_Lucian or Parrhesiades. Socrates, Empedocles. Plato. Chrysippus.
Diogenes. Aristotle. Other Philosophers. Platonists. Pythagoreans.
Stoics. Peripatetics. Epicureans. Academics. Philosophy. Truth.
Temperance. Virtue. Syllogism. Exposure. Priestess of Athene_.
_Soc_. Stone the miscreant; stone him with many stones; clod him with
clods; pot him with pots; let the culprit feel your sticks; leave him
no way out. At him, Plato! come, Chrysippus, let him have it! Shoulder
to shoulder, close the ranks;
Let wallet succour wallet, staff aid staff!
We are all parties in this war; not one of us but he has assailed. You,
Diogenes, now if ever is the time for that stick of yours; stand firm,
all of you. Let him reap the fruits of his reveling. What, Epicurus,
Aristippus, tired already? 'tis too soon; ye sages,
Be men; relume that erstwhile furious wrath!
Aristotle, one more sprint. There! the brute is caught; we have you,
villain. You shall soon know a little more about the characters you
have assailed. Now, what shall we do with him? it must be rather an
elaborate execution, to meet all our claims upon him; he owes a
separate death to every one of us.
_First Phil_. Impale him, say I.
_Second Phil_. Yes, but scourge him first.
_Third Phil_. Tear out his eyes.
_Fourth Phil_. Ah, but first out with the offending tongue.
_Soc_. What say you, Empedocles?
_Emp_. Oh, fling him into a crater; that will teach him to vilify his
betters.
_Pl_. 'Twere best for him, Orpheus or Pentheus like, to
Find death, dashed all to pieces on the rock;
so each might have taken a piece home with him.
_Lu_. Forbear; spare me; I appeal to the God of suppliants.
_Soc_. Too late; no loophole is left you now. And you know your Homer:
'Twixt men and lions, covenants are null.'
_Lu_. Why, it is in Homer's name that I ask my boon. You will perhaps
pay reverence to his lines, and listen to a selection from him:
Slay not; no churl is he; a ransom take
Of bronze and gold, whereof wise hearts are fain.
_Pl_. Why, two can play at that game; _exempli gratia_,
Reviler, babble not of gold, nor nurse
Hope of escape from these our hands that hold thee.
_Lu_. Ah me, ah me! my best hopes dashed, with Homer! Let me fly to
Euripides; it may be he will protect me:
Leave him his life; the suppliant's life is sacred.
_Pl_. Does this happen to be Euripides too—
Evil men evil treated is no evil?
_Lu_. And will you slay me now for nought but words?
_Pl_. Most certainly; our author has something on that point too:
Unbridled lips
And folly's slips
Invite Fate's whips.
_Lu_. Oh, very well; as you are all set on murdering me, and escape is
impossible, do at least tell me who you are, and what harm I have done
you; it must be something irreparable, to judge by your relentless
murderous pursuit.
_Pl_. What harm you have done us, vile fellow? your own conscience and
your fine dialogues will tell you; you have called Philosophy herself
bad names, and as for us, you have subjected us to the indignity of a
public auction, and put up wise men—ay, and free men, which is more—for
sale. We have reason to be angry; we have got a short leave of absence
from Hades, and come up against you—Chrysippus here, Epicurus and
myself, Aristotle yonder, the taciturn Pythagoras, Diogenes and all of
us that your dialogues have made so free with.
_Lu_. Ah, I breathe again. Once hear the truth about my conduct to you,
and you will never put me to death. You can throw away those stones.
Or, no, keep them; you shall have a better mark for them presently.
_Pl_. This is trifling. This day thou diest; nay, even now,
A suit of stones shalt don, thy livery due.
_Lu_. Believe me, good gentlemen, I have been at much pains on your
behalf; to slay me is to slay one who should rather be selected for
commendation a kindred spirit, a well-wisher, a man after your own
heart, a promoter, if I may be bold to say it, of your pursuits. See to
it that you catch not the tone of our latter-day philosophers, and be
thankless, petulant, and hard of heart, to him that deserves better of
you.
_Pl_. Talk of a brazen front! So to abuse us is to oblige us. I believe
you are under the delusion that you are really talking to slaves; after
the insolent excesses of your tongue, do you propose to chop gratitude
with us?
