment with the wind astern, the next with it dead ahead. Nay, just as with the lyre musicians first set the middle string and then tune the others to harmonize with that — otherwise they will never achieve any harmony at all — so with life, men should first come to understand best and then, having made this their goal, they should do everything else with reference to this; otherwise their life will be out of harmony and out of tune in all likelihood.

The theme of this Discourse is the doctrine that the virtuous life is the happy life. Dio bemoans the fact that most men give their whole attention to the so called practical pursuits to the neglect of their spiritual well-being and development. Striving to attain success in any number of material enterprises, they miss true happiness through their failure to see that character is its sure foundation. Without good character laws are of little avail, and happiness is the gift of the gods, who are not inclined to favour ignorance and inattention to the needs of the soul. It is interesting to find Dio here expressing the belief that those who would commit a crime but are prevented from so doing through fear are as guilty as those who actually yield to the temptation.

The Sixty-ninth Discourse:

On Virtue

It seems to me a fact hard to explain, that people praise and admire one set of things yet aim at and have seriously pursued a different set. For instance, virtually all praise and refer to as “divine” and “august” such things as valour and righteousness and wisdom and, in short, every virtue. Moreover, whomever they believe to be, or to have been, characterized by such virtues, or nearly so, him they admire and celebrate in song; and certain ones they represent as gods and others as heroes — for example, Heracles, the Dioscuri, Theseus, Achilles, and all the demigods, as they are called. And whomever they suppose to be like those beings they one and all are ready to obey and to serve, no matter what orders he may give, and they are ready to appoint as their king and ruler and to make the guardian of their possessions any man whom they suppose to be really prudent and righteous and wise and, in a word, a good man.

2 Therefore in this respect no one could censure them as not perceiving that virtue is something august and precious and all-important; yet they really desire any and every thing in preference to becoming good, and they busy themselves with everything in preference to the problem of becoming self-controlled and wise and righteous and men of merit, competent to govern themselves well, to manage a household well, to rule a city well, to endure well either wealth or poverty, to behave well toward friends and kinsmen, to care for parents with equity, and to serve gods with piety. 3 But some busy themselves with farming, some with trading, some are devoted to military affairs, some to the medical profession, some acquire a thorough knowledge of carpentry or of shipbuilding, some of playing the lyre or the flute or of shoemaking or wrestling, some devote their whole attention to gaining a reputation as clever speakers in Assembly or in law-court, some to becoming strong in body. And yet the traders, farmers, soldiers, physicians, builders, lyre-players, flautists, athletic trainers, yes, and the orators, as they are called, and those who have great strength of body — all these one would find to be pitiable and unfortunate in many, or indeed in almost all, instances.

4 On the other hand, if their soul becomes rational and their mind really good, and if they are able to manage successfully their own affairs and those of their neighbours too, these men will necessarily also lead happy lives, having shown themselves to be law-abiding, having obtained a good genius to guard them, and being dear to the gods. For it does not stand to reason that one set of men are wise and another set versed in human affairs, nor yet that some are conversant with human affairs and some with affairs divine, nor that some men have knowledge of divine things and others are pious, nor that some are pious and others dear to the gods; nor will a separate group be dear to the gods and another group be favoured by fortune. Nor is there one class of men who are fools but another class ignorant of their own affairs; nor are those who are ignorant of their own affairs informed about things divine; nor are those who have formed mistaken opinions about things divine free from impiety. And surely those who are impious cannot be dear to the gods nor those who are not dear to the gods be other than unfortunate.

Why in the world, then, do not those who aim to attain a happy life do their best to make themselves happy instead of devoting their entire attention to things which do not at all prevent their leading a bad, yes wretched, existence? 5 Yet without flute-players and lyre-players and shoemakers and athletic trainers and orators and physicians it is not impossible for men to live very good and ordered lives, and, I fancy, even without farmers and builders. 6 At any rate the Scythians who are nomads, though they neither have houses nor sow seed nor plant trees and vines, are by no means prevented from playing their part as citizens with justice and in accordance with law; yet without law and justice men cannot avoid living badly and in much more savage fashion than the wild beasts. Moreover, where shoemakers and farmers and builders are of inferior quality, no serious harm results on that account; it is merely that the shoes are inferior and the wheat and barley scarcer. On the other hand, where rulers and judges and laws are inferior, the affairs of those people are in worse condition and their life is more unfortunate, and factions, injustices, deeds of arrogance, and impiety flourish in abundance with them.

7 Furthermore, though when one is not himself a shoemaker it is profitable to purchase shoes from another person, and when one does not understand building, to hire another person for that work, and when one is not a farmer, to purchase grain and pulse; on the other hand, when one is himself unjust, it is not profitable to get his justice from another, nor, when one lacks wisdom and does not know what he ought to do and what he ought to refrain from doing, to be constantly regretting every single act and resorting for knowledge to another person. For, in addition to all the other considerations, he who needs money or clothing or house or anything else not only knows that fact but also seeks to get these things from those who have them; whereas he who has no sense does not even know just this very fact, that he has no sense; instead, he himself claims to be competent and obstinately persists in his folly, everything he does or says being witless, and he denies that he is unjust or foolish or lawless but insists that is ever so competent in these matters, though he has never paid any attention to them or learned anything as far as those things are concerned.

8 In fact, these men do not even believe in the existence of a knowledge in accordance with which they will know what they ought to do or what they ought not to do and how they will live correctly; nay, they believe that the laws are sufficient for them for that purpose, the laws on the statute books; but how they are to obey the laws and voluntarily do what those laws prescribe is a matter to which they give no serious thought. And yet how is he any less a thief who refrains from thieving out of fear, if he approves but does not loath and condemn the business, than those who actually commit theft — unless also he who does not do his thieving by day, not only after nightfall, is to be called no thief in daytime, but rather a man of probity? Besides, such persons require the presence of many to threaten and restrain them, since they are not able of themselves to refrain from their misdeeds, but even when at home are men of thievish disposition. However, though they are of such character, they choose the law-givers and punish the lawless, just as if persons who are unmusical were to choose the musicians, or as if those who know nothing of surveying were to choose the surveyors!

9 And here is an indication of the depravity of mankind. If men were to do away with the laws and licence were to be granted to strike one another, to commit murder, to steal the property of one's neighbours, to commit adultery, to be a footpad, then who must we suppose would be the persons who will refrain from these deeds and not, without the slightest scruple or hesitation, be willing to commit all manner of crimes? For even under present conditions we none the less are living unwittingly with thieves and kidnappers and adulterers and joining with them in the activities of citizenship, and in this respect we are no better than the wild beasts; for they too, if they take fright at men or dogs set to guard against them, refrain from thieving.

This brief dialogue, like others in our collection, both begins and ends abruptly. It has the appearance of being an excerpt from a lengthier discussion, probably selected for publication because it contained a noteworthy tribute to the essential nature of philosophy. The rôle of the student in this document — if it was a student — is decidedly minor, consisting chiefly in assenting to the statements made by the principal speaker. Dio is emphasizing the crucial difference between pseudo-philosophers and those who are philosophers in deed as well as in word. In Truly Socratic fashion he leads up to his main thesis by citing examples of pretence in fields such as farming, trading, hunting, and the like, showing in each instance that no one is misled by profession of interest unaccompanied by fitting conduct.

The Seventieth Discourse:

On Philosophy

Dio. Come now, suppose you should hear some one say that he wants to be a farmer, but should observe that he is doing nothing toward that end, neither buying or raising cattle nor preparing ploughs or the other equipment needed in farming, nor even living on a farm himself, either as owner or as tenant of another, but rather in town, spending his time principally about the market-place and the gymnasium and occupied with drinking parties and courtesans and that sort of frivolity — in such a case will you treat seriously what he says rather than what he does? And will you say the fellow is a farmer and a producer, or one of the lazy and frivolous set?

Interlocutor. One of the lazy set, of course.

2 Dio. Very good. But suppose a man were to say that he is a huntsman, and that he surpasses Hippolytus himself or Meleager in both his valour and his diligence, but it should be obvious that he is engaged in no activity of that nature, since he has acquired neither dogs nor hunting-nets nor a horse and never goes out after game at all but, on the contrary, neither has been tanned by the sun nor is able to endure cold, but has been reared in the shade and is soft and very like the women, could you possibly believe that this man is telling the truth and that he has anything to do with hunting?

Int. Not I.

3 Dio. Correct; for it is absurd that we should know and pass upon every man's life on the strength of what he says rather than of what he does. Again, if some one should offer his services as an expert in music and as one who devotes his time to this, and yet no one should ever hear him either playing the cithara, nay, even see him holding a cithara or a lyre, or descanting on any subject related to music — that is, apart from his offering his services and saying that he has a better knowledge of music than Orpheus and Thamyras1 — but if one should see him training and rearing game-cocks or quails and spending his time for the most part in company with those of like interests, ought one to conclude that he is a musician, or, on the contrary, one of the set with which he associates and whose pursuits are the same as his?

Int. Evidently one of that set.

4 Dio. Again, if one were to profess that he is an astronomer and that he knows most accurately how the orbits and courses and the intervening distances stand with relation to one another in the case of sun and moon and similar heavenly bodies, and also celestial phenomena, and yet the man has shown no predilection of this sort and has no serious interest in these matters, but rather prefers to associate with gamblers, lives his life in their company, and is seen with them day after day, will you call this man an astronomer or a gambler?

Int. Nay, by heaven, I would not consider that he had anything at all to do with astronomy, but much rather with gambling.

5 Dio. Again, given two persons, one of whom says he intends to sail immediately and will gain much profit from trading, although he has not provided himself with either ship or sailors, has no cargo whatever, but, in fact, never goes near the harbour at all, or even the sea; whereas the other occupies himself constantly with these matters, examining thoroughly a boat and putting on board a pilot and a cargo — which of the two will you say is seriously interested in trading? The one who says he is, or the one who works at it and provides himself with all that the voyage and the business of trading demand?

Int. I should say the latter.

6 Dio. In every matter, then, will you consider that the word alone, unaccompanied by any act, is invalid and untrustworthy, but that the act alone is both trustworthy and true, even if no word precedes it?

Int. Just so.

Dio. Well then, if there are certain functions and articles of equipment peculiar to farming or to seafaring and different ones appropriate to the hunter, the astronomer, and all other professions as well, then has philosophy no function peculiar to itself, no activity, no equipment?

Int. Most assuredly it has.

7 Dio. Well, are those things obscure which belong to the philosopher and to philosophy, while those which belong to the traders and farmers and musicians and astronomers and those whom I have just named are conspicuous and manifest?

Int. No, I think not obscure.

Dio. But surely there are certain words which one who goes in for philosophy must hear, and studies which he must pursue, and a regimen to which he must adhere, and, in a word, one kind of life belongs to the philosopher and another to the majority of mankind: the one tends toward truth and wisdom and toward care and cultivation of the gods, and, as regards one's own soul, far from false pretence and deceit and luxury, toward frugality and sobriety.

8 And, in fact, there is one kind of dress for the philosopher and another for the layman, and the same holds good as to table manners and gymnasia and baths and the mode of living generally, and he who is guided by and employs these distinctions must be thought to be devoted to philosophy; whereas he who does not differ in any of these matters and is not at all unlike the world in general must not be classified as a philosopher, not even if he says he is a thousand times and makes public profession of philosophy before the popular assembly of Athens or of Megara or in the presence of the kings of Sparta; instead, we must banish this man to the company of impostors and fools and voluptuaries.

9 And yet it is not impossible to be musical without engaging in musical activities; for the art of music does not compel one to devote his attention to it and to regard nothing else of greater moment. Again, if one is an astronomer, possibly nothing prevents his keeping game-cocks or throwing dice; for in no wise does astronomy prevent his doing what is not right! Furthermore, by Heaven, if one has become an expert horseman, or a good pilot, or a surveyor, or a literary critic, it is nothing surprising that he should be seen in the apartments of either the courtesans or the flute-girls. For the knowledge of those skills does not make the human soul one whit better or turn it aside from its errors; 10 but if one is devoted to philosophy and partakes of this study, one could never desert the highest things, nor, neglecting these things, could he prefer to engage in anything which is shameful and low, or to be lazy and gluttonous and drunken. For to refuse to admire these things and to banish the desire for them from the soul and on the other hand, to lead the soul to hate and condemn them, is the essence of philosophy. However, possibly there is nothing to prevent one's claiming to be a philosopher and at the same time playing the impostor and deceiving himself and everybody else.

