master often turned the discourse to matters of morals and philosophy,
and especially to the belief in the gods and the divine government
of the world; and I told him plainly that I had no such belief, for
that the world seemed to me governed by chance, or by fate, or by evil
gods, but in no case by good gods, seeing that ill-doing prevailed in
the world. Upon this Philemon, being grieved because of my unbelief,
asked me whether I had had much discourse with his friend Artemidorus,
the Epicurean, on these matters. When I said no, not much, but that
my unbelief arose from my own experience of things, because I had
seemed to discern more proof of the power of evil than of good, he
bade me take comfort; for he would in due course emancipate me, and
meantime I should be to him as a friend. After this he advised me to
study the books of Plato and of Chrysippus, if perchance I might thus
frame myself to a better mind. But when I urged (which indeed was not
my own argument but I had heard it lately from Artemidorus) that the
stories concerning the gods were full of all manner of myths, and
fables containing portents, and metamorphoses, such as no sane man
could believe, to this he replied that the whole world was full of no
less wonders, if a man rightly considered it; for that summer should
follow spring, and autumn summer, that storm should follow calm, and
calm storm, and that the whole world should be so orderly and evenly
governed as it was, this, he said, was a far greater wonder than the
metamorphoses of which the poets speak. In particular he pointed out
the wonderful things past all common course of nature, which were to
be seen in that very neighborhood of Colossæ and Laodicea; and taking
me with him up and down the valley of the river, called Lycus, which
flows through that region, he shewed me how the water is there changed
into stone of a dazzling brightness, so that the hills are in many
parts covered with the appearance of snow, and cataracts abound of the
same substance, and how other mountains vomit forth smoke and fire,
and others have wells and springs bubbling upward hot from the earth.
Again on another day he brought me to a certain pool sacred to the
goddess Cybele, and bade me mark how sheep and goats and cattle, driven
into this pool, straightway fell down and perished, but the priests of
Cybele, entering into the same waters, stood upright and unhurt in the
presence of many spectators; and upon this he asked me what more proof
was wanting of the power of the goddess to protect her votaries? When
I could make no reply, he affirmed that all these wonders were placed
at hand to convince them that disbelieved in the gods; for if we were
forced to believe in these wonders, being as they were before our eyes,
why should we be so loth to believe other wonders that our eyes had not
seen?
In course of time the words of Philemon and still more his kind deeds
and the kindness of his wife Apphia, had power to quench that rancorous
spirit which had inflamed my heart. Other friends also, both at Colossæ
and in Hierapolis, moved me in the same direction, I mean towards a
belief in the gods. Among these was the good Epictetus (a slave like
myself and at that time a very young man) concerning whom I shall
have much to say hereafter; and a certain Nicostratus of Laodicea,
full of zeal for learning, but devout and liberal, and of a gracious
nature. Nor must I forget Heracleas, a great reader of the works of
the ancient poets as well as of the philosophers, who had studied for
some time in Alexandria. These three, being of the acquaintance of
Philemon, treated me with exceeding courtesy, seeking my society and
willingly conversing with me; and I soon perceived that almost all the
rest of our acquaintance though in no respect given to superstitions,
nevertheless agreed in believing that the world was governed by good
and divine powers.
§ 2. HOW SOME OF PHILEMON’S FRIENDS AVOWED A BELIEF IN ONE GOD.
