Orationes 47
Orationes 47 Imperial Aelius Aristides GreekNow I love you all the more for being so passionately devoted to Plato, whom I myself would say I honour, in Homer's phrase, "as my own life." For even if all men are inferior beside him, still each man, they say, is most precious in his own eyes. And yet what am I saying? I do not know whether you will believe me; but I shall speak the truth. Had you not declared that he stands near to us, you would not have given me such pleasure as you gave by showing that I had already won my point; so dear to me is the man, and beyond all friends. The same kind of thing once happened to me concerning Demosthenes too, and I shall tell it to you as well. A man from the Roman senate, by ancient descent a Libyan, Maximus by name, a man worthy of any praise you like—and those skilled in such matters say that he is among the first of Roman orators—this man was extraordinarily devoted to the speeches of Demosthenes, and somehow he was captivated by these speeches of mine too. And so, frequenting the temple of Asclepius and lacking nothing of a love of fine things, he was with me every day for the sake of literature.
The result was that I went to a certain length with him because of this very thing. For I happened to have composed a speech of the third sort against Leptines, beginning in this way. I had in my hands the speech of Demosthenes, and when I came to the chief points which Leptines was going to make and which Demosthenes anticipated and cut short, I detached myself from Demosthenes and considered something on my own account. And when I found two or three serviceable arguments, then again I went on to something else. And as I made the attempt, the same thing always happened to me. And so, from the fringe I reconstructed the cloak, or, if you like, the lion from its claw. This speech, then, I undertook to show him; and as I was about to show it, I declared beforehand that things discovered against Leptines, together with his own discoveries against Leptines, would be found. "Let me not do wrong," said I. And he—by Zeus, nobly, and as anyone would be filled with love and admiration who is a lover of letters—said, "Do you know that I am a partisan of Demosthenes?" And I said, "Then you tend the same flock as I, so that, if he should defeat me, the one crowned is no enemy, but one for whose victory you and I are striving together." And when he urged me to show the books side by side, and the matter was earnest on every side, "This, then," said I, "is how I judge concerning Demosthenes, even as you do, and I hold the very same view as you—that it is not easy to surpass that man. But if some one of the gods should help me too—and many are the marvels in the temple of Asclepius—why have you not shown the prizes," I said, "so that I might compete more eagerly? For if I fail, it is madness, and a sign that I understand nothing of speeches; but if I should win," I said, "what shall be my reward?" And he was delighted to hear it, just as I had been delighted to hear from him that he was on Demosthenes' side, and he gave me leave to show the speech. And how matters then stood with regard to these things, he himself would know; and you too, if ever you should meet the man, would mention it. So deeply, to speak in general, of the men of old, and of these in particular through exact study,
has a fearful love and a marvellous friendship been infused into me from childhood. So now I do not merely feel no resentment at the opinion you hold, but I even rejoice with you; and I shall not cease loving you, save in so far as I shall add what I can, considering you precisely my comrade and fellow-partisan. For not "slaughtering a bull over a black-bound shield," as Aeschylus put it, but looking to the writings of Plato, as to some common rallying-points, we might reasonably be able to trust one another in all things. And it is possible for you to recognize that we too have some share in Plato, even if not so great a share as the wise have, yet at least enough to know how to take joy in the man. For our voice, be it said with the gods' leave, is no hindrance to our being able to receive anything of his, nor does any proclamation drive us away, even from the mysteries; and our life, they say who have made trial of it, is not altogether out of tune with his mind. But whether I spoke after his manner then, or he now after mine, it does not seem to me that anyone could stand between us, nor that one could surpass the other in goodwill and in holding the same opinions about the universe. So be it.