In this Discourse Dio examines the statement that “the philosopher should be remarkable in everything.” As examples of versatility he considers Hippias of Elis, the well-known sophist, and Odysseus, each of whom exhibited a high degree of skill in both intellectual and manual pursuits. While admitting their claim to excellence, Dio maintains that the philosopher should be able to excel all men above all in “acting, or not acting, advantageously, and in knowing when to act and where and the right moment better than the craftsman, and also in knowing what is possible of achievement.” This dictum (§ 6) is illustrated by reference to Daedalus and other skilled artificers, who failed of real excellence because they were ignorant in just those respects. The Discourse concludes with a sarcastic allusion to Nero's varied ambitions.

The Seventy-first Discourse:

On the Philosopher

There are those who say that the philosopher should be remarkable in everything in any surroundings; moreover, they say that he should be very able in conversation with men and never keep silent or be at a loss before those in his company for lack of such language as will be capable of pleasing them; otherwise, they say, he who is not thus equipped is an ignoramus and worth but little. But I say that, though some of their statements are just and truthful, some are not. 2 For that the philosopher should in every situation be superior to all others, it seems to me they are right in demanding — unless they mean that he must not only know all the crafts but also, in accordance with the rules of the craft, produce everything better than the craftsmen, both building houses and making boats and working as a smith and weaving and farming. For example, Hippias of Elis claimed to be the wisest of the Greeks, for both at the Olympic Games and at the other national gatherings of the Greeks he produced poems of every style and speeches which he had composed of divers kinds, but he also displayed other products of his — his ring, his oil-flask and strigil, his mantle, and his girdle — boasting that he had made them all himself, displaying them to the Greeks as a kind of firstfruits of his wisdom.1

3 And Homer too, I venture to remark, has represented Odysseus, not merely as pre-eminent and judgement and in his ability to plan concerning practical matters, not merely as a most able speaker,2 whether in a crowd or before a few or before only one person — yes, by Heaven, both in assembly and over the wine-cups and on occasions when walking with somebody on a journey — whether in the presence of king or of commoner, freeman or slave, no matter whether he was himself held in honour and recognized as king or, on the other hand, unknown and a beggar, and, moreover, alike when addressing either man or woman or maiden; but he also makes him pre-eminent for his knowledge of the art of combat, and he has even represented him as skilled in all such crafts as those of the joiner, the carpenter, and the shipwright. 4 For instance, how could Odysseus have constructed his bed by cutting off the trunk of an olive tree if he were not acquainted with the joiner's art?3 How could he have enclosed his bed-chamber if he had not been acquainted with the builder's art? How could he have built his raft if he had not understood ship-building?4 As for the operations connected with planting and husbandry, he obviously had shown a serious interest in all that from his very boyhood, since he begged his father for trees and vines;5 and especially, since his father was a very careful and experienced farmer, it was to be expected that Odysseus would not be ignorant of these matters, yes, he even challenges Eurymachus to a contest in both reaping and ploughing.6 Why, Odysseus claims to be acquainted also with such matters as cookery and wine-serving and all other departments of domestic service, matters wherein he says that those of lower rank serve the nobles.7

5 Very well, in these respects no doubt Hippias and Odysseus were a clever pair; but I say that the philosopher, while unable to know every one of the crafts — for it is difficult to be thoroughly proficient in the practice of even one — nevertheless could do everything, no matter what he might be doing, better than anybody else, even though from the point of view of the crafts, if he really is ever compelled to tackle anything of that nature, he is not superior when measured by the standard of craftsmanship. For this is an impossibility, that the layman should produce anything better than the joiner by the standard of the joiner's craft, or that one who lacks experience in farming should be found more expert than the farmer in performing any of the tasks of the farmer.

6 Wherein, then, would the philosopher be superior? It would be in his acting, or not acting, advantageously, and in his knowing when to act and where and the right moment better than the craftsman, and also in his knowing what is possible of achievement. For instance, I believe that Daedalus did not build his Labyrinth in Crete well — entering which his fellow citizens, both male and female, met their death8 — for he did not build it justly. And besides, in abetting the malady of Pasiphaë he wrought not rightly; for it was not advantageous nor was it just or honourable to lend such aid or to invent devices for ends which were shameful and impious.9 And even when he equipped Icarus with wings — if we are to believe the tale — I say he did not do well to invent this device; for he was attempting the impossible when he attached wings to a human being. Accordingly he wrought the death of his son.

7 But apparently Homer too says harsh things of a certain builder among the Trojans, as not having done well when he built for Alexander the ships with which he sailed to Hellas — though he has no fault to find with him on the score of craftsmanship. For this is what he says:

Who built for Paris well-proportioned ships,

Sources of ill,10

not lauding him for his construction of the ships, but rather censuring him much more severely than if, by saying that he had made the ships either slow or with some other defect, he had censured him for ship-building. And Homer in similar fashion censures also a certain huntsman11 and ridicules his skill, because he had acquired it to no good purpose, but, on the contrary, while the man knew how to shoot wild beasts, in warfare he could not hit any one but was useless because of his cowardice, and he adds that on the occasion in question Artemis did not aid him.

8 From these illustrations, therefore, it is evident that there is need of wisdom and virtue as applied both to what men know and also to what they do not know; and thus it is that the prudent man, such as the philosopher should be, would in everything be superior to all the world, whether in doing any of these things or in not doing, no matter how he performs according to the standards of the craft. But that he will paint better than the painter when not himself a painter; or that he will tend the sick better than the physician, as measured by the standards of art, when himself not a physician; or that he will sing more musically than the musicians when unacquainted with the art of music or only slightly acquainted; or that he will show himself better versed than the arithmeticians in the theory of numbers, or than the surveyors in surveying, or than the farmers in planting, or than the pilots in piloting; or that he will slaughter an animal more expeditiously than the butchers, or, should it be necessary to cut it up, do so more expeditiously than those who have made this very thing their profession — such things are not to be expected.

9 And yet a certain king of our times had the ambition to be wise in this sort of wisdom,12 believing that he had knowledge of very many things — not, however, of such things as do not receive applause among men, but rather those for which it is possible to win a crown — I mean acting as a herald, singing to the cithara, reciting tragedies, wrestling, and taking part in the pancration. Besides, they say that he could paint and fashion statues and play the pipe, both by means of his lips and by tucking a skin beneath his armpits13 with a view to avoiding the reproach of Athena!14 Was he not, then, a wise man?

In this Discourse Dio is defending what he considers to be the typical appearance of philosophers — the himation, or cloak, unaccompanied by the tunic generally worn next to the body, and long hair and beard. We learn that those who presented such an appearance were commonly subjected to insult and mockery and even to physical violence. And yet, as he tells us, philosophers — or pseudo-philosophers — were a more familiar spectacle with his hearers than shoemakers or fullers or jesters or the followers of any other calling. It is argued that the philosopher can find a precedent for his appearance in the statues of both gods and generals and kings, none of which excites amusement or resentment on the part of the beholder. Furthermore, the city in which he is speaking tolerates the sight of many outlandish costumes. This leads to the conjecture that the reason why the philosopher is singled out for insult is that men are inclined to view him with distrust, feeling that he is critical of them, and being actuated, as one might say, by an inferiority complex. Sometimes also the philosopher is subjected to annoyance by those who expect to hear from him words of wisdom. Reference to this type of annoyance leads naturally to the telling the fable of the owl and the birds, a fable more briefly sketched in Or. 12.7 but preserved nowhere else. The moral of the fable is that it is risky to trust to appearances, for, though the owl of the fable was truly wise, the owl of Dio's day resembled her only in “feathers, eyes, and beak,” and actually served as decoy for other fowl.

In what city was this Discourse delivered? Arnim argues with much plausibility that it must have been Rome; for in §§ 3 4 we are told that foreigners in most outlandish dress, who came from remote parts of the empire, were a common spectacle about the streets; furthermore, we are told in § 5 that the local type of cult statue differed from that found in Egypt and Phoenicia but was identical with the Greek type; and, lastly, § 6 shows clearly that the city in question was not Greek. No other city seems to suit these clues so well as Rome. It is suggested that Dio is speaking there on his first visit following his return from exile.

The Seventy-second Discourse:

On Personal Appearance

Why on earth is it that, whenever men see somebody wearing a tunic and nothing more, they neither notice him nor make sport of him? Possibly because they reason that the fellow is a sailor and that there is no occasion to mock him on this account. Similarly, if they should spy some one wearing the garb of a farmer or of a shepherd — that is, wearing an exomis1 or wrapped in a hide or muffled in a kosymba2 — that are not irritated, nay, they do not even notice it to begin with, feeling that the garb is appropriate to the man who follows such a calling. 2 Take our tavern-keepers too; though people day after day see them in front of their taverns with their tunics belted high, they never jeer at them but, on the contrary, they would make fun of them if they were not so attired, considering that their appearance is peculiarly suited to their occupation. But when they see some one in a cloak but no tunic,3 with flowing hair and beard, they find it impossible to keep quiet in his presence or to pass by in silence; instead, they step up to him and try to irritate him and either mock at him or speak insultingly, or sometimes they catch hold of him and try to drag him off, provided they see one who is not himself very strong and note that no one else is at hand to help him; and they do this although they know that the garb he wears is customary with the philosophers, as they are called, yes, as one might say, has been prescribed for them.

3 But what is even more astounding still is this. Here in your city4 from time to time are to be seen persons, some of whom are wearing felt caps on their heads — as to day certain of the Thracians who are called Getae5 do, and as Spartans and Macedonians used to do in days gone by — and others wearing a turban and trousers, as I understand Persians and Bactrians and Parthians and many other barbarians do; and some, still more outlandish than these, are accustomed to visit your city wearing feathers erect on their heads, for instance the Nasamonians;6 yet the citizens do not have the effrontery to make any trouble at all even for these, or to approach and annoy them. And yet as for Getae or Persians or Nasamonians, while some of them are seen here in no great numbers and others rarely visit here, 4 the whole world to day is virtually crowded with persons such as I have described,7 yes, I might almost say that they have grown more numerous than the shoemakers and fullers and jesters or the workers at any other occupation whatever. Therefore in our day too possibly it could be said with good reason that every catboat is under sail and every cow is dragging a plow.8

5 Moreover, it is not for the above reason alone that this spectacle is familiar to them, nay, they also have before their eyes the statues in the temples — as, for example, statues of Zeus and Poseidon and many other gods — arrayed in this type of costume.9 For while among Egyptians and Phoenicians and certain other barbarians you do not find the same type of statues as you do, I believe, among the Greeks, but far different, here you find the same. Likenesses of men too, citizens of your city, they have before their eyes both in the market-place and in the temples, likenesses of generals and kings set up in this guise with flowing beards. By why need I tell you all this? 6 For I might almost say that most of the Greeks also feel as you do about this matter, and their familiarity with the sight does not keep them from teasing or even insulting whenever they spy a man of that appearance — I mean, whenever they see one of the common sort of no repute, whom they do not fear as being able to retaliate; for of course those who have that ability they virtually cringe before and admire!

Well, possibly what goes on is like this: the sailors and the farmers and shepherds, yes, and the Persians and Nasamonians too, the people believe do not look down on them or have any concern with them, and so they do not give them a thought. 7 The philosophers, however, they view with misgivings, suspecting that they scorn them and attribute to them vast ignorance and misfortune; and they suspect that, though the philosophers do not laugh at them in public, privately among themselves they view them in that light, holding that the unenlightened are all pitiable creatures, beginning, in fact, with those who are reputed to be rich and prosperous, persons whom these mockers themselves envy and believe to be little different from the gods in felicity; furthermore, they suspect that these philosophers disparage and ridicule them as being extravagant in eating and drinking, as wanting a soft bed to sleep on and the company of young women and boys whenever they repose, and plenty of money, and to be admired and looked up to by the mob, things which they believe to be more important and better than anything else.

8 Because of this suspicion they of course dislike those who do not admire or prize the same things as they do and do not hold the same opinion about the things of chief importance. Therefore they seize for themselves the initiative in reviling and jeering at the philosophers as being luckless and foolish, knowing that if they succeed in showing that the philosophers are senseless and daft they will at the same time also prove themselves to be prudent and sensible; whereas if they give way to them, recognizing that the philosophers know what they should and are highly estimable, at the same time they will be admitting that they themselves are luckless and thick-witted and know absolutely none of the things free men should.

9 Again, if they see a man rigged out as a sailor, they know that he is about to put to sea, and if they see some one else rigged out as a farmer, they know that he is about to engage in farming, and of course they know also that he who is clad in shepherd's garb is on his way to his sheep and will spend his time attending to them, and so, since they are not irritated by any of these, they let them alone; but when they see a man in the garb of the philosopher, they reason in his case that it is not for sailing or for farming or for tending sheep that he is thus arrayed, but rather that he has got himself ready to deal with human beings, aiming to admonish them and put them to the test and not to flatter or to spare any one of them, but, on the contrary, aiming to reprove them to best of his ability by his words and to show what sort of persons they are. 10 They cannot, therefore, look upon the philosophers with any pleasure, but instead they clash with them and fight with them, just as boys too cannot look with pleasure upon any whom they see in the guise of tutors and prepared as if they meant to rebuke them and not to allow them to go astray or be careless. In truth, if the boys were at liberty to mock at and insult such persons, there is nothing they would rather do than that.

