First D. Where do you come from?
Py. Samos.
First D. Where did you get your schooling?
Py. From the sophists in Egypt.
First D. If I buy you, what will you teach me?
Py. Nothing. I will remind you.
First D. Remind me?
Py. But first I shall have to cleanse your soul of its filth.
First D. Well, suppose the cleansing process complete. How is the reminding done?
Py. We shall begin with a long course of silent contemplation. Not a word to be spoken for five years.
First D. You would have been just the creed for Croesus’s son! But I have a tongue in my head; I have no ambition to be a statue. And after the five years’ silence?
Py. You will study music and geometry.
First D. A charming recipe! The way to be wise: learn the guitar.
Py. Next you will learn to count.
First D. I can do that already.
Py. Let me hear you.
First D. One, two, three, four, —
Py. There you are, you see. Four (as you call it) is ten. Four the perfect triangle. Four the oath of our school.
First D. Now by Four, most potent Four! — higher and holier mysteries than these I never heard.
Py. Then you will learn of Earth, Air, Fire, and Water; their action, their movement, their shapes.
First D. Have Fire and Air and Water shapes?
Py. Clearly. That cannot move which lacks shape and form You will also find that God is a number; an intelligence; a harmony.
First D. You surprise me.
Py. More than this, you have to learn that you yourself are not the person you appear to be.
First D. What, I am some one else, not the I who am speaking to you?
Py. You are that you now: but you have formerly inhabited another body, and borne another name. And in course of time you will change once more.
First D. Why then I shall be immortal, and take one shape after another? But enough of this. And now what is your diet?
Py. Of living things I eat none. All else I eat, except beans.
First D. And why no beans? Do you dislike them?
Py. No. But they are sacred things. Their nature is a mystery. Consider them first in their generative aspect; take a green one and peel it, and you will see what I mean. Again, boil one and expose it to moonlight for a proper number of nights, and you have — blood. What is more, the Athenians use beans to vote with.
First D. Admirable! A very feast of reason. Now just strip, and let me see what you are like. Bless me, here is a creed with a golden thigh! He is no mortal, he is a God. I must have him at any price. What do you start him at?
Her. Forty pounds.
First D. He is mine for forty pounds.
Zeus. Take the gentleman’s name and address.
Her. He must come from Italy, I should think; Croton or Tarentum, or one of the Greek towns in those parts. But he is not the only buyer. Some three hundred of them have clubbed together.
Zeus. They are welcome to him. Now up with the next.
Her. What about yonder grubby Pontian? [Footnote: See Diogenes in Notes.]
Zeus. Yes, he will do.
Her. You there with the wallet and cloak; come along, walk round the room. Lot No. 2. A most sturdy and valiant creed, free-born. What offers?
Second D. Hullo, Mr. Auctioneer, are you going to sell a free man?
Her. That was the idea.
Second D. Take care, he may have you up for kidnapping. This might be matter for the Areopagus.
Her. Oh, he would as soon be sold as not. He feels just as free as ever.
Second D. But what is one to do with such a dirty fellow? He is a pitiable sight. One might put him to dig perhaps, or to carry water.
Her. That he can do and more. Set him to guard your house, and you will find him better than any watch-dog. — They call him Dog for short.
Second D. Where does he come from? and what is his method?
Her. He can best tell you that himself.
Second D. I don’t like his looks. He will probably snarl if I go near him, or take a snap at me, for all I know. See how he lifts his stick, and scowls; an awkward-looking customer!
Her. Don’t be afraid. He is quite tame.
Second D. Tell me, good fellow, where do you come from?
Dio. Everywhere. Second D. What does that mean?
Dio. It means that I am a citizen of the world.
Second D. And your model?
Dio. Heracles.
Second D. Then why no lion’s-skin? You have the orthodox club.
Dio. My cloak is my lion’s-skin. Like Heracles, I live in a state of warfare, and my enemy is Pleasure; but unlike him I am a volunteer. My purpose is to purify humanity.
Second D. A noble purpose. Now what do I understand to be your strong subject? What is your profession?
Dio. The liberation of humanity, and the treatment of the passions. In short, I am the prophet of Truth and Candour.
Second D. Well, prophet; and if I buy you, how shall you handle my case?
Dio. I shall commence operations by stripping off yours superfluities, putting you into fustian, and leaving you closeted with Necessity. Then I shall give you a course of hard labour. You will sleep on the ground, drink water, and fill your belly as best you can. Have you money? Take my advice and throw it into the sea. With wife and children and country you will not concern yourself; there will be no more of that nonsense. You will exchange your present home for a sepulchre, a ruin, or a tub. What with lupines and close-written tomes, your knapsack will never be empty; and you will vote yourself happier than any king. Nor will you esteem it any inconvenience, if a flogging or a turn of the rack should fall to your lot.