_Lu_. How or when was I ever insolent to you? I have always been an
admirer of philosophy, your panegyrist, and a student of the writings
you left. All that comes from my pen is but what you give me; I
deflower you, like a bee, for the behoof of mankind; and then there is
praise and recognition; they know the flowers, whence and whose the
honey was, and the manner of my gathering; their surface feeling is for
my selective art, but deeper down it is for you and your meadow, where
you put forth such bright blooms and myriad dyes, if one knows but how
to sort and mix and match, that one be not in discord with another.
Could he that had found you such have the heart to abuse those
benefactors to whom his little fame was due? then he must be a Thamyris
or Eurytus, defying the Muses who gave his gift of song, or challenging
Apollo with the bow, forgetful from whom he had his marksmanship.
_Pl_. All this, good sir, is quite according to the principles of
rhetoric; that is to say, it is clean contrary to the facts; your
unscrupulousness is only emphasized by this adding of insult to injury;
you confess that your arrows are from our quiver, and you use them
against us; your one aim is to abuse us. This is our reward for showing
you that meadow, letting you pluck freely, fill your bosom, and depart.
For this alone you richly deserve death.
_Lu_. There; your ears are partial; they are deaf to the right. Why, I
would never have believed that personal feeling could affect a Plato, a
Chrysippus, an Aristotle; with you, of all men, I thought there was dry
light. But, dear sirs, do not condemn me unheard; give me trial first.
Was not the principle of your establishing—that the law of the stronger
was not the law of the State, and that differences should be settled in
court after due hearing of both sides? Appoint a judge, then; be you my
accusers, by your own mouths or by your chosen representative; and let
me defend my own case; then if I be convicted of wrong, and that be the
court's decision, I shall get my deserts, and you will have no violence
upon your consciences. But if examination shows me spotless and
irreproachable, the court will acquit me, and then turn you your wrath
upon the deceivers who have excited you against me.
_Pl_. Ah, every cock to his own dunghill! You think you will hoodwink
the jury and get off. I hear you are a lawyer, an advocate, an old hand
at a speech. Have you any judge to suggest who will be proof against
such an experienced corrupter as you?
_Lu_. Oh, be reassured. The official I think of proposing is no
suspicious, dubious character likely to sell a verdict. What say you to
forming the court yourselves, with Philosophy for your President?
_Pl_. Who is to prosecute, if we are the jury?
_Lu_. Oh, you can do both; I am not in the least afraid; so much
stronger is my case; the defence wins, hands down.
_Pl_. Pythagoras, Socrates, what do you think? perhaps the man's appeal
to law is not unreasonable.
_Soc_. No; come along, form the court, fetch Philosophy, and see what
he has to say for himself. To condemn unheard is a sadly crude
proceeding, not for us; leave that to the hasty people with whom might
is right. We shall give occasion to the enemy to blaspheme if we stone
a man without a hearing, professed lovers of justice as we are. We
shall have to keep quiet about Anytus and Meletus, my accusers, and the
jury on that occasion, if we cannot spare an hour to hear this fellow
before he suffers.
_Pl_. Very true, Socrates. We will go and fetch Philosophy. The
decision shall be hers, and we will accept it, whatever it is.
_Lu_. Why, now, my masters, you are in a better and more law-abiding
mood. However, keep those stones, as I said; you will need them in
court. But where is Philosophy to be found? I do not know where she
lives, myself. I once spent a long time wandering about in search of
her house, wishing to make her acquaintance. Several times I met some
long-bearded people in threadbare cloaks who professed to be fresh from
her presence; I took their word for it, and asked them the way; but
they knew considerably less about it than I, and either declined to
answer, by way of concealing their ignorance, or else pointed to one
door after another. I have never been able to find the right one to
this day.
Many a time, upon some inward prompting or external offer of guidance,
I have come to a door with the confident hope that this time I really
was right; there was such a crowd flowing in and out, all of solemn
persons decently habited and thoughtful-faced; I would insinuate myself
into the press and go in too. What I found would be a woman who was not
really natural, however skillfully she played at beauty unadorned; I
could see at once that the apparent _neglige_ of her hair was studied
for effect, and the folds of her dress not so careless as they looked.
One could tell that nature was a scheme of decoration with her, and
artlessness an artistic device. The white lead and the rouge did not
absolutely defy detection, and her talk betrayed her real vocation; she
liked her lovers to appreciate her beauty, had a ready hand for
presents, made room by her side for the rich, and hardly vouchsafed her
poorer lovers a distant glance. Now and then, when her dress came a
little open by accident, I saw that she had on a massive gold necklace
heavier than a penal collar. That was enough for me; I would retrace my
steps, sincerely pitying the unfortunates whom she led by the—beard,
and their Ixion embracings of a phantom.