However, not all have this motive in coming up and making themselves a nuisance; on the contrary, there are persons who indulge in this kind of curiosity and, in a way, are not bad persons either. 11 These approach any whom, because of their dress, they take to be philosophers, expecting to hear from them some bit of wisdom which they could not hear from any one else, because they have heard regarding Socrates that he was not only wise but also accustomed to speak words of wisdom to those who approached him, and also regarding Diogenes, that he too was well provided with statement and answer on each and every topic. And the masses still remember the sayings of Diogenes, some of which he may have spoken himself, though some too were composed by others.

12 Indeed, as for the maxims of the Seven Sages, they hear that these were even inscribed as dedications at Delphi in days gone by, firstfruits, as it were, of the wisdom of those men and at the same time intended for the edification of mankind, the idea being that these maxims were truly divine, and if I may say so, even more divine than the responses which the Pythian priestess was wont to give as she sat upon her tripod and filled herself with the breath of the god. For the response which is made to each for himself he listens to and then goes his way, and such responses are not dedicated and thereby made known to all mankind too; but the maxims of the Seven Sages have been appointed for the common use of all who visit the god, as being profitable for all alike to know and to obey.10

13 And there are those who think that Aesop too was somewhat like the Seven Sages, that while he was wise and sensible, yet he was crafty too and clever at composing tales such as they themselves would most enjoy to hear.11 And possibly they are not wholly mistaken in their suppositions and in reality Aesop did in this way try to admonish mankind and show them wherein they were in error, believing that they would be most tolerant toward him if they were amused by his humour and his tales — just as children, when their nurses tell them stories, not only pay attention to them but are amused as well. As the result, then, of this belief, that they are going to hear from us too some such saying as Aesop used to utter, or Socrates, or Diogenes, they draw near and annoy and cannot leave in peace whomever they may see in this costume, any more than the birds can when they see an owl.

14 Indeed, this is why Aesop composed a fable which I will relate. The birds came together to call upon the owl, and they begged her to withdraw from the shelter afforded by the human habitations and to transfer her nest to the trees, just like themselves, and to their branches, “whence,” they declared, “it is actually possible to sing a clearer note.” And in fact, as the fable has it, they stood ready to settle upon an oak, which was just then starting to grow, as soon as it should reach its prime, and to enjoy its green foliage. However, the story continues, the owl advised the birds not to do this and not to exult in the shoot of a plant whose nature it is to bear mistletoe, a bane to feathered folk. 15 But the birds not only did not applaud the owl for her advice, but, quite the reverse, they took delight in the oak as it grew, and when it was of proper size they alighted on it and sang. But because the mistletoe had grown on it, they now were easily captured by the men and repented of their conduct and admired the owl for her advice. And even to this day they feel this way about her, believing her to be shrewd and wise, and on this account they wish to get near her, believing that they are deriving some benefit from association with her; but if they do, they will approach her, I fancy, all in vain and to their cost. For though that owl of olden days was really wise and able to give advice, those of to day merely have her feathers, eyes, and beak, but in all else they are more foolish than the other birds. 16 Therefore they cannot benefit even themselves; for otherwise they would not be kept at the bird-catcher's, caged and in servitude.12

Just so, though each of us has the garb of Socrates and Diogenes, in intellect we are far from being like those famous men, or from living as they did, or from uttering such noble thoughts. Therefore, for no other reason than because of our personal appearance, we, like the owls, collect a great company of those who in truth are birds, being fools ourselves besides being annoyed by others of like folly.

Although this Discourse begins with no formal address, it presents the appearance of a letter, for in the final paragraph the author applies his remarks to some one individual, whose name, unfortunately, is not given. Certainly, if we were to assume that we had before us an oral communication, we should expect to find now and then some appeal to the listener and an occasional response, however brief and perfunctory.

Dio appears to be writing to some acquaintance, possibly a former pupil, who seems to be considering acceptance of some responsibility, the nature of which it is idle to conjecture. All but the final paragraph is devoted to an exposition of the discomforts and even dangers attendant upon such a decision. As horrible examples of the ingratitude of both state and private citizen Dio passes in review some of the most notable personages of myth and history, besides calling attention to the many nameless persons who were repaid for their services as guardians or trustees by reproach or even by prosecution in the courts. We infer that he would have his anonymous acquaintance remain true to philosophy.

The Seventy-third Discourse:

On Trust

Do you really mean to say that being trusted is a good thing for those who are trusted and comparable to being wealthy or healthy or honoured for those who are honoured or healthy or wealthy, because it brings to those persons themselves some benefit? I mean, for instance, if a person should chance to be trusted in an official capacity, by his own state or by another, with an army or money or fortifications, just as in the past many have had such things entrusted to them, and in some instances even the cities themselves, women and children and all, not only in times of peace, but also sometimes when in the grip of war. 2 And, by Heaven, if a person were to be trusted by a king or a tyrant with gold or silver or ships or arms or a citadel or the supreme command — for example, Leptines often received command of Syracuse from his brother,1 and Philistus received it from the younger Dionysius,2 and the Magi received from Cambyses charge of his palace in Persia at the time when he was campaigning against Egypt,3 and Mithranes4 received from Darius the citadel of Sardis, and Persaeus5 received Acrocorinth from Antigonus, and, much earlier than these, Atreus received Argos from Eurystheus, when Eurystheus was campaigning against Athens for refusing to surrender the children of Heracles,6 and, furthermore, the son of Atreus, Agamemnon, when setting sail for Troy, entrusted to a musician his wife and his house7 — 3 shall we say that all those who were trusted themselves derived some good from the trust?

Again, how about those who are entrusted by men in private station with either wives or children or estate? For instance, many, I fancy, leave behind them guardians and protectors, some when going on a journey and others when dying; and some place deposits in trust without the presence of witnesses, having no fear of being defrauded; and some, because the laws forbid their naming as heirs those whom they themselves prefer,8 name others, instructing them to turn over the property to the friends of the deceased — 4 are we to say that all such derive an advantage from the transaction and from the high opinion about them which leads those who do so to entrust them with their possessions, but particularly in the case of those last mentioned, who seem to be trusted in violation of the laws? Or, on the contrary, shall we say that such a responsibility is vexatious and the source of much trouble and many worries, sometimes indeed even of the greatest perils?

But we may examine the question by beginning immediately with those who are thought to be of highest rank; for those of necessity neglect their private interests, both property and children, and devote their attention to the public interests and are absorbed in them; and often at the hands of those who plot against their cities, whether foreign foes or some of their fellow citizens, they meet with disaster, and often, too, at the hands of the cities themselves, because of unjust accusation. For some have been deprived of property, and some even have suffered disgrace of various kinds, having been convicted on a charge of embezzlement, others have been banished from their native land, and others have even been put to death.

5 For example, they say that Pericles was convicted of embezzlement in an Athenian court,9 the noblest and best champion the city ever had; and that Themistocles was banished on a charge of treason, the one who, after having taken charge of the Athenians at a time when they were no longer able to occupy the soil of their native land but were yielding to the foe their city itself and their shrines, not only restored all these things, but even made the Athenians leaders of the Greeks, wresting the leadership from the Spartans, who had held this honour from the beginning.10

6 Again, Miltiades, who had been the first to vanquish the barbarians, with only his fellow citizens to aid him, and to humble the pride of the Persians,11 a pride which they formerly held, believing themselves to be superior to all other men — this man, I say, not much later was cast into prison by the Athenians;12 and, besides, his son Cimon would have been deprived of civic rights for the rest of his life if he had not given his sister Elpinicê in marriage to a man of humble origin but great wealth, who in his behalf paid the fine of fifty talents.13 And yet later on Cimon gained Cyprus for the Athenians, and in a joint account by land and sea vanquished the barbarians in the neighbourhood of Pamphylia. Still, though so remarkable himself and the son of so remarkable a father, if he had not secured considerable money the Athenians would have suffered him to be without civic rights in his city.14

7 And take the case of Phocion of a later period, who lived to be more than eighty years of age, and who for most of these years had served as general, had preserved the state in its moments of direst need, and had been dubbed excellent15 by those very Athenians — this man they were not content merely to put to death, nay, they would not even permit his corpse to rest in Attic soil, but cast it forth beyond their borders. Or take Nicias son of Niceratus — because he was trusted by his fellow citizens, though he knew full well what the campaign in Sicily would be like, both from the warnings of the god and from his own reasoning, still he was compelled to make the expedition, ill as he was, because of this trust of theirs. Moreover, if after losing his army or a portion of it he himself had come back in safety, clearly on reaching home he would have been put to death. But since, knowing this, he persevered in every way, he was taken captive and suffered that fate at the hands of the enemy.16

8 Now these observations of mine have been made about a single city and about the statesmen in a single city, nor have all of these been named. But as to those who at the courts of the tyrants enjoyed a reputation for trustworthiness, were I to recount fully what sort of fate has been theirs I should perhaps need very many days. For one might almost say that it is impossible for such men to go scot free. For any who lay themselves open to a charge of misconduct are put to death on that account, and there is no chance of obtaining any pardon; while those who show themselves to be good men and competent to safeguard what has been entrusted to them, though at the moment they obtain a certain honour, not much later they meet with disaster, being victims of envy and suspicion. 9 It does not, you see, seem to be advantageous to absolute monarchs that any man in their service should be good, or that any man should patently stand high in the esteem of the masses. On the other hand, trusts bestowed by men in private life, though possibly they involve less risk, because the business in hand is less important, still entail untold trouble and labours, and often not even gratitude, however slight, is their reward. On the contrary, it often happens that the very men who have received benefits at their hands charge them with not having paid all that is due with justice and clean hands.

10 Now with what purpose have I rehearsed these matters? Surely not because I was making you the object of such admonition, or because I aimed to dissuade you from being true to a trust. For I should be far worse than Zethus was if I subjected you to such criticism, for he admonished his brother because he did not deem it fitting for him to devote himself to the pursuit of wisdom or to waste time on music to the neglect of his own affairs; and he said that his brother was introducing an absurd and unprofitable Muse. Just as if perchance some one were to say that you too had chosen that sort of occupation, not one of idleness or of drunkenness by any means, and yet one involving neglect of your own estate quite possibly; and, by Zeus, he might even recite this line:

Wherefore an empty house shall be thy home.17

This Discourse, as its title suggests, approaches the question of human relationships from a different angle from that observed in Or. 73. There the speaker was stressing the annoyances and misfortunes resulting from being trusted; here he produces a wealth of examples to show that it is dangerous to trust any one. That note of cynicism is maintained with remarkable consistency to the very end, and there is a ring of conviction about it all which suggests strongly that Dio is speaking out of the bitterness of his own heart. Arnim places the Discourse among those delivered during the period of Dio's exile. Because the element of dialogue is found only at the very opening of the document, he infers that Dio was addressing a group of listeners, one of whom bore to the speaker a closer relationship and therefore was helpful in launching the discussion. The abruptness with which the Discourse opens and closes is held to indicate, as in some other instances, that our text has been separated from its original setting, or possibly that the reporter chose only this much for preservation.

The Seventy-fourth Discourse:

On Distrust

Dio. Are you aware that in the past there have been persons who have been harmed by enemies?

Interlocutor. Why, of course.

Dio. Well then, have they been harmed by so called friends and close acquaintances, or even by certain kinsmen, some even by the very closest, brothers or sons or fathers?

Int. Yes indeed, many have been.

Dio. What is the reason, then, that not only do enemies injure their enemies but also the so called friends injure one another, and, by Heaven, that many even of those who are so closely related act so?

Int. Clearly the reason is found in the depravity of mankind, because of which each, I imagine, is also himself harmful to himself.

Dio. Toward all men, then, one should be equally on his guard, and not be one whit more trustful even if a person is held to be a friend or a close acquaintance or a blood-relative?

Int. Toward all, as this statement of yours declares.

Dio. Then was the author of this verse right when he wrote,

Keep sober and remember to distrust;

These are the joints essential to the mind?1

2 Int. Probably he was.

Dio. Furthermore, manifestly the poet is giving this advice, not to his enemies, but rather to those whom he considers friends. For surely those by whom one knows himself to be hated would not entrust with power against himself. How, then, could the poet be urging those to be distrusted whom he does not himself trust?