Come then, in the name of Zeus the God of Friendship himself—since Plato too everywhere honours the truth, and supposes that converse in discourse is the starting-point of true friendship—let us see more clearly what it was in the speeches that displeased you, the speeches which some say I composed against him. For I was trying to show everywhere that he was of one vote with me. For if I have talked nonsense, there is no need of Stesichorus' recantation, but a sponge will heal it; and if there is something in the speeches too good for this to be a fitting prize for them—you, praise them no more, if you do not think it right; but pardon them nonetheless, even if you do not deem them worthy of honour,
yet at least of this you would deem them worthy. You said, as I learn, that you were displeased because there was in the speeches a mention of his journey to Sicily, and because in these passages we seemed to be attacking the life of Plato; whereas this ought, surely, to have been kept apart, and the argument ought to have been refuted—and these are the complaints not only of a lover but of one sober about discourses. But take care that you do not accuse me of what is no fault. For I was surely not speaking ill of Plato, as if judging him in some court of law, nor was I blaming his journeys in order that he might be thought the worse; rather, even in these matters I declared that I was bearing witness for myself and for rhetoric. For it is plain that if being wronged, or taking vengeance when wronged, were a thing of small worth, no one would have moved that man to sail so great a sea and to go to a tyrant on behalf of Dion's affairs; nor, on returning thence, to cooperate with Dion in everything, who wished both to return and to take vengeance for what he had suffered. But as it is, he bears witness by his deed that it is the mark of no mean nature, nor of a common power, not to permit those who attempt to do wrong. And that these things are true—there are those who heard the speeches, and there are the speeches themselves. And as for the rest, I pass over with how much reverence and gentleness we discussed these very matters, bringing to bear only so much force as neither slandered him nor made the argument stronger for me, but we inserted, as it were, a digression, a special place set apart for him. If you heard it, remember; if you did not hear it, do not condemn beforehand. Come then, let me furnish you, as those who plead in the courts do, with the very words from the book. From the book. But I wish to make a small distinction, lest anyone suppose at all that by these speeches I am accusing Plato, or speaking ill of him with a pretext. For neither do I myself make any complaint if Plato thought it right to journey abroad in any way whatsoever, nor, if another man brings it up, do I think he has sense; nor do I at all meddle with anything outside what bears upon the argument, [so that, if one must say this too,
even in these very matters] let there be as yet no prize worth so much; but the things he himself did, and for whose sake he did them, and the things he himself plainly said—these, I say, agree with the arguments on behalf of rhetoric. And so far am I from disparaging him by these things that, if one must say even this, in these very matters I think I am dignifying him, if, when these matters stand opposed to those, I do not slander his deeds and actions, but, taking my stand from his life and deeds—the things that are on our side, and to which we lay claim—I show that they are otherwise than one would believe. Does it seem to you that this is the act of one disparaging him, or one sharing in any presumption or rashness? I think not. But if one must bring any complaint against these matters, one might more justly call it caution greater than was fitting. And yet that man, wherever he can convict any of the elders, even of the men of his own day held in high repute, in however small a degree, yields nothing. But no more of this for now. But what was I to do, in the name of Zeus? Was I not to mention the journey to Sicily at all, as though about to speak of something unspeakable? But I knew of no decree forbidding it, and it suited the argument, and at the same time it was true; for indeed he sailed more than once, and for the sake of justice being done to Dion. Let this be granted. But it appeared that in the discourse of the Gorgias he had said that not to be wronged was worth nothing much. But if these things are weak and worth nothing, they lie there in the open; let the wise refute them, if they wish, even while speaking ill of me. At any rate it is more customary to speak ill than to speak well. But ought I to have mentioned these things with some gentler manner and form? Well then, you have heard the deprecation, if not then, at least now. And that it was not in fear of these charges of yours that we afterwards inserted these things, but that they were there from the beginning—call as witnesses of this, if you wish, those who heard. But, by Zeus, this is grievous to the companions of Plato. That is another argument, not against me, but against anyone whatsoever. Or do I also do wrong in this, that I cited the passages from his Laws?
And in order that, since they are displeased, they may also show this—that he does not fall into contradiction with his own words, whenever he asserts anything. From the Laws: "For those who live happily, there must first belong this: not to wrong others, nor themselves to be wronged by others. Of these the one is not very difficult, but to acquire the power of not being wronged is altogether difficult; and it is not possible to have it perfectly otherwise than by becoming perfectly good." Upon these words, what did we utter in the book? From the book. Bravo, bravo for the testimony! This was what I needed. These things Plato says—he who shares in the epigram, and through whom the race of Ariston is divine in very truth. Perfectly then, my excellent friend, is rhetoric a noble thing, and one neither to be received nor acquired by everybody. For you too appear to concede this very point, that it is ordained for the not being wronged. Therefore, when it did not compel one to do wrong, and does not allow one to be wronged—and, as followed from the argument, allows neither of these, neither to do wrong nor to be wronged—then, if the definition of philosophy too is the same, rhetoric appears to be a kind of philosophy; and if it is enough for philosophy not to do wrong, rhetoric is more perfect; for it adds the harder thing to acquire, and the greater—that one shall not oneself be wronged by others. How then is the same thing at once perfectly good and the greatest of goods, and at the same time the uttermost of evils and a flattery? Or how do orators have the least power, if indeed that of which it is altogether difficult to acquire the power is theirs in abundance? I cannot make it out. Happy, then, not wretched, according to Plato's argument, are the orators, if indeed the perfectly good man is happy, and this cannot be acquired by one who has not become perfectly good. Is it right and necessary to bring these things into the open, or do we also do wrong and meddle in this, if we do not bow down, as before some sacred chest hiding things unspeakable? But I did not think this was what it is to divulge the unspeakable.