Second D. How! Am I a tortoise, a lobster, that I should be flogged and feel it not?
Dio. You will take your cue from Hippolytus; mutates mutandis.
Second D. How so?
Dio. ‘The heart may burn, the tongue knows nought thereof’. [Footnote: Hippolytus (in Euripides’s play of that name) is reproached with having broken an oath, and thus defends himself: ‘The tongue hath sworn: the heart knew nought thereof.’] Above all, be bold, be impudent; distribute your abuse impartially to king and commoner. They will admire your spirit. You will talk the Cynic jargon with the true Cynic snarl, scowling as you walk, and walking as one should who scowls; an epitome of brutality. Away with modesty, good-nature, and forbearance. Wipe the blush from your cheek for ever. Your hunting-ground will be the crowded city. You will live alone in its midst, holding communion with none, admitting neither friend nor guest; for such would undermine your power. Scruple not to perform the deeds of darkness in broad daylight: select your love-adventures with a view to the public entertainment: and finally, when the fancy takes you, swallow a raw cuttle-fish, and die. Such are the delights of Cynicism.
Second D. Oh, vile creed! Monstrous creed! Avaunt!
Dio. But look you, it is all so easy; it is within every man’s reach. No education is necessary, no nonsensical argumentation. I offer you a short cut to Glory. You may be the merest clown — cobbler, fishmonger, carpenter, money-changer; yet there is nothing to prevent your becoming famous. Given brass and boldness, you have only to learn to wag your tongue with dexterity.
Second D. All this is of no use to me. But I might make a sailor or a gardener of you at a pinch; that is, if you are to be had cheap. Three-pence is the most I can give.
Her. He is yours, to have and to hold. And good riddance to the brawling foul-mouthed bully. He is a slanderer by wholesale.
Zeus. Now for the Cyrenaic, the crowned and purple-robed.
Her. Attend please, gentlemen all. A most valuable article, this, and calls for a long purse. Look at him. A sweet thing in creeds. A creed for a king. Has any gentleman a use for the Lap of Luxury? Who bids?
Third D. Come and tell me what you know. If you are a practical creed, I will have you.
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bsp; Her. Please not to worry him with questions, sir. He is drunk, and cannot answer; his tongue plays him tricks, as you see.
Third D. And who in his senses would buy such an abandoned reprobate? How he smells of scent! And how he slips and staggers about! Well, you must speak for him, Hermes. What can he do? What is his line?
Her. Well, for any gentleman who is not strait-laced, who loves a pretty girl, a bottle, and a jolly companion, he is the very thing. He is also a past master in gastronomy, and a connoisseur in voluptuousness generally. He was educated at Athens, and has served royalty in Sicily [Footnote: See Aristippus in Notes.], where he had a very good character. Here are his principles in a nutshell: Think the worst of things: make the most of things: get all possible pleasure out of things.
Third D. You must look for wealthier purchasers. My purse is not equal to such a festive creed.
Her. Zeus, this lot seems likely to remain on our hands.
Zeus. Put it aside, and up with another. Stay, take the pair from Abdera and Ephesus; the creeds of Smiles and Tears. They shall make one lot.
Her. Come forward, you two. Lot No. 4. A superlative pair. The smartest brace of creeds on our catalogue.
Fourth D. Zeus! What a difference is here! One of them does nothing but laugh, and the other might be at a funeral; he is all tears. — You there! what is the joke?
Democr. You ask? You and your affairs are all one vast joke.
Fourth D. So! You laugh at us? Our business is a toy?
Democr. It is. There is no taking it seriously. All is vanity. Mere interchange of atoms in an infinite void.
Fourth D. Your vanity is infinite, if you like. Stop that laughing, you rascal. — And you, my poor fellow, what are you crying for? I must see what I can make of you.
Heracl. I am thinking, friend, upon human affairs; and well may I weep and lament, for the doom of all is sealed. Hence my compassion and my sorrow. For the present, I think not of it; but the future! — the future is all bitterness. Conflagration and destruction of the world. I weep to think that nothing abides. All things are whirled together in confusion. Pleasure and pain, knowledge and ignorance, great and small; up and down they go, the playthings of Time.
Fourth D. And what is Time?
Heracl. A child; and plays at draughts and blindman’s-bluff.
Fourth D. And men?
Heracl. Are mortal Gods.
Fourth D. And Gods?
Heracl. Immortal men.
Fourth D. So! Conundrums, fellow? Nuts to crack? You are a very oracle for obscurity.
Heracl. Your affairs do not interest me.
Fourth D. No one will be fool enough to bid for you at that rate.
Heracl. Young and old, him that bids and him that bids not, a murrain seize you all!
Fourth D. A sad case. He will be melancholy mad before long. Neither of these is the creed for my money.
Her. No one bids.