Well, then, let us consider the following question also. By whom have more persons been ruined — by those who are admittedly enemies, or, on the contrary, by those who profess to be friends? As for myself, I observe that of the cities which have been captured those which have been destroyed by traitors are more numerous than those which have been forcibly seized by the foe, and also that with human beings those who lodge complaints against their friends and close acquaintances are altogether more numerous than those who blame their enemies for their misfortunes; 3 and, furthermore, that whereas against the foe walls and fortresses have been provided for all — though sometimes no use has been made of these for many years — yet against their fellow citizens, against men who have a common share in the same sanctuaries and sacrifices and marriage rites, men who are fellow tribesmen with one another, fellow demesmen and kinsmen, the courts, the laws, and the magistracies have been provided. Furthermore, these institutions are never idle. At any rate the cities are always crowded with plaintiffs and defendants, with juries and litigants, and not even during their solemn festivals or in times of truce can men keep their hands off one another. At least they pass special laws regarding crimes committed during festivals, and they call these “holy laws,” as if the name did any good! Yes, the war against depravity is unremitting for all against all, a war without truce and without herald; 4 but above all this war is joined between those who are close to one another.

Accordingly those who wish to live at peace and with some degree of security must beware of fellowship with human beings, must recognize that the average man is by nature prone to let others have a share in any evil, and that, no matter if one claims a thousand times to be a friend, he is not to be trusted. For with human beings there is no constancy or truthfulness at all; on the contrary, any man whom at the moment they prize above everything, even, it may be, above life itself, after a brief interval they deem their bitterest foe, and often they cannot refrain even from attacking his body. 5 For example, the lover slays his beloved because he loves him too much, as he imagines, but really because he has become enraged over some trivial matter. Others slay themselves, some involuntarily because of incontinence, and some voluntarily, since there is nothing in their life more extraordinary than their innate depravity. But enough of this, for the other injuries which each inflicts upon himself it obviously is impossible to examine in detail.

Then what kind of trust can one have in dealing with men like these, or what assurance? Or how could a person love me who does not love even himself? For the reply which was made to the Athenians on the occasion when, being in dire straits, they made some request concerning Samos, might well, I think, be made to those low persons who try to worm their way into one's friendship: “If one does not love himself, how can he love another, whether stranger or son or brother?”

6 What, then, must one do when some one makes a show of friendship, takes a solemn oath at the altar, and is almost eager to butcher himself there? He must listen, of course, immediately, and, by Zeus, possibly nod assent; yet at the same time be quite certain that not one of his protestations is valid. For example, when Electra beheld Orestes weeping and striving to draw her to him, at the moment she supposed that he had experienced some abatement of his madness, and yet she was far from trusting him entirely. At any rate shortly afterward, seeing him sore distraught, she exclaimed,

Ah me, dear brother, how confused thy glance,
How swiftly though hast changed!2

7 Again, one may often behold the sea so calm that, methinks, even the most timid would scorn it. What then? On that account should one have faith in it, and with neither anchors nor rudder nor all the other aids to safety put to sea? Nay, if Fortune so decrees, presently a gale will swoop down upon you and you will behold a mighty surge and

Enormous billows, huge as mountains are,
Curling and topped with foam;3

and the man who but now seems to you gentle and who makes much display of kindliness and zeal, when some chance occasion overtakes him you will find is savage and harsh and ready to work any and every mischief.

8 How many prayers do you suppose Medeia offered to the gods in behalf of her children, or how many times did she suffer agony when they were ill, or how often would she have chosen to give her own life in their stead? Yet she became their murderer.4 “Aye, by Zeus,” someone will say, “in a fit of anger and jealousy.” But do you not suppose that most of mankind could also become jealous, envious, apprehensive? Why, one might almost say that they are always and unceasingly in the grip of these emotions. Do not, therefore, trust those who say that they feel kindly toward you and that they never would abandon their affection for you. For just as the streamers which mark the breeze always flutter according to the quarter from which it blows, now in this direction and now in the opposite direction, in the same way the mood of the common herd shifts in response to each and every emotion.

9 Nobody trusts slaves when they make an agreement, for the reason that they are not their own masters; far more should one pay no heed to the agreements of such persons as I am describing. For in every respect human beings, because of their depravity, are farther removed from a state of freedom. The law does not permit one to make a contract with persons younger than a specified age on the ground that they are untrustworthy, nor, at Athens, may one have business dealings with a woman except to the extent of a measure of barley because of the weakness of female judgement. In fact, ordinary persons are no better than the very young, or rather than even the little boys, except in their bodily strength and their rascality; consequently they deserve to be distrusted more than those others.

10 It would indeed be a blessing if, just as one becomes successively a lad, a stripling, a youth, and an old man by the passing of time, one might also in the same way become wise and just and trustworthy. Yet it must be said that not one whit better than women of the meaner sort are the men who are depraved. They differ in body, not in mind. Accordingly, just as the women are not allowed by law to accept agreements involving too large a sum, but a limit has been set defining the amount to which they may do so, in the same way, I believe, we should also have dealings with the ordinary run of men so far as the things of least importance, but in actions of greater importance or in discussions about urgent matters or in the safeguarding of one's existence, never! 11 For the fact is, if they ever refrain from doing mischief for whatever reason, just as the wild beasts often are quiet when asleep or sated with food, though they have not discarded their own peculiar nature, similarly the masses too for a time do no harm, yet later when some pretext is presented they pay in full, as saying goes, both the interest and the principal of their villainy.

The Spartan, when in social gatherings certain persons offered to make a compact with him and invited him to take as a guarantee of their friendship whatever he might choose, replied that there was only one guarantee, namely, their inability to do harm even if they wished, but that all other guarantees were foolish and absolutely good for nothing. 12 That guarantee alone should one accept from the masses, no other. For the guarantee which consists in phrases, in acquaintanceship, in oaths, in kinship is laughable. Atreus was the brother of Thyestes and the uncle of the little boys whom he slaughtered;5 Eteocles and Polyneices were not only brothers according to the law, but also children of a son and his mother, the closest relationship possible; wherefore, if there were any utility in birth, these most of all should have loved each other; whereas, in the first place, he who had been trusted expelled the brother who had trusted him and robbed him of his country, 13 and after that they slew each other.6 Although Theseus was the father of Hippolytus and the son of Poseidon, persuaded by slanders he cursed his son and brought about his death.7 Priam, who previously had been notable for good fortune and who was king over so many tribes and so wide a domain —

Seaward as far as Lesbos, the abode
Of Macar, landward to Phrygia and the stream
Of boundless Hellespont —8

all because of his son9 and that son's incontinence became the most wretched man of all. Now these were men of rank, but how great a multitude do you suppose can be found in every city of the obscure and plebeian Atreuses and Thyesteses, some actually committing murder undetected, and some making plots of other kinds? 14 As for the Aëropês and Clytaemnestras and Stheneboeas, they are too numerous to mention.10

Well, such are the facts about family and domestic ties, but how about oaths? Pandarus gave an oath to Menelaüs, as did the other Trojans too, but none the less he wounded him.11 Did not Tissaphernes give an oath to Clearchus and his men? What! did not the Great King send them the royal gods and his plighted word?12 Again, take Philip of Macedon; just as any other weapon which was serviceable for his warfare, was he not always equipped with perjury too; and was he not always seizing the cities by means of these two devices, either violation of treaties or suborning of traitors?13 He found the former altogether more congenial; for while he had to give money to the traitors, to the gods he paid nothing in connexion with oaths. 15 As for Lysander the Spartan, they say that he gave as his opinion that boys should be deceived with knucklebones and balls, but men with oaths and phrases.14 But is the crafty fox at all different, as portrayed by Archilochus?15 And as for the oracle received by Glaucus, do you not imagine that most men had given that advice ere then, namely, to swear,

Since death awaits as well the man who keeps
His oath?16

Furthermore, while it has so happened that the persons just named and others like them achieved notoriety because of the great events in which they took part, with the less illustrious Glaucuses or Pandaruses “the marts are thronged and thronged the ways.”17 This explains why they take neither Apollo nor Athena as counsellor in their perjury.18

16 But, you say, familiar acquaintance constitutes for mankind a great moral bar against injury, as also do treaties and hospitality. Eurytus was slain by the man who had entertained him in his house,

The daring one, who feared not Heaven's wrath,
Nor reverenced the table he had spread,
But later even slew his guest.19

And yet he came to be thought a god, though he had shown no reverence for the anger of the gods or for the table of hospitality, and he

Delighteth in the feast and hath for wife
Fair-ankled Hebê.20

As for Archilochus, his salt and table availed him naught for the fulfilment of his marriage contract, as he says himself.21 17 Lycaon, fool that he was, having encountered Achilles a second time, though he should either fight with vigour or else flee with all speed, urges the plea,

For with thee first I ate Demeter's grain.22

Well then, previously, when he had not yet partaken of Achilles' food, he was sold into Lemnos and thus saved; but this time when taken captive he was slaughtered. That was all the good Demeter did him. As for the ducks and partridges, we do not hunt them until they have eaten of our food. 18 Take Aegisthus; he slew Agamemnon,

First feeding him, as he who slays an ox
Hard by the crib.23

And although Agamemnon had suffered no harm at the hands of the Trojans during the ten years in which he had been at war with them and had never sat at meat with them; on the other hand, when he had come home after so long an absence, had sacrificed to the gods, and had caused his own table to be spread before him, his own wife slew him so cruelly. Yes, afterwards, when at the gates of Hades he encountered Odysseus, he denounces Clytaemnestra, 19 for he says she did not even close his eyes when he was dead;24 and, furthermore, he urges Odysseus never to trust a woman,

Or ever tell to her a crafty plan.25

Yet Clytaemnestra treated him as she did, not because she was a woman, but because she was a wicked woman; and there is no more reason for not being kind to a woman than to a man. 20 However, I fancy, each one who has encountered misfortune distrusts particularly that because of which he has suffered and warns all others to beware of it. For instance, he who has been bitten by a viper warns against snakes, another who has been bitten by a scorpion warns against scorpions, and if a man has been bitten by a dog, you will see him always carrying a cane; in just that way most men behave toward human beings. One man has met with some dreadful misfortune because of a woman; so he cries to Heaven,

O Zeus, why hast thou brought to light of day
The breed of women, snare and curse to men?26

Another, a stranger who has been received as a guest, brings grief to his host, as Alexander did by stealing from Menelaüs his wealth and his wife. The man so treated has been made distrustful toward strangers, another toward a brother, another toward a son.

21 But the case is not so simple; for it is not the brother as such or the kinsman or the stranger who is by nature prone to do wrong, but rather the wicked man; but wickedness is found in almost all; aye, if you have good judgement, beware of all. A stranger? Beware. A fair and moderate man, he says? Beware still more. Let this principle be inviolate. “Yes,” you counter, “but he shows the kindly disposition of a man of courtesy.” Very well, accept him, with gratitude to the gods — or, so please you, to him as well — yet for the future you must watch him. For what some one has said about Fortune might much rather be said about human beings, namely, that no one knows about any one whether he will remain as he is until the morrow. 22 At any rate, men do violate the compacts made with each other and give each other different advice and, believing one course to be expedient, actually pursue another. Thus it comes to pass that when a man, through trusting another, gets involved with one of those troublesome fellows, he makes himself ridiculous if he lays the blame on him when he should blame himself, and if he now and then cries out against the gods, when it is a man by whom he has been duped, a friend and close acquaintance. But the gods laugh at him, knowing as they do that he had duped himself by putting himself in another's power. Those who stumble on the street or, by Zeus, fall into a mud-puddle or a pit are not angry at the stones or at the mud; for they would be absolutely crazy if they did, seeing that they ought to blame themselves and their heedlessness.

23 “What!” some one will say, “must we choose the existence of a wild beast and live a solitary life?” No, not that of a wild beast, but rather that of a prudent man and of one who knows how to live in safety. For far safer and better is solitude than association with mankind, if only solitude be found apart from fear and devoid of solicitude for things of common interest. Just as, in my opinion, for persons making a voyage the open sea is more to their advantage than the coast, unless one be sailing in fair weather and be well acquainted with the region; for in the open sea rarely, if ever, is a ship wrecked, but it is close to the shores and near the capes that the wreckage may be seen. 24 Therefore, when storm overtakes a ship, though every landlubber longs for the land, the skipper flees from it as far as possible.a Yet havens free from billows can be found, trusting which men may safely ride at anchor, however high the gale may rise. But with human beings, the most temperate are like our summer anchorages, which afford shelter for the moment only; for with men of that type also the individual is a reasonable person with regard to some one of life's problems, but with regard to the rest he is not. In money matters, for instance, he might never wrong you — granted, of course, that a man of that sort exists — but let a fit of rage or jealous rivalry seize him and you would perhaps not find him unshaken and trustworthy.