And again, see that you do not say that I speak more bitterly than is right. For I am not the cause of these things; rather, one ought to have accepted the challenge. And what was this challenge? To dare to listen, as in a court of law, fair and impartial to both sides.
But indeed I rightly, as it seems, foresaw and foretold these things—that, unless one shall hear the whole argument through, he will not only fail to honour it as is fitting, but will not even understand anything of the matter. For this reason I deemed it right that whoever intends to see the whole contest and to cast a right and just vote should listen to the end. For not even, my excellent man, do the jurors judge in this way—hearing some proem or narrative and then departing—nor, again, passing over these, do they come to some single portion of the probabilities, or only so far as to hear one piece of testimony or the recapitulation of what has been said; but having heard from beginning to end, they then cast their vote; and this, I think, is to their advantage too. By the gods who guard oaths, not even you, when you hold the Olympic games, preside over the contest in this fashion—hearing all of one contestant, but only the entrance-piece of another, or some middle portion of these, or the closing portion of those. To what purpose, then, do I say this? Because, having lit upon a small part of the argument, from this you have judged the whole; but the proem you did not hear, nor the whole setting forth, which one might have considered worth no less than the entire contest, to speak of it as a part. For the whole character was there, rather. For in those very passages you would have recognized that we came in to praise the man more than to demolish him. So fully did we render him all reverence and honour that, if he himself were going to speak in his own defence against himself, he would not, it seems to me, have spared
- himself more. And I think that even if a son of his had been going to speak against him, he would not have made greater apology, nor have adorned him more conspicuously before the Greeks. But you, having been absent from these things, are like one judging the case before hearing both sides of the story. And yet another man, having continuity on his side, would have forgotten even himself, not to say his adversary, and, showing the matter at issue, would have sought nothing further. But I, as if afraid that he might be thought the meaner in these matters, am found throughout the whole speech zealous for his cause; and though the demonstration is so continuous and dense—for let it be permitted to say so—the manner of the speeches addressed to the man is no less admirable, because I did not lay the foundation in one way and bring on the rest in another, but the regard for the man is followed everywhere in the speech, and we show that, while contradicting him, we adorn what is necessary out of abundance. And yet I should have wished him so to answer me, if he had come here; but perhaps he would have cared less for such a thing.
Consider, then, the things at the conclusion of the speeches too, how they accord with the proem. In one place, discoursing about those who are orators in the true sense: "But where in the chorus," we say, "shall Plato take his stand for us? We, for our part, are ready to place him in the fairest position"—in some such words as these, for I do not remember the exact phrasing. In another place, having mentioned certain other little fellows, "but to Plato, the father and teacher of orators," in this way, I think, we said what follows; and these things belong to one who magnifies not his life and his speeches so far as it is possible. "And all these things I am scrupulously precise about and go through for the sake of the truth," says Demosthenes, since the saying of Pindar too, which many celebrate: "One must, doing everything, obscure one's enemy." And by "enemy" he means, surely, the adversary. And in ball-games, too, and in the gymnastic contests themselves, and I will add the equestrian ones as well, we see those who strive for victory thus not following the wishes of their adversaries,
but doing and saying what is to their own advantage, so long as no law manifestly forbids it. So that, even if the speeches were most especially not to anyone's liking, but contained a refutation either of his speeches or of his life, ancient is the law to use such means, and I did not invent it, but it is altogether old; or rather I am afraid to say that it may be Plato who invented it. And to me, as I think, a moderate defence has been made concerning the charge; but that he is the one who is not very scrupulous if he must attack anyone, it is most likely that you know and remember these things better, since you have leisure for them; but what I myself remember, come, recall. And again, see that you do not say I am accusing Plato. For not for the sake of accusing him, but for the sake of defence, will I use the example from him. And that I fall unwillingly into these arguments you nearly know. For not even from the beginning did I compose those speeches on behalf of rhetoric as though a defence were needed of me. Does not the Alcibiades aim at being an exhortation to those about to take part in politics to take care of themselves? But advancing in the argument, he disparages