_Socrates._ Stone the miscreant; stone him with many stones; clod him
with clods; pot him with pots; let the culprit feel your sticks; leave
him no way out. At him, Plato! come, Chrysippus, let him have it!
Shoulder to shoulder, close the ranks;
Let wallet succor wallet, staff aid staff!
We are all parties in this war; not one of us but he has assailed.
You, Diogenes, now if ever is the time for that stick of yours; stand
firm, all of you. Let him reap the fruits of his revilings. What,
Epicurus, Aristippus, tired already? 'tis too soon; ye sages,
Be men; resume that erstwhile furious wrath.
Aristotle, one more sprint. There! the brute is caught; we have you,
villain. You shall soon know a little more about the characters you
have assailed. Now, what shall we do with him? it must be rather an
elaborate execution, to meet all our claims upon him; he owes a
separate death to every one of us.
_First Philosopher._ Impale him, say I.
_Second Philosopher._ Yes, but scourge him first.
_Third Philosopher._ Tear out his eyes.
_Fourth Philosopher._ Ah, but first out with the offending tongue.
_Socrates._ What say you, Empedocles?
_Empedocles._ Oh, fling him into a crater; that will teach him to
vilify his betters.
_Plato._ 'Twere best for him, Orpheus or Pentheus like, to
Find death, dashed all to pieces on the rock;
so each might have taken a piece home with him....
_Lucian._ Believe me, good gentlemen, I have been at much pains on
your behalf; to slay me is to slay one who should rather be selected
for commendation; a kindred spirit, a well-wisher, a man after your
own heart, a promoter, if I may be bold to say it, of your pursuits.
See to it that you catch not the tone of our latter-day philosophers,
and be thankless, petulant and hard of heart, to him that deserves
better of you.
_Plato._ Talk of a brazen front! So to abuse us is to oblige us. I
believe you are under the delusion that you are really talking to
slaves; after the insolent excesses of your tongue, do you propose to
chop gratitude with us?
_Lucian._ How or when was I ever insolent to you? I have always been
an admirer of philosophy, your panegyrist, and a student of the
writings you left. All that comes from my pen is but what you give me;
I deflower you, like a bee, for the behoof of mankind; and then there
is praise and recognition; they know the flowers, whence and whose the
honey was, and the manner of my gathering; their surface feeling is
for my selective art, but deeper down it is for you and your meadow,
where you put forth such bright blooms and myriad dyes, if one knows
but how to sort and mix and match, that one be not in discord with
another. Could he that had found you such have the heart to abuse
these benefactors to whom his little fame was due? then he must be a
Thamyris or Eurytus, defying the Muses who gave his gift of song, or
challenging Apollo with the bow, forgetful from whom he had his
marksmanship.
_Plato._ All this, good sir, is quite according to the principles of
rhetoric; that is to say, it is clean contrary to the facts; your
unscrupulousness is only emphasized by this adding of insult to
injury; you confess that your arrows are from our quiver, and you use
them against us; your one aim is to abuse us. This is our reward for
showing you that meadow, letting you pluck freely, fill your bosom,
and depart. For this alone you richly deserve death.
_Lucian._ There; your ears are partial; they are deaf to the right.
Why, I would never have believed that personal feeling could affect a
Plato, a Chrysippus,[122] an Aristotle; with you, of all men, I
thought there was dry light. But, dear sirs, do not condemn me
unheard; give me trial first....
_Plato._ Pythagoras,[123] Socrates, what do you think? perhaps the
man's appeal to law is not unreasonable.
_Socrates._ No; come along, form the court, fetch Philosophy, and see
what he has to say for himself. To condemn unheard is a sadly crude
proceeding, not for us; leave that to the hasty people with whom might
is right. We shall give occasion to the enemy to blaspheme if we stone
a man without a hearing, profest lovers of justice as we are. We shall
have to keep quiet about Anytus and Meletus, my accusers, and the jury
on that occasion, if we can not spare an hour to hear this fellow
before he suffers.
_Plato._ Very true, Socrates. We will go and fetch Philosophy. The
decision shall be hers, and we will accept it, whatever it is....
_Philosophy._ Well, well. Here we are at the appointed place. We will
hold the trial in the forecourt of Athene Polias.[124] Priestess,
arrange our seats, while we salute the goddess.