25 Accordingly, one should have dealings with such persons only in so far as one is compelled to do so and extremely little at that, what is more, keeping wide awake one's self and on guard, as the poet says of the Achaeans and Hector,

But he, experienced in war, with shield
Of ox-hide covered his shoulders broad and watched
The whir of arrows and the thud of darts.27

Similarly in our life we must employ prudence and understanding as a shield and, covered by it, flee and guard against men's villainy and the tricks and plots which they are wont to use.

26 But, speaking generally, it would be surprising if eating from the same table were to prove a bar to villainy, and, forsooth, drinking from the same mixing-bowl and seeing the same lamp, when, on the other hand, seeing the same sun and being nourished by the same earth does not enter into the reckoning of any rogue; why, the tavern or, by Zeus, any other house made of stones and timbers mixes human beings together and can bring them together in friendship, just as Odysseus thinks is proper:

Respect the house; we're underneath thy roof.28

Thus he thinks that the hut — a hut, too, built of wood grown on hostile soil — is worthier of respect than the men themselves. Yet the whole sky, beneath which we all have been from the beginning, is of no avail toward producing concord, neither is our partnership in the universe, a partnership in things divine and majestic, but only, on the contrary, our partnership in things which are petty and worthless.

27 Again, every man's own father — often an ineffectual old man — is a great force for righteousness to prevent those of the same family from plotting against each other; while the common father of all, of “both men and gods,” he from whom we all have our being, not a creature such as Laches or Simon,29 cannot check or prevent the unrighteousness of men! Indeed, that one could not trust mere words about friendship — for this is the only point remaining — is no doubt clear. 28 For it is absurd that, when lending money to one's neighbours, no one would lightly put faith in word alone, but instead requires witnesses and writings — and many do violence to even these — [and, on the other hand, that the mere profession of friendship should suffice].30

“What!” somebody objects, “did not the men of former times have any friends? For instance, what would you say of these demigods that are on the lips of all: Orestes and Pylades, Theseus and Peirithoüs, Achilles and Patroclus?”31 Well, if one were to admit that the popular belief about these is true, there would be three friendships that had occurred in a period of time so extensive that in it one could say that the sun had gone into an eclipse quite a number of times.

On stylistic grounds this Discourse has been assigned to the sophistic period of Dio's career. It is an encomium such as is familiar in sophistic literature, and it exhibits both the merits and the defects of that form of composition. Careful attention is paid to matters of detail connected with rhetorical effect, but one misses the note of sincere conviction to be found in many other writings of our author.

The topic chosen for eulogy is νόμος. As is well known, that word covers a wide range, meaning at one time usage sanctified by long tradition, at another divine ordinance, and at another statutory law. Dio treats all three varieties impartially, passing lightly from one to another and back again. The opening phrase, ἔστι δέ, suggests that our Discourse was preceded by an introductory composition no longer extant.

The Seventy-fifth Discourse:

On Law

The law is for life a guide, for cities an impartial overseer, and for the conduct of affairs a true and just straight-edge by which each must keep straight his own conduct; otherwise he will be crooked and corrupt. Accordingly, those who strictly observe the law have firm hold on safety; while those who transgress it destroy first of all themselves and then their fellows too, providing them with an example and pattern of lawlessness and violence. Yes, just as at sea those who do not miss the beacon are most likely to come through with their lives and to find their havens, so those who live according to the law journey through life with maximum security and reach the right destination. 2 There have been, it is true, instances in which one who has used a human being as counsellor has done so to his sorrow, but not so with the law. So much more serviceable is it for our cities than their walls that many of them still remain unwalled, but without law no city can be administered.

But the law is of advantage not only to mortals, but to the gods as well. At any rate the universe always preserves the same law inviolate, and nothing which is eternal may transgress it. It is for that reason, methinks, that the law has appropriately been called “king of men and gods”;1 for law does away with violence, puts down insolence, reproves folly, chastises wickedness, and in private and public relations helps all who are in need, succouring the victims of injustice, and to those who are perplexed about a course of action making known what is their duty. 3 Whenever, for instance, a man is confronted by a perplexing situation and is seeking to discover what is expedient for him, he need not, I believe, call in friends or kinsmen, but rather go to the laws and pose his question. For the law would not, having an eye to its own advantage, give him inferior advice, nor yet through ignorance of the better course, nor would it because of some engagement or lack of interest beg its consultants to let it be excused. For, on the contrary, it has regard for all alike, and it has leisure for the problems of all others, and for it there is no private or special interest.

4 Again, law is more serviceable than the oracular responses of the gods in that, while there have been some who did not understand the oracles, and, supposing that they were acting in harmony with them, have done the very opposite — which accounts, I imagine, for their having met with disaster — from the law there proceeds nothing which is tortuous or ambiguous, but, instead, it puts in simple phrases everything which is appropriate for those who are in need. Besides, though ruler and master of all things, it exercises its authority without the use of arms and force — on the contrary, law itself does away with force; nay, it rules by persuasion and governs willing subjects. For it is because it first persuades men and secures their approval that law comes into being and acquires its own power.

5 But so great is the power it possesses, that it is the law which assists even the gods. For example, the sacrilegious and those who violate the reverence due to the gods it punishes. Moreover, the law itself no one has the power to injure. For every one who transgresses the law harms, not the law, but himself. 6 But such is the righteousness and benevolence which pervades the law, that for the unfortunate it has proved even more helpful than their blood relatives; and for the victims of injustice it has proved more potent than their own might; and for fathers, more kindly than their sons; for sons, more kindly than parents; for brothers, than brothers. At any rate many, when wronged by their closest kin, seek refuge with the law. Then too, though it has experienced no kindness at the hands of any one, the law renders thanks in full to all for the kindnesses which they show to others, exacting thanks alike for fathers from their sons, for those who have in private done some deed of kindness from those whom they have benefited, and for those who display public spirit in municipal affairs from their city.

7 Furthermore, most beautiful are the rewards which it has established for their benefactions, having devised crowns and public proclamations and seats of honour, things which for those who supply them entail no expense, but which for those who win them have come to be worth everything. Indeed, whatever it so desires, however inexpensive it may be, the law immediately renders important and precious. It is the law which has made the wild olive so important, worth so much devoted effort, 8 just as also with the parsley, the pine, and the olive crown;2 it is the law which has made the three words with which each good man is publicly acclaimed3 more precious to many than life itself. It is the law which convenes the national festive gatherings, which honours the gods, which exalts virtue; it is the law which purges the sea,4 makes civilized the land, is the veritable son of Zeus, the possessor of invincible, insuperable might5 for it is so far superior to all else in temperance and trustworthiness that not only partnership with women but also the bloom of maidens and the prime of lads we all have entrusted to the law. Besides, though Justice is a virgin, such is his continence that Law dwells with her without a chaperon.

9 Law is a protector of old age, a schoolmaster of youth, of poverty a fellow labourer, a guard of wealth, to peace an ally, to war a foe. Nay, even in war itself law has the greater might. For instance, the herald who is dispatched from one's bitterest foes the law protects and guards, giving him as a weapon more mighty than any corselet or any shield the herald's staff — in fact, this is a symbol of the law. Because of the law the slain are deemed no longer to be foes, nor are hatred and insult wreaked upon their bodies.

10 Again, so much more useful is the law to our cities than rudders are to our ships that, whereas a ship which has lost its rudders6 would not perish unless a storm should overtake it, a city cannot be saved if the law has been destroyed, not even when no dire disaster befalls it from without. But just as each of us is governed and safeguarded by the intelligence which is in him, while its destruction entails madness and insanity, similarly, if one expels the law from his life, just as if he had lost his mind, I believe he will be brought into a state of utter madness and confusion.

This is another sophistic exercise. Comparison with the preceding Discourse will show with what ease the sophist could shift his ground. In Or. 75 law is eulogized as a beneficent influence in human affairs; here custom has taken its place. Contradictions between the two documents abound, but perhaps none more striking than the two statements that follow: “from the law there proceeds nothing which is tortuous or ambiguous, but, instead, it puts in simple phrases everything which is appropriate for those who are in need” (Or. 75.4) and “some laws have not been clearly written, and they are often warped and twisted by the eloquence of the orators; but our customs are never ambiguous or crooked, and oratory could not get the upper hand with them” (Or. 76.4).

The Seventy-sixth Discourse:

On Custom

Custom is a judgement common to those who use it, an unwritten law of tribe or city, a voluntary principle of justice, acceptable to all alike with reference of that same matters, an invention made, not by any human being, but rather by life and time. Therefore, while of the laws in general each obtains its power through having been approved one and for all, custom is constantly being subjected to scrutiny. Moreover, while no law will readily be chosen by everybody — for it is by the opinions of the majority that it is ratified — yet a custom could not come into being if not accepted by all. Again, while law by threats and violence maintains its mastery, it is only when we are persuaded by our customs that we deem them excellent and advantageous.

2 Therefore it seems to me that we might liken the written law to the power of tyranny, for it is by means of fear and through injunction that each measure is made effective; but custom might rather be likened to the benevolence of kingship, for of their own volition all men follow custom, and without constraint. Again, we know of many laws which have been repealed by those who made them, because they judged them to be bad; but no one could readily point to a custom which had been dissolved. Nay, it is altogether easier to do away with any written ordinance you please than to do away with any custom. 3 For written ordinances, once the writing is erased, are done for in a single day; but a city's usage it is impossible to destroy in a very long period of time. Besides, while laws are preserved on tablets of wood or of stone, each custom is preserved within our own hearts. And this sort of preservation is surer and better. Furthermore, the written law is harsh and stern, whereas nothing is more pleasant than custom. Then too, our laws we learn from others, but our customs we all know perfectly.

4 Again, some laws have not been clearly written, and they are often warped and twisted by the eloquence of the orators; but our customs are never ambiguous or crooked, and oratory could not get the upper hand with them. Also the laws must be kept constantly in mind if we are to abide by them; whereas a custom men cannot forget, even if they would; for such is its nature that it is constantly reminding them.

And, speaking generally, while one might say that the laws create a polity of slaves, our customs, on the contrary, create a polity of free men. For the laws inflict punishment upon men's bodies; but when a custom is violated, the consequent penalty has always been disgrace. Therefore the one is a law for bad persons, the other for good persons. Indeed, if all men were good, evidently we should have no need of the written laws. Furthermore, although our kings are above the laws and do many things in violation of them, even they follow the customs.

5 Again, of the written laws, not one is in force in time of war, but the customs are observed by all, even if men proceed to the extremity of hatred. For example, the provision that no one shall prevent the burial of the dead has nowhere been put in writing, for how could the victors obey the injunctions of the vanquished? Nay, it is custom which brings it to pass that the departed are granted that act of humanity. It is the same with the provision that no one shall lay hands on heralds, and that they alone enjoy complete security on their missions. Finally, from among those who transgress law, I believe that not one could be shown to have been punished openly by the gods; yet the Spartans, when they had transgressed the custom regarding heralds, having slain the heralds who came from the Great King, were punished by the divine power itself.1

In enumerating the eighty items which he found in his copy of Dio, Photius lists next in order after Or. 76 two speeches entitled περὶ φθόνου. Some support is given Photius in that connexion by our manuscripts, for UB place at the beginning of the document before us the heading περὶ φθόνου α, and, to introduce § 15, a second heading, περὶ φθόνου β, while PH have preserved for us only §§ 1 14. These facts account for the double number attached to the present Discourse in editions of our author. How it came to be viewed as two separate documents is difficult to understand, for both parts deal with the same theme, the second part follows naturally upon the first, and there is no perceptible break between them. To be sure, dialogue predominates in the first part, while in the second there is almost unbroken exposition, but that is a phenomenon noticed in other specimens of Dio's teaching.

Arnim assigns this Discourse to the period of Dio's exile and regards it as a trustworthy and significant illustration of the way in which at that period he sometimes imparted instruction. The dialogue begins abruptly, the opening words revealing that the discussion is already under way. Almost immediately Dio's partner calls attention to the presence of a large company of listeners, who might find a detailed discussion irksome. Dio counters by asking if they have not assembled for the express purpose of listening to “wise words and about wise words,” and he proceeds to test the sincerity of their interest by continuing the argument. But by the time we reach § 9 we find that — possibly because he has taken to heart the warning about his audience — he begins to abandon dialectic and to launch forth into rather continuous exposition. One is reminded of the Borysthenitic Discourse (Or. 36), in which we are told that a large crowd has assembled to hear their visitor, and Dio, after a preliminary skirmish with the young Callistratus, directs his further remarks to his audience at large. The setting of our present Discourse cannot be determined with precision, but that it was delivered in some large city may be inferred from § 8. Furthermore, the size of the audience and the reference (§ 15) to a discussion which had taken place the day preceding suggest that Dio had been in residence long enough to have attracted some attention.