Pericles, when neither the matter at all compels it. For I speak freely to you and to Plato himself. Consider from his words. From the book: "For you dwell with ignorance, my excellent friend, the uttermost ignorance, as your own argument accuses you, and you yourself. Wherefore you rush, then, into politics before being educated. And you have suffered this not you alone, but also the many of those who manage the affairs of this city—except a few, and perhaps your own guardian Pericles." Let this be necessary, if you wish, up to this point: "And you have suffered this not you alone, but also the many of those who manage the affairs of this city." But the rest—in the name of the gods, what does the wise man intend by "except a few, and perhaps your own guardian Pericles"? But that this digression has been sought out on purpose for the sake of speaking ill of Pericles, he will himself bear witness. And see that you not again be vexed
on the same account. For consider the very things he says. From the Alcibiades: "It is said, at any rate, Socrates, that he became wise not of his own accord, but by associating with many wise men, both Pythocleides and Anaxagoras; and now, that being of such an age, he is with Damon for this very purpose." "What then? Have you ever seen any wise man, whoever he be, unable to make another wise in the things he himself knows? Just as the one who taught you letters was himself wise and made you so, and any other he wished? Is it not so?" "Yes." "Therefore you too, who learned from him, will be able to make another so?" "Yes." "And the lyre-player and the trainer likewise." "Certainly." "For this, surely, is sufficient proof of those who understand anything, that they understand it—whenever they are able to show another also understanding it." "It seems so to me." "What then can you say—whom did Pericles make wise, beginning with his sons?" "But what if the two sons of Pericles turned out to be simpletons, Socrates?" "But Cleinias, your brother." "But why would you mention Cleinias again, a madman?" "Since, then, Cleinias is mad, and the two sons of Pericles became simpletons, to what cause shall we ascribe it, that he overlooks you in this condition? I, I think, am the cause, not paying attention. But of the other Athenians, tell me of any slave or free man who has the reputation of having become wiser through the company of Pericles, just as I can tell you, through that of Zeno, of Pythodorus son of Isolochus and Callias son of Calliades, of whom each, having paid Zeno a hundred minae, has become wise and renowned." "But, by Zeus, I cannot." "I seem to be giving you trouble; yet no more than to myself and the writer. For these things were being investigated about the lighting of the lamps, and one had to finish before going to bed."
Now consider what I say. If these things are necessary to the argument, then our remarks against him too share in the defence; but if they are not necessary, observe the excess of his good sense. For I was found, even in the necessary matters, not using the argument harshly, but sparingly and shaping my words as was fitting; whereas he so easily charged ignorance against a man among the most renowned of his day, and that while a youth was listening, suited to despise anyone whatever, and one to whom he was uncle and guardian and would have stood in a father's place. So that I, for my part, neither blame nor refute him; but I am afraid that someone of fiercer glance than I may say that these things accord with the charges which Socrates faced, of persuading the young to despise their elders. And if indeed I say that they say Pericles lived his private life no less honourably than Socrates, on the score of dignity, and that in the common campaigns it was more profitable to have Socrates at one's side—if I say these things, you will say that I am playing the orator. So I let these things go, for your sake. But this much I wish to learn: where was it necessary to mix these things into the dialogues? For it would be no wonder to me if no one could show it. And I infer it from one small point. For if one should remove this whole passage, beginning from "you have suffered this not you alone, but also the many of those who manage the affairs of this city," or even from there: "wherefore you rush, then, into politics before being educated," as far as "but, by Zeus, I cannot"—if one should remove this, in what way does the argument become worse, or how does it less exhort Alcibiades, if the connection be thus: "For you dwell with ignorance, my excellent friend, the uttermost ignorance, as the argument accuses you, and you yourself. Well then. What, then, do you intend concerning yourself? Either to leave things as you now are, or to take some care?" In what way did the argument become worse, if these things had stood thus? I, for one, do not see. For if he wished to censure some others of the many for the sake of exhorting the youth, he might have done as I have said. For he has discoursed, surely, about these matters separately too—that one must not look to such-and-such a man, but to the true antagonists. Is it not, then, monstrous, if Plato may