_Lucian._ Polias, come to my aid against these pretenders, mindful of
the daily perjuries thou hearest from them. Their deeds too are
revealed to thee alone, in virtue of thy charge. Thou hast now thine
hour of vengeance. If thou see me in evil case, if blacks be more than
whites, then cast thou thy vote and save me!
_Philosophy._ So. Now we are seated, ready to hear your words. Choose
one of your number, the best accuser you may, make your charge, and
bring your proofs. Were all to speak, there would be no end. And you,
Parrhesiades, shall afterward make your defense....
_Parrhesiades._ Philosophy, Diogenes has been far indeed from
exhausting his material; the greater part of it, and the more strongly
exprest, he has passed by, for reasons best known to himself. I refer
to statements of mine which I am as far from denying that I made as
from having provided myself with any elaborate defense of them. Any of
these that have been omitted by him, and not previously emphasized by
myself, I propose now to quote; this will be the best way to show you
who were the persons that I sold by auction and inveighed against as
pretenders and impostors; please to concentrate your vigilance on the
truth or falsehood of my descriptions. If what I say is injurious or
severe, your censure will be more fairly directed at the perpetrators
than at the discoverer of such iniquities. I had no sooner realized
the odious practises which his profession imposes on an advocate--the
deceit, falsehood, bluster, clamor, pushing, and all the long hateful
list, than I fled as a matter of course from these, betook myself to
your dear service, Philosophy, and pleased myself with the thought of
a remainder of life spent far from the tossing waves in a calm haven
beneath your shadow.
At my first peep into your realm, how could I but admire yourself and
all these your disciples? There they were, legislating for the perfect
life, holding out hands of help to those that would reach it,
commending all that was fairest and best; fairest and best--but a man
must keep straight on for it and never slip, must set his eyes
unwaveringly on the laws that you have laid down, must tune and test
his life thereby; and that, Zeus be my witness, there are few enough
in these days of ours to do.
So I saw how many were in love, not with Philosophy, but with the
credit it brings; in the vulgar externals, so easy for any one to ape,
they showed a striking resemblance to the real article, perfect in
beard and walk and attire; but in life and conduct they belied their
looks, read your lessons backwards, and degraded their profession.
Then I was wroth; methought it was as tho some soft womanish actor on
the tragic stage should give us Achilles or Theseus or Heracles
himself; he can not stride nor speak out as a hero should, but minces
along under his enormous mask; Helen or Polyxena would find him too
realistically feminine to pass for them; and what shall an invincible
Heracles say? Will he not swiftly pound man and mask together into
nothingness with his club, for womanizing and disgracing him?
Well, these people were about as fit to represent you, and the
degradation of it all was too much for me. Apes daring to masquerade
as heroes! emulators of the ass at Cyme! The Cymeans, you know, had
never seen ass or lion; so the ass came the lion over them, with the
aid of a borrowed skin and his most awe-inspiring bray; however, a
stranger who had often seen both brought the truth to light with a
stick. But what most distrest me, Philosophy, was this: when one of
these people was detected in rascality, impropriety, or immorality,
every one put it down to philosophy, and to the particular philosopher
whose name the delinquent took in vain without ever acting on his
principles; the living rascal disgraced you, the long dead; for you
were not there in the flesh to point the contrast; so, as it was clear
enough that his life was vile and disgusting, your case was given away
by association with his, and you had to share his disgrace.
This spectacle, I say, was too much for me; I began exposing them, and
distinguishing between them and you; and for this good work you now
arraign me. So then, if I find one of the Initiated betraying and
parodying the Mysteries of the two Goddesses, and if I protest and
denounce him, the transgression will be mine? There is something wrong
there; why, at the Games, if an actor who has to present Athene or
Poseidon or Zeus plays his part badly, derogating from the divine
dignity, the stewards have him whipt; well, the gods are not angry
with them for having the officers whip the man who wears their mask
and their attire; I imagine they approve of the punishment. To play a
slave or a messenger badly is a trifling offense, but to represent
Zeus or Heracles to the spectators in an unworthy manner--that is a
crime and a sacrilege.