The Seventy-seventh/eighth Discourse:

On Envy

Dio. Is it really for these and similar reasons that Hesiod came to be regarded as a wise man among the Greeks and by no means unworthy of that reputation, as being one who composed and chanted his poems, not by human art, but because he had held converse with the Muses and had become a pupil of those very beings?1 Whence it inevitably follows that whatever entered his mind he also expressed with both music and wisdom and in no instance without a purpose, as is clearly illustrated by the verse I have in mind.

Interlocutor. What verse?

Dio.

Both potter at potter doth rage and joiner at joiner.2

2 Int. Many other verses of Hesiod's will be seen to have been well expressed about both men and gods, and, I may almost add, about more important matters than the sort just mentioned; yet here too, no doubt, he has expressed himself very truthfully as well as with experience of human nature.

Dio. Shall we, then, consider them more carefully?

Int. Why, how will so large a gathering bear with us if we discuss such matters?

Dio. Why not; have they not come to hear wise words and about wise words?

Int. They would say so, it seems to me.

Dio. But they do not regard Hesiod as commonplace and of small account, do they?

Int. By no means.

Dio. Well, is it not useful for them to hear about envy and jealousy, and who those are who are envious and jealous of one another, and for what reasons?

Int. Of course, most useful of all.

3 Dio. Then it is useful also to test the patience of the gentlemen without delay. Well now, does Hesiod have any other reason for saying that these men of his are envious and ill-disposed toward one another than because each would make less profit from his occupation, whatever that occupation may be, if there were many of a similar occupation?

Int. Why, what other reason could it be?

Dio. Then, if it is profitable for a potter that there should be no other potter in the same city or village, is this not profitable for a butcher, to the end that he may have the opportunity to sell whatever kind of meat he has to those who need it, even if by chance he has bought a very lean or oldish carcass?

Int. Evidently it is profitable for a butcher too.

4 Dio. Well then, is it not preferable for a dyer to ply his trade as a dyer all by himself rather than in competition with other craftsmen, so that he may be able to sell his dyes, of whatever quality they may be, to the women? For they will then be satisfied to buy dyes even slightly better than the kind than they are themselves accustomed to use for dyeing on their farms, dyes picked up at random, and they will not demand fast colours and royal purples.

Int. Of course they will not.

Dio. Well, how about a brothel-keeper? Is it not more profitable and better with a view to his earnings that he alone should have this reproach and alone be called vile names rather than in company with others, alike whether supporting and training that kind of cattle in the city or taking to the road and dragging his stock about to the congress at Thermopylae3 and to the other great festive gatherings as well?

Int. Indeed I am quite sure that the brothel-keeper would pray that fellow artists might be very scarce.

5 Dio. Then, was it about all, that is, all who are engaged in the same line of business, that he was making an assumption so sweeping, believing that all are detrimental to one another and a hindrance in the gaining of their living?

Int. Yes, he meant all, most likely.

Dio. Aye, it was not like him, I suppose, to take them up one by one. For certainly in other matters it is his custom to treat of the whole topic by means of one or two examples. For instance, when he says that a man would not even lose an ox except for the depravity of his neighbour,4 he surely does not mean that, while a bad neighbor would destroy an ox or condone the crime in others, he would not steal a sheep, provided he could escape detection, or one of the fine goats which yield abundant milk and bear twins; nay, manifestly he speaks to those who read his poems as to intelligent persons. 6 Are we, then, putting it concisely, to say that the poet, speaking thus briefly, refers to all who belong to the same craft as not loving one another and not benefiting one another?

Int. Most assuredly.

Dio. Well now, in Heaven's name, is seafaring a craft, or would it receive that label in any degree less than the craft of the potter or of the butcher?

Int. Not less, I suppose.

Dio. Then in a large ship with many sails and a large cargo and a crowd of passengers would a single sailor be successful, and would it be to his advantage to have no other sailor on board, be his knowledge of nautical affairs either greater or less than his own; and, on the other hand, if there are many of them, will they be detrimental to one another and harmful, and on that account on a ship do the majority of the sailors hate each other?

7 Int. This matter of the sailors is a different story. Yet at any rate a pilot, I fancy, would not enjoy seeing another pilot sailing with him.

Dio. When there is a violent storm and the pilot cannot control each of his two rudders because of old age or the violence of the sea, even at such a time does he not like another pilot or pray that the one to relieve him may make his appearance; or, again, when he needs to sleep, having been without sleep for many nights and days opening, even in such circumstances too does he feel the same hatred, and does he consider it his loss if a second pilot is on board?

Int. Perhaps he would not hate him then; how could he? Still, we are not speaking of a sailor's craft or of nautical affairs either.

8 Dio. Very well. The physician, at any rate, practises his healing art on land and has a profession not inferior to that of the joiners.

Int. Well, what of that?

Dio. Do you really suppose he would like to be the only one acquainted with his art in a city as large as this, particularly if many are ill?

Int. What is to prevent his wishing to be the only one? For though for everybody else the situation may be worse, since they cannot all be treated by a single physician, still his work is prized more highly under these conditions. Nor can one tell the amount and the number of the fees he might take in if he, single-handed in the midst of so many sick, were able to provide treatment.

Dio. But I am not speaking to you of a physician who is crazy.

9 Int. What! Do you consider it the mark of insanity in a man to wish to be very highly prized and to amass great wealth?

Dio. Yes, if when he himself is a victim of lethargic fever or has an attack of inflammation of the brain he is delighted that he has no one to cure him and give him a potion of mandragora5 to drink or some other healthful drug, his purpose being, forsooth, to be the only one to get the fees and honours in the city. But if, then, besides himself, his children also and his wife and his friends should be ill, all dangerously ill, would he even then pray that no other physician be found to come to his rescue; and if one does make his appearance, is the physician likely, as Hesiod puts it, to rage and to regard as an enemy his own saviour and the saviour of those dearest to him?

10 Again, suppose there should occur some such thing as once befell the Egyptian physicians. You see, they tried to cure Darius the Persian — for in falling from his horse his ankle bone happened to slip out of place — and they were unable by means of their own art to correct the injury, but, instead, they brought upon him insomnia and awful pains by pulling the joint and trying to force it into place. So Darius gave orders to keep these men in prison, intending that they should be tortured to death. But learning that among his captives there was a certain Greek who endeavoured to heal people, summoning him in desperation he ordered him to help him if he could. 11 Now the man was Democedes of Croton, who was considered the ablest of the Greek physicians of that day. And he did immediately cause him to fall asleep, and then by means of poultices and fomentations and so forth within a few days he made him sound and well. But when Darius bade him take as reward anything he pleased, he besought him to release the physicians. And, indeed, they were released, because Democedes had requested it.6 Now I ask you whether in such circumstances they were jealous of Democedes and regarded him as an enemy, as Hesiod says is true with the potters or the joiners, because they believed it to be to their advantage if no other physician turned up and cured the king, or whether they felt a strong affection for Democedes and were grateful to him.

Int. It would be reasonable to suppose they were grateful.

12 Dio. Again, there are corselet-makers in the cities and helmet-makers and wall-builders and spear-polishers and many others; whether, therefore, it is to their advantage that only one in each city should be a worker at each craft rather than enough to do the work is a matter I would gladly learn. For it is clear that, if enemies attack at a time when the walls have not been completed and not all the citizens have been equipped with arms, then they would be forced to hazard all without arms and walls. 13 Therefore, if the city were taken, though possibly these craftsmen might escape with their lives, still, taken captive and in chains, they would work for the foe without pay and at forced labour, all because previously they had lived pampered lives and sold their corselets and helmets and spears at an excessive price, and they would recognize that it was not right nor for their own good for a craftsman to be jealous or angry because of his craft, whether it was blacksmith against blacksmith or joiner against joiner, and that it was not more profitable or better for him to be the only worker at his craft than to have a few fellow workers.

14 Well then, for the others, I dare say, what Hesiod says they desire is not always preferable, but only for the potters and butchers and dyers and brothel-keepers. Then jealousy and envy and the desire that no one else shall ply the same trade, whether it be that of the butcher or the dyer or the potter, are even still more suitable for the brothel-keepers than for physicians and pilots or for those who are engaged in any other more serious pursuit.

Very good. But if for pilots and physicians and those just mentioned it is not better to live where there is a shortage of their fellow craftsmen, can it be that for men of prudence and wisdom it is better and more profitable to find themselves without associates?

Int. By no means.

15 Dio. Yes, because with the man of intelligence and benevolence, in addition to his being magnanimous and inoffensive, in addition to his knowing that virtue is beneficial to him, both his own virtue and that of his neighbours, and in addition to the unlikelihood that any one, even of the commoner sort, would ever be jealous one toward another regarding these things which are the common blessings of all mankind — in addition, I say to all this, of the other things which are the occasion of envy and reciprocal ill-will among the masses, not only does he not admire a single one, but he does not consider any to deserve serious regard, just as yesterday we were saying with reference to wealth. 16 Consequently, neither would he envy any one gold or silver or cattle or house or any other thing such as we were speaking of — as another poet says, not expressing his own private sentiment but expounding the opinion of mankind,

The things whereby men live at ease and gain

The epithet of affluent,7

his idea being that they merely are called affluent, but are not truly so.

17 Very well; then we are agreed, the high-minded, perfect man is above material wealth; but in the matter of reputation would he perhaps quarrel with and envy those whom he sees more highly honoured by the crowd and winning greater plaudits? or shall we say that he is not unaware that fame is the praise bestowed by the masses; but if the masses, evidently the unintelligent?

Int. By no means is it likely that he is ignorant of that.

18 Dio. Well then, do you believe that a good flautist takes pleasure in his skill and is proud when praised by unmusical and unskilled persons, and that, if youthful swineherds and shepherds crowding around him express their admiration and applaud him, he is elated over this thing itself and feels that praise from those persons is worth everything? Why, the Theban flautist made it plain that he did not pay very much attention either to the audience in the theatre or to the judges, inexperienced in flute-playing as they were — and that, too, although he was contending for a prize and victory — but for all that, he did not venture to depart even slightly from the proper rhythm, but he said that he was piping for himself and the Muses. What then! 19 Do you suppose that Orpheus, the son of the Muse — if the tale about him is true — would rejoice more when the birds flew down to him as he sang and the wild beasts were entranced by his voice and stood by tamely and quietly every time he began to make melody, and when, moreover, the trees came toward him with their fruit and flowers, and when the stones moved and came together, so that great cairns of stones were collected near him — do you suppose, I say, that at the sight of these doings he was delighted and proud, believing that he had reached the pinnacle of musical success, more than if his mother Calliopê had praised his playing the cithara and had stroked his head and said that he was fairly competent in music and very skilful in the fine points of his art? 20 I fancy he would rather be praised by Philammon8 for musical skill or by any one then living who was acquainted with the art of singing to the cithara, than by absolutely all the beasts and birds together; nay, even if the swans had uttered cries of praise and had accompanied him with their notes, he would not have given them a moment's notice, because they did not possess skill, or even knowledge, about the art of making melody.

Very good; what then? In the matter of health would the man of sound judgement desire to win the testimony and commendation of a single individual who is a skilled physician and conversant with care of the body, or, instead, that of countless thousands who have no understanding, who, as likely as not, on seeing him bloated with disease and swollen and ulcerous, would congratulate him as they would Pulydamas the Thessalian and Glaucus the Carystian,9 supposing him to be in prime condition? 21 Well, if as regards flute-playing and singing to the cithara and pre-eminence as a wrestler or a boxer the praise of experts above all others is sweetest to the ears of connoisseurs and worth the most serious attention, as regards wisdom and justice and virtue as a whole is the praise of fools and nobodies sufficient to cheer the heart of the man of sense and to satisfy his intelligence?

Int. By no means.

22 Dio. Again, do you think that he who is acquainted with the joiner's art, when he wants a piece of furniture to be made true and straight, after he has fitted his work together by applying one straight-edge and one gauge is happier and more confident of the accuracy of his work than if he had done the adjusting and the measuring with several different and uneven strips of wood?

By Heaven, have you heard about the doings of an accomplished painter who had exhibited in public a painting of a horse, a wonderful work of art and true to life? 23 They say, you remember, that he ordered his servant to observe those who looked at it, to see if they found fault with it or praised it, and to remember what they said and report back to him. The story goes on to relate that every man of them had something different to say about the painting and criticized it, one, I imagine, finding fault with the head, another with the haunches, another with the legs, to the effect that, if these parts had been done so and so, the work would be much better. And when the painter heard what his servant had to report, he made another painting, which conformed with the judgement and conception of the crowd, and he gave orders to place it beside the earlier one. Now the difference between the two was great; for the one was quite true to life, while the other was extremely ugly and ludicrous and resembled anything at all rather than a horse.