_Pl_. You are right there; the door is not conspicuous, nor generally
known. However, we need not go to her house; we will wait for her here
in the Ceramicus. I should think it is near her hour for coming back
from the Academy, and taking her walk in the Poecile; she is very
regular; to be sure, here she comes. Do you see the orderly, rather
prim lady there, with the kindly look in her eyes, and the slow
meditative walk?
_Lu_. I see several answering the description so far as looks and walk
and clothes go. Yet among them all the real lady Philosophy can be but
one.
_Pl_. True; but as soon as she opens her lips you will know.
_Philos_. Dear me, what are Plato and Chrysippus and Aristotle doing up
here, and the rest of them—a living dictionary of my teachings? Alive
again? how is this? have things been going wrong down there? you look
angry. And who is your prisoner? a rifler of tombs? A murderer? a
temple-robber?
_Pl_. Worse yet, Philosophy. He has dared to slander your most sacred
self, and all of us who have been privileged to impart anything from
you to posterity.
_Philos_. And did you lose your tempers over abusive words? Did you
forget how Comedy handled me at the Dionysia, and how I yet counted her
a friend? Did I ever sue her, or go and remonstrate? Or did I let her
enjoy her holidays in the harmless old-fashioned way? I know very well
that a jest spoils no real beauty, but rather improves it; so gold is
polished by hard rubs, and shines all the brighter for it. But you seem
to have grown passionate and censorious. Come, why are you strangling
him like that?
_Pl_. We have got this one day's leave, and come after him to give him
his deserts. Rumours had reached us of the things he used to say about
us in his lectures.
_Philos_. And are you going to kill him without a trial or a hearing? I
can see he wishes to say something.
_Pl_. No; we decided to refer it all to you. If you will accept the
task, the decision shall be yours.
_Philos_. Sir, what is your wish?
_Lu_. The same, dear Mistress; for none but you can find the truth. It
cost me much entreaty to get the case reserved for you.
_Pl_. You call her Mistress now, scoundrel; the other day you were
making out Philosophy the meanest of things, when before that great
audience you let her several doctrines go for a pitiful threepence
apiece.
_Philos_. It may be that it was not Ourself he then reviled, but some
impostors who practised vile arts in our name.
_Pl_. The truth will soon come to light, if you will hear his defence.
_Philos_. Come we to the Areopagus—or better, to the Acropolis, where
the panorama of Athens will be before us.
Ladies, will you stroll in the Poecile meanwhile? I will join you when
I have given judgement.
_Lu_. Who are these, Philosophy? methinks their appearance is seemly as
your own.
_Philos_. This with the masculine features is Virtue; then there is
Temperance, and Justice by her side. In front is Culture; and this
shadowy creature with the indefinite complexion is Truth.
_Lu_. I do not see which you mean.
_Philos_. Not see her? over there, all naked and unadorned, shrinking
from observation, and always slipping out of sight.
_Lu_. Now I just discern her. But why not bring them all with you?
there would be a fullness and completeness about that commission. Ah
yes, and I should like to brief Truth on my behalf.
_Philos_. Well thought of; come, all of you; you will not mind sitting
through a single case—in which we have a personal interest, too?
_Truth_. Go on, the rest of you; it is superfluous for me to hear what
I know all about before.
_Philos_. But, Truth dear, your presence will be useful to us; you will
show us what to think.
_Truth_. May I bring my two favourite maids, then?
_Philos_. And as many more as you like.
_Truth_. Come with me, Freedom and Frankness; this poor little adorer
of ours is in trouble without any real reason; we shall be able to get
him out of it. Exposure, my man, we shall not want you.
_Lu_. Ah yes, Mistress, let us have him, of all others; my opponents
are no ordinary ruffians; they are people who make a fine show and are
hard to expose; they have always some back way out of a difficulty; we
must have Exposure.
_Philos_. Yes, we must, indeed; and you had better bring Demonstration
too.
_Truth_. Come all of you, as you are such important legal persons.
_Ar_. What is this? Philosophy, he is employing Truth against us!
_Philos_. And are Plato and Chrysippus and Aristotle afraid of her
lying on his behalf, being who she is?