I soon found that, although the philosophers whom I have mentioned
above, believed in gods, yet their belief differed much from that
of the common people; for the latter believe in many gods, but the
former inclined to acknowledge one god under many names. It was at a
symposium, during a public festival in honor of Artemis, that I first
heard this opinion broached by Nicostratus who said that “there was
in reality but one Power, however He may manifest Himself to mortals
by many different shapes and names in several lands and nations,
speaking also through different prophets, a Delphic woman in Pytho, a
Thesprotian man in Dodona, a Libyan in the Temple of Ammon, an Ionian
in Claros, a Lycian in Xanthias, and a Bœotian in Ismenus.” I looked
that he should have been reproved and put to silence by my master;
but Philemon said nothing except that this doctrine was not fit to
be taught in that shape to the common people; and the rest seemed to
assent to Nicostratus. Heracleas, in particular, said that “though the
number of gods and demons, or demoniacal essences, be far more than the
30,000 whereof Hesiod makes mention, yet the mighty King of all this
multitude, seated on his stable throne as if He were Law, imparts unto
the obedient that health and safety which He contains in Himself.” To
me also, in our private and familiar discourse, the young Epictetus
would always speak, not of many, but of One, who guides all things
and to whose will we must conform ourselves. As for idols and statues
of the gods—of which I had always been wont at Lystra to speak as
being themselves gods, so that I could scarce think of the gods apart
from them—Nicostratus said openly at this same feast, that it was no
marvel if the immortal powers preferred to inhabit beautiful shapes
of gold and stone and ivory; which nevertheless were of course to be
distinguished from the gods themselves, as being but the integuments
of the divine senses; but Heracleas went yet further (and Epictetus
with him) saying that one should no more accost an image than a house
(instead of the householder); and that images were not needful but only
helpful for the forgetful souls of men.
When Heracleas avowed his belief in the myths and metamorphoses and
fables about the gods I said to him, “Why, O Heracleas, are there
no metamorphoses in our days?” “Because,” replied he, “men have
degenerated from their progenitors of ancient date. Therefore it is
no marvel that the gods refuse to perform such wonders as of old for
mankind upon earth. But in the former days the pious were naturally
changed from men into gods, and these are even now honored, such as
Aristaeus, Heracles, Amphiaraus, Asclepius, and the like. Having regard
to these facts, any one may reasonably be persuaded that Lycaon was
changed into a wolf, Procne into a swallow, and Niobe into a stone. At
present, however, now that vice has spread itself through every part of
the earth, the divine nature is no longer produced out of the human,
or, in other words, men are no longer made gods but only dignified
with the title thereof through excess of flattery, as some among us
call the emperors gods even while they yet live.” To this Nicostratus
assented, but added that “the lies of the multitude are sometimes
to blame, pouring contempt upon undoubted facts in the attempt to
adorn and exaggerate them, as for example, asserting not only that
Niobe was changed into a stone, which is true, but also that Niobe on
Sipylus still weeps, which is not true.” More passed between them;
but this I discerned clearly that both they and many others, while
acknowledging one god under many names, agreed with Philemon (and not
with Artemidorus the Epicurean) in believing without doubt the myths
and fables about the gods.
§ 3. HOW NICOSTRATUS URGED THAT, WITHOUT THE BELIEF IN THE GODS, THE
LIFE OF MAN WOULD BE VOID OF PLEASURE.
It happened about this time that there was a great feast in honor of
Artemis, and the customary processions and dances, and games also
and chariot-races and plays exhibited in the theatre. Being sick at
this time and not able to go abroad, Philemon besought Nicostratus to
take me with him to the theatre, and to show me the pomps and shows
of the festival, which far exceeded anything that I had ever seen in
our little town of Lystra. So on the morning of the festival, early
before sunrise, I went to the house of Nicostratus; who had no sooner
saluted me than he began at once, after his manner, to take occasion
of the festival to commend, in a long discourse, the belief in the
immortal gods. “For seest thou not,” said he, “how to all men, poor
as well as rich, slaves as well as masters, the festivals of the
gods bring round brightness and gladness?” Methinks he noted that my
countenance was altered when he spoke of “slaves,” for he hesitated and
was silent for a moment; but anon, collecting himself, he continued
cheerfully thus: “When I speak of slaves, I mean not such as thou art,
being already half emancipated and rather thy master’s friend than
his servant; but I mean rather the poor wretches toiling in chains or
grinding at the mill, to all of whom the festival brings relief and
some gleam of joy. For five days ago, before the feast began, sawest
thou not how even at the approach of the holiday all was astir within
the city, yea and without too; food and wine and fruits and oxen and
sheep for sacrifice being brought in from the country; old garments
purified and freshly decked out, new ones bought or borrowed from
friends; the statues of the gods taken down and carefully cleansed
and polished till they glitter.” At this point he was interrupted by
a slave who had been waiting to tell him that it was time to go forth
to the temple. Descending to the court-yard we found all the household
awaiting us, clothed in their best attire, the little children bearing
frankincense in their hands and the victims adorned for sacrifice.