24 Clearly, therefore, if a person is going to be exceedingly anxious to win the praise of the crowd as well, believing that its praise or censure has more weight than his own judgement, his every act and wish will be aimed to show himself the sort of person that the crowd expects. And manifestly he will presently be very like, not that first horse, which was executed with sincerity and in harmony with one man's conception of his art, but like that amazing product of multiple workmanship, not pleasing even to those men themselves, its creators, having been put together by the conception and workmanship of all the world!

25 Just so the myth says of Pandora, that she was fashioned, not by a single one among the gods, but jointly by them all, one contributing one gift and adding it to the whole, another another, the form thus fashioned proving to be by no means wise or destined for a good end either, but, as it turned out, a heterogeneous and complicated plague to those who got her.10 But when a multitude of gods, yes, a democratic rabble, jointly creating and labouring at their task, proved unable by all their labour to turn out an excellent and faultless work, what would one say of that which is fashioned and created by human opinion, be it a way of life or a man? Evidently, then, if one is by nature really prudent, he would pay no heed at all to the talk of the masses, nor would he court their praise by any and every means, and consequently he will never regard this praise as important or valuable or, if I may say so, good. But not regarding it as a good, he will be incapable of viewing with malice on that account those who have it.

26 Accordingly, so high-minded, sane, and chastened a man as the one we have in mind is not the sort that chases after riches and praise and Olympic or Pythian crowns, nor after letters carved on tablets of stone and written testimonials of communities and kings, with a view to being universally admired and conspicuous; instead, he journeys through life without ostentation and free from arrogance, so far as possible, humble and chastened by himself and by his own conscience, having no need of any extraneous adornment or adventitious honour, nor of trappings and plumes, like your cowardly hireling soldiers, who affect plumes and crests and Gorgons on their shields, who rattle their little lances and then take to their heels if some trifling danger overtakes them.

27 Persons of this description are to be seen in large numbers among the would be great — condottieri of a sort, popular leaders, and sophists, in theatres or before their pupils or among the tents inside a camp, uttering loud boasts on occasions when they chance to be tipsy at mid day,11

That each will be a match for one, yes, two

Full companies of Trojan men;12

yet these same persons, if a single human being runs at them and offers to give chase, will be seen to flee in utter rout, the pack of them not showing themselves a match for that lone man.

28 Nay more; as for certain pleasures of food or drink or fornication, or as for a woman's beauty or the bloom of a boy, he would not, through having become infatuated with these things and lusting after them and counting them important, deem fortunate those who get them — satraps and princes and, forsooth, vulgarians and flunkies who have become wealthy, the former by the practice of their craft, the latter by filching their masters's property — nor would he pity himself for his poverty and for his lack of these good things and look upon himself as not one of the fortunate class; nor would he on this account envy the persons whom I have named, plot against them in every way, and pray for their ruin.

29 Or shall we go so far as to acknowledge that our noble, or magnanimous man is in no better ease than dogs and horses and the other beasts, which cannot contain themselves when the other beasts are stuffing their bellies or copulating, but are resentful and indignant and enraged against those which are enjoying themselves, and are ready to pounce upon and bite and butt and to wage all manner of warfare against each other for the enjoyment of these pleasures; shall we say that any of these pleasures is of real importance, and that he regards Sardanapalus as one to be envied, who declared that he spent his life in feasting and in playing the wanton with eunuchs and women,13 and shall we say that on this account he envies the happiness of goats and asses?

30 Int. Why, it would perhaps be even impious ever to entertain such thoughts concerning the temperate man of cultivation.

Dio. Well then, if neither fame nor wealth nor pleasures of eating or drinking or copulation lead him to regard himself or any one else as fortunate or to suppose that any such thing at all is worth fighting over or valuable, he would not wrangle over them or begrudge any one those things any more than he would begrudge those who dwell near the sea either the sand upon the beaches or the roar and reverberation of the waves; 31 nay, not even if gold of its own accord were to fall from the sky and fill the fold of his garment, just as they say that once upon a time, when Danaë was being closely guarded in a bronze chamber, gold suddenly rained down upon her from above, drawn by her beauty;14 nay, not even if a torrent were to come from somewhere, sweeping down to him a flood of gold in a mass like mud, as, I believe, it is said that to Croesus in days of old the Pactolus, making its way through the midst of Sardis, brought ready wealth, a larger revenue and tribute than all Phrygia and Lydia, yes, and the Maeonians and Mysians and all who occupy the land this side the Halys River, brought him.15

32 Nay, not even the man who received from Croesus that famous gift did either Solon or any other of the wise men of that day envy, Alcmaeon, whom they say the Lydian allowed to open his treasuries and carry off on his own person as much of the gold as he wished.16 And yet, so the story runs, he entered in and set to work right manfully to load himself with the king's bounty, girding about him a long, trailing tunic and filling its womanish, deep fold and the huge, capacious boots which he had put on for that express purpose and finally, after sprinkling the gold dust in his hair and beard and stuffing with it his cheeks and mouth, with difficulty he came walking out, the very image of a piper piping the birth-pangs of Semelê,17 thereby presenting a ludicrous spectacle for Croesus and his Lydians. 33 Moreover, at that moment Alcmaeon was not worth a single drachma, standing there in that condition.

So, as I was saying, our man of prudence would not be moved to envy, either by these things or if he were to see a man admired and extolled by ten or twenty thousand human beings, or, if you please, applauded and bedecked with ribbons, arching his neck and prancing like a horse exulting in a victory, escorted by more people than the crowds which escort a bride and groom; on the contrary, he might himself be more inglorious than the beggars, more destitute than the wretches who lie prostrate in the streets, held worthy of no consideration at all by anybody — just as they say was true of the Megarians once on a time18 — because of his inability to court favour or to be agreeable in converse, being austere by nature and a friend of truth, making no secret of his thoughts; still, not even so will he behave like the potters and joiners and bards,19 nor will he ever be warped through want or dishonour or change his own character, becoming a toady and cheat instead of noble and truthful.

34 And yet why on earth do some of the prosperous wish to be courted by persons who claim to be free men, and why do they wish the so called philosophers to be seen at their doors, humble and unhonoured, just as, so help me, Circê wished her dwelling to be guarded by lions that were timid and cringing?20 Nay, it was not even real lions that guarded her, but wretched, foolish human beings, who had been corrupted by luxury and idleness.21 35 Therefore, whenever any one beholds one of the so called philosophers fawning about the courtyards and vestibules and grovelling, it is fitting to recall those lions of Circê's, which resembled hungry, cowardly curs, howling most shrilly, since they had been perverted by sorcery.22

Nay, to such a desire as I have mentioned I know not what name to give. For there are thousands who willingly, yes, very eagerly, cultivate the rich and influential, and all the world is full of flatterers, who ply that calling with both experience and skill. 36 Therefore it is not for lack of this line of goods that men seek to obtain it from persons of good breeding; rather this is like another enterprise of the very dissolute, who, although there are women in abundance, through wantonness and lawlessness wish to have females produced for them from males, and so they take boys and emasculate them. And thus a far worse and more unfortunate breed is created, weaker than the female and more effeminate.

37 But he who in very truth is manly and high-minded would never submit to any such things, nor would he sacrifice his own liberty and his freedom of speech for the sake of any dishonourable payment of either power or riches, nor would he envy those who change their form and apparel for such rewards; on the contrary, he would think such persons to be comparable to those who change from human beings into snakes or other animals, not envying them, nor yet carping at them because of their wantonness, but rather bewailing and pitying them when they, like the boys, with an eye to gifts have their hair cut off, and grey hair at that!23 38 But as for himself, the man of whom I speak will strive to preserve his individuality in seemly fashion and with steadfastness, never deserting his post of duty, but always honouring and promoting virtue and sobriety and trying to lead all men thereto, partly by persuading and exhorting, partly by abusing and reproaching, in the hope that he may thereby rescue somebody from folly and from low desires and intemperance and soft living, taking them aside privately one by one and also admonishing them in groups every time he finds the opportunity,

With gentle words at time, at others harsh,24

39 until, methinks, he shall have spent his life in caring for human beings, not cattle or horses or camels and houses, sound in words and sound in deeds, a safe travelling companion for any one to have on land or sea and a good omen for men to behold when offering sacrifice, not arousing strife or greed or contentions and jealousies and base desires for gain, but reminding men of sobriety and righteousness and promoting concord, but as for insatiate greed and shamelessness and moral weakness, expelling them as best he can — in short, a person far more sacred than the bearers of a truce or the heralds who in times of war come bringing an armistice.

40 Therefore he wishes, yes, is eager, in so far as he can, to aid all men; though sometimes he is defeated by other men and other practices and has little or no power at all. Finally, he purges his own mind by the aid of reason and tries to render it exempt from slavery, fighting in defence of freedom a much more stubborn battle against lusts and opinions and all mankind, aided by the few who wish to help him, than once the Spartans fought when, having seized the pass, they gave battle to all the hordes from Asia, few though those Spartans were, for three nights and days in succession until, having been enveloped through one man's treachery, they stood their ground and were hacked to pieces.25 41 Moreover, he trains his body, inuring it to labour with all his might, not allowing it to become enervated by baths and ointments and perfumes until it becomes too soft and as unsound as a bad vessel. But some who see him say that he follows these practices out of foolishness and stupidity, having neglected the opportunity to be rich, to be honoured, and to life a life of continual pleasure, and they scorn him, think him insane, and esteem him lightly. 42 Yet he is not enraged at them or vexed; on the contrary, I believe he is kinder to each one than even a father or brothers or friends. And in fact, though he shows respect for his own fellow citizens and friends and kinsmen, still he does not hide his thoughts from them — all the more so because he believes them to be closer to him than all others through home ties and relationship — stressing his words as much as possible and increasing the vehemence of his admonition and exhortation for himself and them alike.

43 Take, for example, the physician; if he should find it necessary to treat father or mother or his children when they are ill, or even himself through scarcity or lack of other physicians, in case he should need to employ surgery or cautery, he would not, because he loves his children and respects his father and his mother, for that reason cut with a duller knife or cauterize with milder fire, but, on the contrary, he would use the most potent and vigorous treatment possible. 44 For example, they say of Heracles, that when he was unable to heal his body, which had become the victim of a dread malady,26 he called his sons first of all and ordered them to set fire to him with the most brilliant flame; but when they were reluctant and shrank from the ordeal, he abused them as weaklings and unworthy of him and more like their mother, saying, in the words of the poet,

Whither away, ye cravens and disgrace
To my engendering, ye likenesses
Of her, your mother, whom Aetolia bore?27

45 Therefore toward oneself first of all, and all toward one's nearest and dearest, one must behave with fullest frankness and independence, showing no reluctance or yielding in one's words. For far worse than a corrupt and diseased body is a soul which is corrupt, not, I swear, because of salves or potions or some consuming poison, but rather because of ignorance and depravity and insolence, yes, and jealousy and grief and unnumbered desires. This disease and ailment is more grievous than that of Heracles and requires a far greater and more flaming cautery; and to this healing and release one must summon without demur father or son, kinsman or outsider, citizen or alien.

The title of this Discourse as preserved in Parisinus 2985 is περὶ πλούτου τῶν ἐν Κιλικίᾳ, but the other manuscripts give merely περὶ πλούτου. What is the explanation of the additional phrase contained in the Paris manuscript? Cilicia is not named in the document before us, and a careful scrutiny of the speech fails to reveal any clear clue to the place of its delivery. One may reasonably infer from the choice of subject that Dio was addressing an audience in some wealthy city. His opening sentence might suggest Rome as the setting, but, were that the case, one may question whether he would have identified himself with his hearers as he does in § 5. The logical conclusion would seem to be that the scribe of the Paris manuscript has preserved for us a genuine tradition, based upon some memorandum left by the author, or else, possibly, upon the circumstances attending the discovery of the speech by his editor.

Assuming the accuracy of the title referred to, one would naturally think of Tarsus as the city in which Dio was speaking, for two of the speeches in our collection were certainly delivered in that city (33 and 34), and Dio calls Tarsus “the greatest of all the cities of Cilicia and a metropolis from the outset” (Or. 34.7).

The argument of our Discourse is, in brief, that wealth confers upon its owners no desirable distinction, possesses no real utility, is transitory in nature, and leads to vulgar extravagance, in the course of which Celts, Indians, Iberians, Arabs, and Babylonians “take tribute” from the stupid and self-indulgent persons who covet their exotic products. That for which a city really merits commendation and congratulation is the excellence of its laws, the probity of its citizens, and the moderation of its rulers.