_Pl_. Oh, well, no; only he is a sad plausible rogue; he will take her
in.
_Philos_. Never fear; no wrong will be done, with madam Justice on the
bench by us. Let us go up.
Prisoner, your name?
_Lu_. Parrhesiades, son of Alethion, son of Elenxicles.*
[Footnote: i.e. Free-speaker, son of Truthful, son of Exposure.]
_Philos_. And your country?
_Lu_. I am a Syrian from the Euphrates, my lady. But is the question
relevant? Some of my accusers I know to be as much barbarians by blood
as myself; but character and culture do not vary as a man comes from
Soli or Cyprus, Babylon or Stagira. However, even one who could not
talk Greek would be none the worse in your eyes, so long as his
sentiments were right and just.
_Philos_. True, the question was unnecessary.
But what is your profession? that at least is essential.
_Lu_. I profess hatred of pretension and imposture, lying, and pride;
the whole loathsome tribe of them I hate; and you know how numerous
they are.
_Philos_. Upon my word, you must have your hands full at this
profession!
_Lu_. I have; you see what general dislike and danger it brings upon
me. However, I do not neglect the complementary branch, in which love
takes the place of hate; it includes love of truth and beauty and
simplicity and all that is akin to love. But the subjects for this
branch of the profession are sadly few; those of the other, for whom
hatred is the right treatment, are reckoned by the thousand. Indeed
there is some danger of the one feeling being atrophied, while the
other is over-developed.
_Philos_. That should not be; they run in couples, you know. Do not
separate your two branches; they should have unity in diversity.
_Lu_. You know better than I, Philosophy. My way is just to hate a
villain, and love and praise the good.
_Philos_. Well, well. Here we are at the appointed place. We will hold
the trial in the forecourt of Athene Polias. Priestess, arrange our
seats, while we salute the Goddess.
_Lu_. 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!
_Philos_. 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 afterwards make your defence.
_Ch_. Plato, none of us will conduct the prosecution better than you.
Your thoughts are heaven-high, your style the perfect Attic; grace and
persuasion, insight and subtlety, the cogency of well-ordered proof—all
these are gathered in you. Take the spokesman's office and say what is
fitting on our behalf. Call to memory and roll in one all that ever you
said against Gorgias, Polus, Hippias, Prodicus; you have now to do with
a worse than them. Let him taste your irony; ply him with your keen
incessant questions; and if you will, perorate with the mighty Zeus
charioting his winged car through Heaven, and grudging if this fellow
get not his deserts.
_Pl_. Nay, nay; choose one of more strenuous temper—Diogenes,
Antisthenes, Crates, or yourself, Chrysippus. It is no time now for
beauty or literary skill; controversial and forensic resource is what
we want. This Parrhesiades is an orator.
_Diog_. Let me be accuser; no need for long speeches here. Moreover, I
was the worst treated of all; threepence was my price the other day.
_Pl_. Philosophy, Diogenes will speak for us. But mind, friend, you are
not to represent yourself alone, but think of us all. If we have any
private differences of doctrine, do not go into that; never mind now
which of us is right, but keep your indignation for Philosophy's wrongs
and the names he has called her. Leave alone the principles we differ
about, and maintain what is common to us all. Now mark, you stand for
us all; on you our whole fame depends; shall it come out majestic, or
in the semblance he has given it?
_Diog_. Never fear; nothing shall be omitted; I speak for all.
Philosophy may be softened by his words—she was ever gentle and
forgiving—_she_ may be minded to acquit him; but the fault shall not be
mine; I will show him that our staves are more than ornaments.
_Philos_. Nay, take not that way; words, not bludgeons; 'tis better so.
But no delay now; your time-allowance has begun; and the court is all
attention.
_Lu_. Philosophy, let the rest take their seats and vote with you,
leaving Diogenes as sole accuser.
_Philos_. Have you no fears of their condemning you?
_Lu_. None whatever; I wish to increase my majority, that is all.
_Philos_. I commend your spirit. Gentlemen, take your seats. Now,
Diogenes.