Regarding them all with a glad countenance and saluting many of them
by name, Nicostratus bade me remember that at this same moment every
householder in Colossæ, however austere or miserly by nature, was
constrained by the observance of the gods to go forth in like manner
to offer sacrifice. “And now,” continued he in an unbroken discourse,
“we shall all go to the great temple. Prayers will be offered up; none
but words of good omen will be uttered; no sound of quarrel or abuse or
even of ribald mirth will be heard in the whole of the vast assemblage.
After this, some offer sacrifice; the rest stand by as spectators. Then
begins the feasting, some feasting in the temples, others at home where
you and I will make merry together. And as for the rest of the day and
the days following, thou shalt see how pleasantly they will pass. Yet
all this is but a copy of that which happens at every festival in every
city where the gods are rightly reverenced. For during the feasting,
the whole city resounds with singing, some chanting hymns in honor of
the god, others odes and songs, serious or merry, according to each
one’s pleasure. I omit to speak of the processions and shows, all full
of beauty and delight, but not more beautiful here than in a thousand
other cities of Asia and Europe.”
Here he broke off, to salute some of his acquaintance. “Hail,
Charicles! and you, too, Charidemus! I rejoice to see you in the city,
and forget not that to-morrow you are bespoke to dine with me.” Then
turning again to me, “Note, I pray you,” said he, “how all the people,
both citizens and country-folk, are knit together in concord on such
days as these. For there is scarce one citizen in Colossæ but has
invited some stranger or some acquaintance from the country to partake
of his good cheer. Amid the drinking old friendships are drawn closer,
new friendships are begun. After dinner some show strangers about the
city; others sit down in the market-place and talk pleasantly together.
Throughout the day no law courts are open, no execution is allowed, no
debtor need fear arrest, no slave dreads the lash; all quarrel, all
strife receives at least a cessation, which sometimes brings about a
permanent peace. In the evening the feasting begins again, and all sit
down to sup; so many are the torches that the whole city is filled with
light; each street resounds with the flutes and the joyful songs of
the revellers. Austere sobriety is laid aside for once, and to drink a
little to excess in honor of the gods is esteemed no great disgrace.
Thus for three days the feast continues; and when it is over we part
with vows of friendship, in peace and good will, praying that we may
live long enough to see such another feast come round again. Now,”
concluded Nicostratus, “take away the gods from out of the world and
what cause remains why men should thus meet and rejoice together? For
where there are no gods, there are none to be thanked, and therefore no
thanksgiving; but thankfulness is the salt of life. Whosoever therefore
takes away the gods from the life of man takes away the prime cause of
human joy, and must be esteemed the enemy of all mankind.”
I felt in my inmost mind that a keen and subtle disputant, such as
Artemidorus, might have had much to urge against these arguments of
Nicostratus; yet at that time many things joined together to incline me
to accept his reasonings. For having been now nearly a year at Colossæ
I had received on all sides such tokens of good will, and I may almost
say of affection, as had already well nigh won me out of my first
condition of distrust; and although it were not according to reason to
argue that whatsoever things are pleasant must needs be also true, yet
did it appear beyond doubt that life without the gods would be full of
dullness and gloom, all men being everywhere wholly given up to cares
and self-searchings. And I reasoned thus with myself, “If indeed there
be gods, then it were wrong not to acknowledge them; but if there be
no gods, why even then it seems happier to believe that gods exist,
and, in that case, how can ‘no gods’ deem belief in gods to be a sin?”
So for my part, being at that time recovered from my melancholy, and
young, and in good health, and taking pleasure in the pride of life and
the pleasure of the flesh, I concluded to take the happier side and to
believe that there were gods ruling the world to good ends.
§ 4. HOW PHILEMON, FALLING SICK, INCLINED TO SUPERSTITION.