The Seventy-ninth Discourse:

On Wealth

Come now, in Heaven's name do tell me: on what account above all is it fitting to admire, yes, to feel proud of and to congratulate, a city which is the greatest and most powerful of all? Is it for excellence of laws, for probity of citizens, and for moderation of its rulers; or are these things trifles and worthless and easy to come by for ordinary people, and is it rather for multitude of inhabitants, lavishness of market-place, and sumptuousness of its edifices that one should congratulate it, for its Syrian and Babylonian fabrics, and because its citizens roof their houses with gold and the whole place teems with silver and amber and ivory, like the palaces of Alcinoüs and Menelaüs which Homer has described1 — overstepping the reality and the possibility too, one may venture to suggest — the city, I mean, having been equipped throughout in that fashion? Would it be, in Heaven's name, for its paintings and its statues, none of which had been of any service to their former owners; on the contrary, those from whom these things were obtained would be found to be slaves, of low estate, and poor?

2 For example, if there were any utility in bronze well blended and in mixing-bowls and altars and censers of cunning workmanship, the Corinthians' city would have been prosperous and have long maintained its existence as a state, safeguarding its own settlers and citizens.2 And again, if there were utility in beautifully coloured and variegated marbles, the same statement could be made about the cities of Teos and Carystus,3 as well as about certain Egyptian and Phrygian cities in whose vicinity the mountains are of variegated stone — in fact, I hear that among their sarcophagi the very ancient ones are of this same rock — yet, for all that, they are no better or more fortunate than any of the very lowly and pitiful cities.

3 Furthermore, if it were advantageous to possess gold, there was nothing to prevent the Ethiopians of the interior from being deemed most fortunate, for in their land gold is less highly prized than lead is with us, and it is said that in that region the criminals have been bound with heavy fetters of gold,4 yet they are none the less prisoners and depraved and evildoers. But to congratulate the wealthy and men of great riches, when in all other respects they are no better than very ordinary folk, is as if, on seeing the prisoners of Ethiopia emerge from their prison, one were to envy them and judge the most fortunate of all to be the one with the heaviest fetters.

4 Again, if ivory is a marvellous possession and worth fighting for, the Indians are of all men most blest and pre-eminent by far, for in their land the bones of the elephants are tossed aside and no one troubles to go near them, just as in our land the bones of cattle and of asses are treated; they even say that in many places the skulls of the elephants, tusks and all, are built into their house walls. But what should we say of the Celts, in whose country, according to report, a certain river carries the amber down with its waters and the amber is found in abundance everywhere by the river banks, cast ashore like the pebbles on the beaches in our country?5 Indeed, in days gone by their children at play used to toss it about, though now they too collect and treasure it, having learned from us how fortunate they are.

5 Are you aware that all these peoples — the Celts, Indians, Iberians, Arabs,6 and Babylonians — exact tribute from us, not from our land or from our flocks and herds, but from our own folly? For if, when by force of arms any people get the upper hand and compel the vanquished to pay them silver, this is called tribute, and it is a sign that people are not very fortunate or brave if they pay tribute to others, then is it not true that if, though no one has attacked or compelled them, but because of stupidity and self-indulgence, a certain people take that which they prize most highly, silver, and of their own volition send it over a long road and across a vast expanse of sea to those who cannot easily even set foot upon our soil, such conduct is altogether more cowardly and disgraceful? 6 Except for one thing, that to offer tiny, fragile pebbles7 and, forsooth, bones of wild beasts when they take our silver and gold, exchanging useless things for useful! But I am often most astonished when I reflect that the Medes were well content, yes, delighted at having got the Syrian8 riches, and the Persians in turn at having got that of the Medes, and the Macedonians that of the Persians, and that they thought they had at last become Fortune's darlings and were more prosperous at the moment when they had in their possession what once had belonged to those wretched and unfortunate peoples.

But these words I have spoken, not in a spirit of idle folly, but because such goods, on the possession of which they have set their hearts and for which most men admire those who have acquired them, are good for nothing, nay, are not worth a single drachma when lumped together; nor can human beings ever become fortunate if ignorant and empty-headed, not even if they make the park at Susa their dwelling-place, a park which was, we are told, wholly up in the air.9

Conditions surrounding the Greek title of this Discourse are the opposite of those noted in connexion with that of the one preceding, for in the present instance all manuscripts except Parisinus 2985 add the phrase τῶν ἐν Κιλικίᾳ. What was said in the Introduction to Or. 79 regarding the problem presented by that phrase is equally appropriate here, for once more we get no clue to the place of delivery.

The freedom which the speaker has chosen as his theme is the freedom which characterizes himself, the philosopher — freedom to come and go as suits his fancy, freedom from the anxieties and inconveniencies that harass mankind at large, freedom from the temptations which assail seekers after riches or fame or self-indulgence. Such freedom belongs to him who leads the simple life, obedient to the ordinances of Zeus rather than to those of some imperfect, earthly law-giver. This creed is abundantly fortified with illustrations drawn from Greek myth and history.

The Eightieth Discourse:

On Freedom

You perhaps are surprised and consider it past all belief and a mark of one who is by no means of sound judgement if a person abandons all that most men view with serious regard and, as one might say, permits riches and fame and pleasures to drift downstream but goes about as neither farmer nor trader nor soldier nor general, nor as shoemaker or builder or physician or orator, nor as one engaged in any other customary occupation, but, on the other hand, comes and goes in this strange fashion and puts in an appearance in places where he has no business at all but rather where chance and impulse may lead him. 2 Council chambers and theatres and assemblies he has held in light esteem, and yet he conducts a popular assembly all by himself; the spectacles which attract his gaze are not dancers or singers or boxers or wrestlers, but buyers and strollers and talkers and fighters; sometimes all these receive his very strict attention, and he derives from them much more enjoyment than do boys at athletic contests and theatrical performances, although he does not come ahead of time or keep awake all night to get a seat or get crushed by the crowd; at other times on the contrary, he neither hears nor sees any single one of them, but ignores their existence, thinking of anything that suits his fancy and acting without fear.

3 As for myself, however, I regard it as a splendid and blessed state of being, if in the midst of slaves one can be a free man and in the midst of subjects be independent. To attain this state many wars were waged by the Lydians against the Phrygians and by the Phrygians against the Lydians,1 and many, too, by both Ionians and Dorians and, in fact, by all peoples, yet no one has ever, because he was enamoured of independence in the spiritual sense, undertaken to use his own personal laws; instead they all wrangle over the laws of Solon and Draco and Numa and Zaleucus,2 bent on following the one code but not the other, though, on the other hand, not even one of these law-givers had framed the sort of laws he should. Why, Solon himself, according to report, declared that he was proposing for the Athenians, not what satisfied himself, but rather what he assumed they would accept.3

4 Evidently, therefore, he composed bad laws, if indeed he composed the laws which would satisfy bad men; but, for all that, even Solon himself used these laws, bad as they were and not satisfactory to himself. Clearly, then, not one of these law-givers had any claim to independence, nor did they exert themselves or wage war for the purpose of being free; on the contrary, after they had gathered within the compass of their city walls slavery without bound or limit, thereupon with ramparts and towers and missiles they tried to protect themselves against the chance that slavery might make its entry among them from without, just as if, when a ship's seams have opened up and the hold is already taking water, one were to take measures of prevention and be concerned lest perchance the sea might sweep over from above. Accordingly, just as it is said that the Trojans for Helen's sake endured siege and death, although she was not at Troy but in Egypt,4 just so has it been with these men — in behalf of their freedom they fought and struggled, when all the while they had no freedom.

5 Yet not only did these men of old profess to be enduring all things in defence of the laws, but even now men say that justice resides in whatever laws they themselves, luckless creatures that they are, may frame or else inherit from others like themselves. But the law which is true and binding and plain to behold they neither see nor make a guide for their life. So at noon, as it were, beneath the blazing sun, they go about with torches and flambeaux in their hands, ignoring the light of heaven but following smoke if it shows even a slight glint of fire. Thus, while the law of nature is abandoned and eclipsed with you, poor unfortunates that you are, tablets and statute books and slabs of stone with their fruitless symbols are treasured by you.

6 Again, while the ordinance of Zeus you transgressed long ago, the ordinance of this man or of that you make it your aim that no man shall transgress. Moreover, the curse which the Athenians established in connexion with Solon's laws against all who should attempt to destroy them5 you fail to see is more valid touching the laws of Zeus, for it is wholly inevitable that he who attempts to nullify the ordinance of Zeus shall be an outlaw — except that in this instance children and kinsmen of the guilty are not included in the punishment, as they were at Athens; instead, each is held accountable for his own misfortune. Whoever, therefore, tries to rescue this ordinance as best he can and to guard his own conduct I for my part would never say is lacking in judgement.

7 But much more do I marvel at and pity you6 for the grievous and unlawful slavery under whose yoke you have placed your necks, for you have thrown about you not merely one set of fetters or two but thousands, fetters by which you are throttled and oppressed much more than are those who drag themselves along in chains and halters and shackles. For they have the chance of release or of breaking their bonds and fleeing, but you are always strengthening your bonds and making them more numerous and stronger. Moreover, merely because you do not see your bonds, do not think that these words of mine are false and untrustworthy; nay, consider Homer — who in your estimation is wisest of all — and what kind of bonds he says made Ares captive,

Although the fleetest of the gods who hold
Olympus, bonds like filmy spider-webs,
Which no man e'en could see.7

8 Then, think not that Ares, god that he was and mighty, was made captive by bonds so delicate and invisible withal, and yet that you yourselves, of all creatures the weakest, could never be made captive by means of bonds that are invisible but only by such as have been well made of steel and brass.8 Your bodies, to be sure, being solid and for the most part composed of earth,9 require bonds of that kind to master them; but since soul is invisible and delicate by nature, why might it not get bonds of like description? But you have made for yourselves stubborn, adamantine bonds, contriving them by any and every means, surpassing even Daedalus himself in your craft and in your eagerness to insure that every particle of your soul shall have been fettered and none of it be free or independent. 9 For what were the dungeon of the Cnossians and the crooked windings of the Labyrinth compared to the crookedness and the intricacy of folly? What was the Sicilian prison of the Athenian captives, who were cast into a sort of rocky pit?10 What was the Ceadas of the Spartans,11 or the ash-filled room that the Persians had,12 or, by Zeus, what were the cruel fathers of certain maidens, who, as the poets tell us,

Immured them in prison cells of encircling bronze?13

But, methinks, I too am no longer acting sensibly in giving more space in my remarks to the misfortunes of mankind than to the disgraceful, odious slavery in which you all have been enslaved, a slavery from which men cannot escape by providing themselves with fine threads by the aid of a foolish maiden, as the famous Theseus is said to have escaped in safety from Crete14 — at least, I fancy, not unless Athena herself were to lend her aid and join in the rescue. 10 For if I should wish to name all the prisons and the bonds of witless, wretched human beings by means of which you have made yourselves prisoners, possibly you would think me an exceedingly disagreeable and sorry poet for composing tragedies on your own misfortunes.15 For it is not merely with bonds such as confine those whom you consider criminals — bonds about neck and arms and legs — but with a special bond for the belly and for each of the other parts that they have been made captive, and with a constraint which is both varied and complex; moreover, I believe that any one who had seen the spectacle would have been delighted by it and would exceedingly admire the conceit.

11 For first, I fancy, there comes to each a mistress who is in other respects harsh and ill-disposed and treacherous, but in appearance cheerful and with a smile for all,

A smile of portent grim,16

and in her hands she bears fetters to match her nature, flowery and soft at first glance, such as those with which one might expect that kings or tyrants have been bound; yet nothing is more grievous than these bonds, nothing clings more closely and exerts more pressure. 12 After her there comes a second, bearing a sort of collar of gold or silver. Having put this about their necks, she drags men in private station around every land and sea, yes, and kings as well, according to Hesiod,17 and she drags generals of cities to the gates, so as to open them and act the traitor. And yet she professes to be solicitous for these whom she destroys, and to be making them happy — just as once upon a time Cyrus bound Astyages with golden fetters, as being, evidently, solicitous for his grandfather!18

13 But it would be a huge undertaking to enumerate all the varieties of the fetters. Still, one variety deserves not to be overlooked, the most amazing of them all and the most complicated, one carried by the harshest mistress, a combination of gold and silver and all sorts of stones and pebbles and horns and tusks and shells of animals and, furthermore, purple dyes and countless other things, a sort of costly, marvellous necklace which she had contrived, imitating in it many patterns and forms — crowns and sceptres and diadems and lofty thrones — just as the over-subtle craftsmen in fashioning certain couches or doors or ceilings of houses contrive to make them appear something different from what they are; I mean, for example, making bosses on doors resemble heads of animals, and likewise with bosses on columns. 14 And, furthermore, in this collar are found noise and sound of every kind, both of clapping hands and of clucking tongues.19 So this collar, in turn, is placed about the necks of both demagogues and kings. But let us not ourselves be carried along too far by our simile, as if actually following a word-phantom, as Homer caused Achilles to go a long way off in following the phantom of Agenor.20 This will suffice.