_Diog_. With our lives on earth, Philosophy, you are acquainted; I need
not dwell long upon them. Of myself I say nothing; but Pythagoras,
Plato, Aristotle, Chrysippus, and the rest—who knows not the benefits
that they conferred on mankind? I will come at once, then, to the
insults to which we have been subjected by the thrice accursed
Parrhesiades. He was, by his own account, an advocate; but he has left
the courts and the fame there to be won, and has availed himself of all
the verbal skill and proficiency so acquired for a campaign of abuse
against us. We are impostors and deceivers; his audiences must ridicule
and scorn us for nobodies. Did I say 'nobodies'? he has made us an
abomination, rather, in the eyes of the vulgar, and yourself with us,
Philosophy. Your teachings are balderdash and rubbish; the noblest of
your precepts to us he parodies, winning for himself applause and
approval, and for us humiliation. For so it is with the great public;
it loves a master of flouts and jeers, and loves him in proportion to
the grandeur of what he assails; you know how it delighted long ago in
Aristophanes and Eupolis, when they caricatured our Socrates on the
stage, and wove farcical comedies around him. But they at least
confined themselves to a single victim, and they had the charter of
Dionysus; a jest might pass at holiday time, and the laughing God might
be well pleased.
But this fellow gets together an upper-class audience, gives long
thought to his preparations, writes down his slanders in a thick
notebook, and uplifts his voice in vituperation of Plato, Pythagoras,
Aristotle, Chrysippus, and in short all of us; _he_ cannot plead
holiday time, nor yet any private grievance; he might perhaps be
forgiven if he had done it in self-defence; but it was he that opened
hostilities. Worst of all, Philosophy, he shelters himself under your
name, entices Dialogue from our company to be his ally and mouthpiece,
and induces our good comrade Menippus to collaborate constantly with
him; Menippus, more by token, is the one deserter and absentee on this
occasion.
Does he not then abundantly deserve his fate? What conceivable defence
is open to him, after his public defamation of all that is noblest? On
the public which listened to him, too, the spectacle of his condign
punishment will have a healthy effect; we shall see no more ridicule of
Philosophy. Tame submission to insult would naturally enough be taken,
not for moderation, but for insensibility and want of spirit. Who could
be expected to put up with his last performance? He brought us to
market like a gang of slaves, and handed us over to the auctioneer.
Some, I believe, fetched high prices; but others went for four or five
pounds, and as for me—confound his impudence, threepence! And fine fun
the audience had out of it! We did well to be angry; we have come from
Hades; and we ask you to give us satisfaction for this abominable
outrage.
_Resurgents_. Hear, hear! well spoken, Diogenes; well and loyally.
_Philos_. Silence in court! Time the defence. Parrhesiades, it is now
your turn; they are timing you; so proceed.
_Par_. Philosophy, Diogenes has been far indeed from exhausting his
material; the greater part of it, and the more strongly expressed, 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 defence 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
practices which his profession imposes on an advocate—the deceit,
falsehood, bluster, clamour, 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 though some soft womanish actor on the
tragic stage should give us Achilles or Theseus or Heracles himself; he
cannot 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 distressed 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
Posidon or Zeus plays his part badly, derogating from the divine
dignity, the stewards have him whipped; 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 offence, 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 practice. All their professions of despising
wealth and appearances, of admiring nothing but what is noble, of
superiority to passion, of being proof against splendour, 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 laughing-stock 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 cannot 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 afterwards
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 phantoms, 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, dropped their humanity, resumed
their apehood, 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.
_Philos_. 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.
_Tem_. Yes, Truth, I could not help blushing at it.
_Philos_. 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 personae.
_Diog_. I too, Philosophy, give him my need of praise; I withdraw my
charges, and count him a worthy friend.
_Philos_. I congratulate you, Parrhesiades; you are unanimously
acquitted, and are henceforth one of us.
_Par_. Your humble servant. Or no, I must find more tragic words to fit
the solemnity of the occasion:
Victorious might
My life's path light,
And ever strew with garlands bright!
_Vir_. Well, now we come to our second course; let us have in the other
people and try them for their insults. Parrhesiades shall accuse them
each in turn.
_Par_. Well said, Virtue. Syllogism, my boy, put your head out over the
city and summon the philosophers.
_Syl_. Oyez, oyez! All philosophers to the Acropolis to make their
defence before Virtue, Philosophy, and Justice.
_Par_. The proclamation does not bring them in flocks, does it? They
have their reasons for keeping clear of Justice. And a good many of
them are too busy with their rich friends. If you want them all to
come, Syllogism, I will tell you what to say.
_Philos_. No, no; call them yourself, Parrhesiades, in your own way.