About this time Philemon falling sick, turned to a melancholy, and
becoming wholly changed from his former disposition, gave himself up to
all manner of superstitions. Resorting in vain to all the physicians
of the place, he was led at first to try charms and amulets, and then
to consult soothsayers and astrologers and the priests of strange
gods; and thus, little by little, partly by the burden of his disease
enfeebling his understanding, and partly by reason of the company which
he now frequented, he became daily more timorous and superstitious. He
offered sacrifice almost every day, and anxiously awaited the report as
to the entrails; he resorted often to the priests of all kinds of gods
more especially Isis, Serapis, and Sabazius, and sometimes he would
invite them to his own house, so that our house became a kind of temple
in Colossæ; he purified himself many times a day both with the lustral
waters and with other strange purifications; he would wear naught but
linen, and abstained from many kinds of flesh, and in the end from
all flesh; if he saw a sacred stone he would fall down on his knees
before it and anoint it with oil. Nay, once, during this melancholy
fit of his, when we had set out after much preparation upon a journey
to Ephesus, the sight of a weasel—though we were now fully a mile past
the city gate—made him turn back and give up the journey altogether.
At last, when no remedies and no charms availed anything, supposing
himself to be under the special displeasure of some unknown god, he
took to his bed and could not be persuaded to leave it.
My master having been about a month in this case, growing daily weaker,
there came to him one Oneirocritus of Ephesus (the same to whom he
himself had been intending to journey) who also himself had been
sick of some disease insomuch that the physicians had despaired of
him; but he was now quite recovered. This man coming into Philemon’s
chamber questioned him concerning his condition and symptoms, and the
sacrifices he had offered, and the gods he had propitiated. Then he
spoke concerning himself and his own deliverance, how after he had
been sick nearly twenty years, he had been healed by Asclepius at the
famous temple in Pergamus; and he very earnestly exhorted Philemon to
go thither with all speed. At the same time he described the wonders
wrought by the god on those that believed in him, and the punishment
he had inflicted on the impious and unbelieving. Upon this Artemidorus
the Epicurean—whom, because of his exact knowledge of medicine and his
skilfulness in noting symptoms, Philemon would never exclude from his
bed-chamber, even in his most superstitious moods—once more recommended
Philemon to try the baths of the neighboring city of Hierapolis,
saying that it was not wise to despise remedies merely because they
were near and easy and familiar. “For this disease,” said he, “arises
from no anger of the gods or any such matter, but from some disorder
of the liver which may not improbably be removed by the hot baths of
Hierapolis.” “But if the liver be disordered,” replied Oneirocritus,
“truth compels me to speak of the virtues of a certain sacred well
in the precincts of the temple at Pergamus availing for the healing
not of one disease, but of all; for great multitudes of the blind,
washing therein, have obtained their sight; others have recovered from
lameness; others from asthma and pleurisy; nay, to some even the mere
drawing of the water with their own hands, (it being so prescribed by
the god) has restored soundness and health.”
Then others of the companions of Oneirocritus added other stories all
tending to the honor of Asclepius; some indeed possible and deserving
of attention, but others absurd and fit only to move laughter; how,
for example, a sculptor in Pergamus had been punished with immediate
disease for making a statue of the god with inferior marble, but having
atoned for his fault by making a second statue of fit material, he
straightway recovered; also how a fighting-cock, wounded in one leg,
chancing to take part in the procession of song in honor of the god,
extended his leg, no longer wounded but whole, and hopping onwards
crowed in harmony with the songs of the choir; and lastly how a
certain rich Epicurean having had a dream in the temple of the god,
forthwith obeying the heavenly vision, burned the books of Epicurus,
and having made a paste of their ashes applied a poultice to his
stomach and thus was perfectly healed. This last story seemed to touch
Artemidorus (because of the contempt, as I suppose, which it cast
upon the doctrine of his master Epicurus) and he was on the point of
making some rejoinder, when Oneirocritus, like one inspired with divine
enthusiasm, broke out into a long and passionate discourse concerning
the benefits that he himself had received from the god Asclepius: “For
seventeen years,” he said, “I had kept my bed through disease, and for
many more years I had been ailing and infirm, troubled with the falling
sickness; yet such hath been the favor of the god toward me, manifested
by continual tokens of his presence during my sickness as well as at
my recovery, that I would not exchange my state for all the health and
strength of Heracles. For I am one of those who have been blessed, not
once only but many times, with a new life, and who, for this cause,
esteem sickness a blessing. Many a time, half awake, half asleep, have
I found myself not indeed seeing the god but conscious of his presence,
my eyes full of tears, my hair erect, and a savor of divine odor in
my nostrils. Thus have I received the most helpful manifestations. It
was thus that the god revealed to me that I must go forth from Apamea,
the day before the great earthquake; it was thus, half in a dream half
in a vision, that he also showed me how Philoumene the daughter of my
foster-mother had devoted her life for mine; and behold on the eighth
day she died and I recovered from my disease. Moreover at one time the
god appeared to me in no dream but in a vision, having three heads, and
his body wreathed in flames; and at another time not Asclepius only but
Athene herself also appeared to me and held converse with me. A sweet
odor exhaled from the ægis of the goddess and she bore the shape of
the statue of Phidias. My nurse and two other friends, who happened to
be sitting by my couch, stared and were astonished, and at first they
deemed me to be beside myself; but presently they also understood the
discourse and were aware of the divine presence.”