Zeus. Next lot.
Her. The Athenian there? Old Chatterbox?
Zeus. By all means.
Her. Come forward! — A good sensible creed this. Who buys Holiness?
Fifth D. Let me see. What are you good for?
Soc. I teach the art of love.
Fifth D. A likely bargain for me! I want a tutor for my young Adonis.
Soc. And could he have a better? The love I teach is of, the spirit, not of the flesh. Under my roof, be sure, a boy will come to no harm.
Fifth D. Very unconvincing that. A teacher of the art of love, and never meddle with anything but the spirit? Never use the opportunities your office gives you?
Soc. Now by Dog and Plane-tree, it is as I say!
Fifth D. Heracles! What strange Gods are these?
Soc. Why, the Dog is a God, I suppose? Is not Anubis made much of in Egypt? Is there not a Dog-star in Heaven, and a Cerberus in the lower world?
Fifth D. Quite so. My mistake. Now what is your manner of life?
Soc. I live in a city of my own building; I make my own laws, and have a novel constitution of my own.
Fifth D. I should like to hear some of your statutes.
Soc. You shall hear the greatest of them all. No woman shall be restricted to one husband. Every man who likes is her husband.
Fifth D. What! Then the laws of adultery are clean swept away?
Soc. I should think they were! and a world of hair-splitting with them.
Fifth D. And what do you do with the handsome boys?
Soc. Their kisses are the reward of merit, of noble and spirited actions.
Fifth D. Unparalleled generosity! — And now, what are the main features of your philosophy?
Soc. Ideas and types of things. All things that you see, the earth and all that is upon it, the sea, the sky, — each has its counterpart in the invisible world.
Fifth D. And where are they?
Soc. Nowhere. Were they anywhere, they were not what they are.
Fifth D. I see no signs of these ‘types’ of yours.
Soc. Of course not; because you are spiritually blind. I see the counterparts of all things; an invisible you, an invisible me; everything is in duplicate.
Fifth D. Come, such a shrewd and lynx-eyed creed is worth a bid. Let me see. What do you want for him?
Her. Five hundred.
Fifth D. Done with you. Only I must settle the bill another day.
Her. What name?
Fifth D. Dion; of Syracuse.
Her. Take him, and much good may he do you. Now I want Epicureanism. Who offers for Epicureanism? He is a disciple of the laughing creed and the drunken creed, whom we were offering just now. But he has one extra accomplishment — impiety. For the rest, a dainty, lickerish creed.
Sixth D. What price?
Her. Eight pounds.
Sixth D. Here you are. By the way, you might let me know what he likes to eat.
Her. Anything sweet. Anything with honey in it. Dried figs are his favourite dish.
Sixth D. That is all right. We will get in a supply of Carian fig-cakes.
Zeus. Call the next lot. Stoicism; the creed of the sorrowful countenance, the close-cropped creed.
Her. Ah yes, several customers, I fancy, are on the look-out for him. Virtue incarnate! The very quintessence of creeds! Who is for universal monopoly?
Seventh D. How are we to understand that?
Her. Why, here is monopoly of wisdom, monopoly of beauty, monopoly of courage, monopoly of justice. Sole king, sole orator, sole legislator, sole millionaire.
Seventh D. And I suppose sole cook, sole tanner, sole carpenter, and all that?
Her. Presumably.
Seventh D. Regard me as your purchaser, good fellow, and tell me all about yourself. I dare say you think it rather hard to be sold for a slave?
Chrys. Not at all. These things are beyond our control. And what is beyond our control is indifferent.
Seventh D. I don’t see how you make that out.
Chrys. What! Have you yet to learn that of indifferentia some are praeposita and others rejecta?
Seventh D. Still I don’t quite see.
Chrys. No; how should you? You are not familiar with our terms. You lack the comprehensio visi. The earnest student of logic knows this and more than this. He understands the nature of subject, predicate, and contingent, and the distinctions between them.
Seventh D. Now in Wisdom’s name, tell me, pray, what is a predicate? what is a contingent? There is a ring about those words that takes my fancy.
Chrys. With all my heart. A man lame in one foot knocks that foot accidentally against a stone, and gets a cut. Now the man is subject to lameness; which is the predicate. And the cut is a contingency.
Seventh D. Oh, subtle! What else can you tell me?
Chrys. I have verbal involutions, for the better hampering, crippling, and muzzling of my antagonists. This is performed by the use of the far-famed syllogism.
Seventh D. Syllogism! I warrant him a tough customer.
Chrys. Take a case. You have a ch
ild?
Seventh D. Well, and what if I have?
Chrys. A crocodile catches him as he wanders along the bank of a river, and promises to restore him to you, if you will first guess correctly whether he means to restore him or not. Which are you going to say?
Delphi Complete Works of Lucian Page 31