_Par_. Quite a simple matter. Oyez, oyez! All who profess philosophy
and hold themselves entitled to the name of philosopher shall appear on
the Acropolis for largesse; 8 pounds, with a sesame cake, to each. A
long beard shall qualify for a square of compressed figs, in addition.
Every applicant to have with him, of temperance, justice, and
self-control, any that he is in possession of, it being clearly
understood that these are not indispensable, and, of syllogisms, a
complete set of five, these being the condition precedent of wisdom.
Two golden talents in the midst are set,
His prize who wrangles best amongst his peers.
Just look! the ascent packed with a pushing crowd, at the very first
sound of my 8 pounds. More of them along the Pelasgicum, more by the
temple of Asclepius, a bigger crowd still over the Areopagus. Why,
positively there are a few at the tomb of Talos; and see those putting
ladders against the temple of Castor and Pollux; up they climb, buzzing
and clustering like a swarm of bees. In Homeric phrase, on this side
are exceeding many, and on that
Ten thousand, thick as leaves and flowers in spring.
Noisily they settle, the Acropolis is covered with them in a trice;
everywhere wallet and beard, flattery and effrontery, staves and greed,
logic and avarice. The little company which came up at the first
proclamation is swamped beyond recovery, swallowed up in these later
crowds; it is hopeless to find them, because of the external
resemblance. That is the worst of it, Philosophy; you are really open
to censure for not marking and labelling them; these impostors are
often more convincing than the true philosophers.
_Philos_. It shall be done before long; at present let us receive them.
_Platon_. Platonists first!
_Pyth_. No, no; Pythagoreans first; our master is senior.
_Stoics_. Rubbish! the Porch is the best.
_Peri_. Now, now, this is a question of money; Peripatetics first
there!
_Epic_. Hand over those cakes and fig-squares; as to the money,
Epicureans will not mind waiting till the last.
_Acad_. Where are the two talents? none can touch the Academy at a
wrangle; we will soon show you that.
_Stoics_. Not if we know it.
_Philos_. Cease your strife. Cynics there, no more pushing! And keep
those sticks quiet. You have mistaken the nature of this summons. We
three, Philosophy, Virtue, and Truth, are about to decide which are the
true philosophers; that done, those whose lives are found to be in
accord with our pleasure will be made happy by our award; but the
impostors who are not truly of our kin we shall crush as they deserve,
that they may no more make vain claims to what is too high for them.
Ha! you fly? In good truth they do, jumping down the crags, most of
them. Why, the Acropolis is deserted, except for—yes, a few have stood
their ground and are not afraid of the judgement.
Attendants, pick up the wallet which yonder flying Cynic has dropped.
Let us see what it contains—beans? a book? some coarse crust?
_Par_. Oh dear no. Here is gold; some scent; a mirror; dice.
_Philos_. Ah, good honest man! such were his little necessaries for the
philosophic life, such his title to indulge in general abuse and
instruct his neighbours.
_Par_. There you have them. The problem before you is, how the general
ignorance is to be dispersed, and other people enabled to discriminate
between the genuine and the other sort. Find the solution, Truth; for
indeed it concerns you; Falsehood must not prevail; shall Ignorance
shield the base while they counterfeit the good, and you never know it?
_Truth_. I think we had better give Parrhesiades this commission; he
has been shown an honest man, our friend and your true admirer,
Philosophy. Let him take Exposure with him and have interviews with all
who profess philosophy; any genuine scion that he finds let him crown
with olive and entertain in the Banqueting Hall; and for the
rascals—ah, how many!—who are only costume philosophers, let him pull
their cloaks off them, clip their beards short with a pair of common
goatshears, and mark their foreheads or brand them between the
eyebrows; the design on the branding iron to be a fox or an ape.
_Philos_. Well planned, Truth. And, Parrhesiades, here is a test for
you; you know how young eagles are supposed to be tested by the sun;
well, our candidates have not got to satisfy us that they can look at
light, of course; but put gold, fame, and pleasure before their eyes;
when you see one remain unconscious and unattracted, there is your man
for the olive; but when one looks hard that way, with a motion of his
hand in the direction of the gold, first off with his beard, and then
off with him to the brander.
_Par_. I will follow your instructions, Philosophy; you will soon find
a large majority ornamented with fox or ape, and very few with olive.
If you like, though, I will get some of them up here for you to see.
_Philos_. What do you mean? bring them back after that stampede?
_Par_. Oh yes, if the priestess will lend me the line I see there and
the Piraean fisherman's votive hook; I will not keep them long.