While Oneirocritus was saying these words, his eyes kindled and his
voice trembled, and he seemed ready to weep for joy and gratefulness;
and there was not one present except the Epicurean who was not somewhat
moved to sympathy. But after a pause Artemidorus praised the priests of
Asclepius, saying that it was well known that they were wise physicians
and prescribed wise remedies, but that their cures might well be
believed to be according to nature. To which Oneirocritus replied with
exceeding vehemence: “Nay, but let any one consider how strange and
past all natural invention, yea, how contrary oftentimes to all the
rules of art are the prescriptions of the god, some being bidden to
swallow gypsum, others hemlock, others to strip naked and to bathe in
cold water, (and these so weak and puling that their own physician
durst not prescribe to them to bathe even in warm water) and assuredly,
when all this is considered and the great multitude of them that are
healed, beholding the sides of the temple all covered with the votive
tablets of them that have given thanks for their recovery, surely the
veriest atheist will cry out ‘Great is Asclepius, and holy is his
temple.’ Therefore, O most excellent Philemon, my counsel is that you
also, despising all other waters, whether they be of Cydnus, or Peneus,
or Hierapolis should resort to the sacred well in Pergamus; and, if you
do this and the god so will, you shall assuredly return healed of your
disease.”
To this the greater part of those present gave assent. Only
Artemidorus, when mention was made of the votive tablets of those that
had recovered, whispered to me: “But where, O Onesimus, are the votive
tablets of those that have not recovered? Or perchance the temple could
not find room for so many?” And when Oneirocritus had departed, he did
not conceal his judgment that of the things that he had related, some
were according to nature, but others only the dreams and imaginations
of one that was scarce master of himself. But the rest were entirely
against the Epicurean and on the side of Oneirocritus. And so I found
it both then and afterwards in most places whereof I had experience,
not only in Asia but also in Greece and Italy: those that believed in
the gods were many; and those that believed not were men of culture and
learning, but very few. And with the multitude in some places to be an
Epicurean or an Atheist (for it was all one with the common people)
was deemed a crime sufficient to bring down the wrath of the gods in
shipwreck, famine, pestilence, or earthquake. The magistrates also
everywhere dissembled, even though they were atheists; and they not
only offered sacrifice and kept holidays, but also of their own free
will, and at their own cost, they built and repaired temples, and set
up statues to gods in whom they disbelieved, esteeming this kind of
dissimulation to be a sort of piety. But as for myself at this time, I
was in a strait between two opinions; for on the one hand I had begun
to despise the excessive and unreasonable superstitions of Philemon,
but on the other hand while I respected Artemidorus as an honorable man
and a seeker after truth, I shrank from his philosophy as void of hope
and happiness. So with my mind I inclined towards Artemidorus, but with
my heart not indeed towards Philemon as he now was, but as he had been;
and I believed in the gods with my wishes, but I disbelieved in them
with my reason and understanding.
§ 5. HOW I ACCOMPANIED PHILEMON TO PERGAMUS.