I can indeed conceive nothing more extraordinary than that so many of
them should get themselves absolutely perfect in your words, and then
live precisely as if the sole object of reading and studying them had
been to reverse them in practise. All their professions of despising
wealth and appearances, of admiring nothing but what is noble, of
superiority to passion, of being proof against splendor, and
associating with its owners only on equal terms--how fair and wise and
laudable they all are! But they take pay for imparting them, they are
abashed in presence of the rich, their lips water at sight of coin;
they are dogs for temper, hares for cowardice, apes for imitativeness,
asses for lust, cats for thievery, cocks for jealousy. They are a
perfect laughingstock with their strivings after vile ends, their
jostling of each other at rich men's doors, their attendance at
crowded dinners, and their vulgar obsequiousness at table. They swill
more than they should and would like to swill more than they do, they
spoil the wine with unwelcome and untimely disquisitions, and they can
not carry their liquor. The ordinary people who are present naturally
flout them, and are revolted by the philosophy which breeds such
brutes.
What is so monstrous is that every man of them says he has no needs,
proclaims aloud that wisdom is the only wealth, and directly afterward
comes begging and makes a fuss if he is refused; it would hardly be
stranger to see one in kingly attire, with tall tiara, crown, and all the
attributes of royalty, asking his inferiors for a little something more.
When they want to get something, we hear a great deal, to be sure, about
community of goods--how wealth is a thing indifferent--and what is gold
and silver?--neither more nor less worth than pebbles on the beach. But
when an old comrade and tried friend needs help and comes to them with his
modest requirements, ah, then there is silence and searchings of heart,
unlearning of tenets and flat renunciation of doctrines. All their fine
talk of friendship, with Virtue and The Good, have vanished and flown, who
knows whither? they were winged words in sad truth, empty fantoms, only
meant for daily conversational use.
These men are excellent friends so long as there is no gold or silver
for them to dispute the possession of; exhibit but a copper or two,
and peace is broken, truce void, armistice ended; their books are
blank, their virtue fled, and they so many dogs; some one has flung a
bone into the pack, and up they spring to bite each other and snarl at
the one which has pounced successfully. There is a story of an
Egyptian king who taught some apes the sword-dance; the imitative
creatures very soon picked it up; and used to perform in purple robes
and masks; for some time the show was a great success, till at last an
ingenious spectator brought some nuts in with him and threw them down.
The apes forgot their dancing at the sight, dropt their humanity,
resumed their ape-hood, and, smashing masks and tearing dresses, had a
free fight for the provender. Alas for the _corps de ballet_ and the
gravity of the audience!
These people are just those apes; it is they that I reviled; and I
shall never cease exposing and ridiculing them; but about you and your
like--for there are, in spite of all, some true lovers of philosophy
and keepers of your laws--about you or them may I never be mad enough
to utter an injurious or rude word! Why, what could I find to say?
what is there in your lives that lends itself to such treatment? but
those pretenders deserve my detestation, as they have that of heaven.
Why, tell me, all of you, what have such creatures to do with you? Is
there a trace in their lives of kindred and affinity? Does oil mix
with water? If they grow their beards and call themselves philosophers
and look solemn, do these things make them like you? I could have
contained myself if there had been any touch of plausibility in their
acting; but the vulture is more like the nightingale than they like
philosophers. And now I have pleaded my cause to the best of my
ability. Truth, I rely upon you to confirm my words.
_Philosophy._ Parrhesiades, retire to a further distance. Well, and
our verdict? How think you the man has spoken?
_Truth._ Ah, Philosophy, while he was speaking I was ready to sink
through the ground; it was all so true. As I listened, I could
identify every offender, and I was fitting caps all the time--this is
so-and-so, that is the other man, all over. I tell you they were all
as plain as in a picture--speaking likenesses not of their bodies
only, but of their very souls.
_Temperance._ Yes, Truth, I could not help blushing at it.
_Philosophy._ What say you, gentlemen?
_Res._ Why, of course, that he is acquitted of the charge, and stands
recorded as our friend and benefactor. Our case is just that of the
Trojans, who entertained the tragic actor only to find him reciting
their own calamities. Well, recite away, our tragedian, with these
pests of ours for dramatis personæ.
_Diogenes._ I too, Philosophy, give him my meed of praise; I withdraw
my charges, and count him a worthy friend.
_Philosophy._ I congratulate you, Parrhesiades; you are unanimously
acquitted, and are henceforth one of us.