_Priestess_. You can have them; and the rod to complete the equipment.
_Par_. Thanks; now quickly, please, a few dried figs and a handful of
gold.
_Priestess_. There.
_Philos_. What _is_ all this about?
_Priestess_. He has baited his hook with the figs and gold, and is
sitting on the parapet dangling it over the city.
_Philos_. What _are_ you doing, Parrhesiades? do you think you are
going to fish up stones from the Pelasgicum?
_Par_. Hush! I wait till I get a bite. Posidon, the fisherman's friend,
and you, dear Amphitrite, send me good fishing!
Ah, a fine bass; no, it is not; it is a gilthead.
_Expo_. A shark, you mean; there, see, he is getting near the hook,
open-mouthed too. He scents the gold; now he is close—touching—he has
it; up with him!
_Par_. Give me a hand with the line, Exposure; here he is. Now, my best
of fishes, what do we make of you? _Salmo Cynicus_, that is what _you_
are. Good gracious, what teeth! Aha, my brave fish, caught snapping up
trifles in the rocks, where you thought you could lurk unobserved? But
now you shall hang by the gills for every one to look at you. Pull out
hook and bait. Why, the hook is bare; he has not been long assimilating
the figs, eh? and the gold has gone down too.
_Diog_. Make him disgorge; we want the bait for some more.
_Par_. There, then. Now, Diogenes, do you know who it is? has the
fellow anything to do with you?
_Diog_. Nothing whatever.
_Par_. Well, what do you put him at? threepence was the price fixed the
other day.
_Diog_. Too much. His flavour and his looks are intolerable—a coarse
worthless brute. Drop him head first over the rock, and catch another.
But take care your rod does not bend to breaking point.
_Par_. No fear; they are quite light—about the weight of a gudgeon.
_Diog_. About the weight and about the wit. However, up with them.
_Par_. Look; what is this one? a sole? flat as a plate, thin as one of
his own fillets; he gapes for the hook; down it goes; we have him; up
he comes.
_Diog_. What is he?
_Expo_. His plateship would be a Platonist.
_Pl_. You too after the gold, villain?
_Par_. Well, Plato? what shall we do with him?
_Pl_. Off with him from the same rock.
_Diog_. Try again.
_Par_. Ah, here is a lovely one coming, as far as one can judge in deep
water, all the colours of the rainbow, with gold bars across the back.
Do you see, Exposure? this is the sham Aristotle. There he is; no, he
has shied. He is having a good look round; here he comes again; his
jaws open; caught! haul up.
_Ar_. You need not apply to me; I do not know him.
_Par_. Very well, Aristotle; over he goes.
Hullo! I see a whole school of them together, all one colour, and
covered with spines and horny scales, as tempting to handle as a
hedgehog. We want a net for these; but we have not got one. Well, it
will do if we pull up one out of the lot. The boldest of them will no
doubt try the hook.
_Expo_. You had better sheathe a good bit of the line before you let it
down; else he will gorge the gold and then saw the line through.
_Par_. There it goes. Posidon grant me a quick catch! There now! they
are fighting for the bait, a lot of them together nibbling at the figs,
and others with their teeth well in the gold. That is right; one
soundly hooked. Now let me see, what do _you_ call yourself? And yet
how absurd to try and make a fish speak; they are dumb. Exposure, tell
us who is his master,
_Expo_. Chrysippus.
_Par_. Ah, he must have a master with gold in his name, must he?
Chrysippus, tell me seriously, do you know these men? are you
responsible for the way they live?
_Ch_. My dear Parrhesiades, I take it ill that you should suggest any
connexion between me and such creatures.
_Par_. Quite right, and like you. Over he goes head first like the
others; if one tried to eat him, those spines might stick in one's
throat.
_Philos_. You have fished long enough, Parrhesiades; there are so many
of them, one might get away with gold, hook and all, and you have the
priestess to pay. Let us go for our usual stroll; and for all you it is
time to be getting back to your place, if you are not to outstay your
leave. Parrhesiades, you and Exposure can go the rounds now, and crown
or brand as I told you.
_Par_. Good, Philosophy. Farewell, ye best of men. Come, Exposure, to
our commission. Where shall we go first? the Academy, do you think, or
the Porch?
_Expo_. We will begin with the Lyceum.
_Par_. Well, it makes no difference. I know well enough that wherever
we go there will be few crowns wanted, and a good deal of branding.