lampoon Pericles when there is no necessity, but we may not even say so much, without blame, as that Plato journeyed to Sicily? And yet why are we ashamed of this, who love him? There is, then, his Parmenides, a divine treatise. What then has the fact that Zeno was the beloved of Parmenides to do with the One and the Many and all these convolutions? Where was it necessary to bring this up against so great a man? But nonetheless he has said it, for the sake of some adornment of the discourse. But, by Zeus—as he anoints Homer with myrrh and sends him off, having paid him the honour of a swallow, did we in like manner bid Plato be sent out of the cities, or did we with such great license speak ill of him? Or do we again beg these Gorgian discourses not to be displeased if we strike them out, as he wishes to strike out Homer, like some Hellanodikes chosen for the judging of epic verse? But do we lampoon the companions of Plato, as he does those of Homer—and that too, in the name of the gods, what part of the argument compelled him to it? For I, at least, cannot conceive it. Would not the guardians have dwelt by themselves, if Homer had not been spoken ill of? But were the wives held in common what compelled these things? But would the journey of a thousand years have been worse told by him, if Creophylus had not been spoken ill of? But what did this profit him, to lampoon Homer to no purpose? And indeed he did not even deprecate this very thing to such a degree, neither beginning his discourse against him, as we made many deprecations, nor in what followed; but he said only this one brief thing—that the man must not be honoured above the truth. But the truth did not compel him to bring Creophylus into the discourse. Or shall it be permitted to Plato, even from their names, to tear apart whomsoever he wishes, and through these, others again, but to us it shall not be permitted, even from his deeds, to refute his words? And let us leave to him the matter of the epic verses
for the sake, at least, of the establishment of the constitution, to investigate—though here too one might object to him, "And what sort of thing is this?" For if you were going to make any use at all of the poet, you ought to have erased the parts you did not approve; but if you simply send him off, and do not allow even those of whom you approve to associate with your city, you make trouble for yourself, taking out some parts and leaving others in. Let us grant, then, if he wishes, that these things were said for the sake of seasoning the discourse and of pastime. Or must all his political men return again to him? Is it not a splendid ambition? For now I speak, having uncovered the matter. From the Republic: "Friend Homer, if you are not third from the truth concerning virtue, a fashioner of an image, whom we defined as an imitator, but even second, and were able to know what pursuits make men better or worse, in private and in public, tell us which of the cities was better governed because of you, as Lacedaemon because of Lycurgus, and many cities, great and small, because of many others? What city credits you with having been a good lawgiver and having benefited them? For Italy and Sicily credit Charondas, and we Solon; but who will have anyone to name for you?" "I think not," said Glaucon; "at any rate it is not said even by the Homeridae themselves." "But then is any war in Homer's time remembered as well waged under his command or counsel?" "None." "But such as belong to the deeds of a wise man—are many inventions and contrivances for the arts attributed to him, or any other deeds, as again about Thales of Miletus and Anacharsis the Scythian?" "Nothing of the sort at all." "But if not in public, is Homer said in his own lifetime to have been a leader of education for some in private, who loved him for his company and handed down to later men a kind of Homeric way of life, as Pythagoras both was himself surpassingly loved for this and his successors even now, naming their way of life in the same way,
seem to be somehow conspicuous among the rest?" "No, again," he said, "nothing of the sort is said. For Creophylus, Socrates, perhaps, the companion of Homer, might appear still more ridiculous in respect of his upbringing, if the things said about Homer are true. For it is said, indeed," said I, "but do you think, Glaucon, that if Homer had really been able to educate men and make them better—since concerning these things he was able not to imitate but to know—he would not have made many companions and been honoured and loved by them? But Protagoras of Abdera, then, and Prodicus of Ceos, and very many others, are able to persuade their contemporaries, associating with them privately, that they will be able to manage neither their city nor their own house unless these men supervise their education, and for this wisdom they are so exceedingly loved that their companions all but carry them about on their heads. But did the men of Homer's time, if indeed he was able to benefit men toward virtue, allow him and Hesiod to wander about reciting, and did they not cling to them rather than to gold, and compel them to stay with them at home, or, if they could not persuade them, themselves escort them about wherever they went, until they had partaken sufficiently of education?" "You seem to me, Socrates," said he, "to speak the whole truth." "Shall we not, then, beginning from Homer, lay it down that all the poets are imitators of images of virtue and of the other things about which they compose, and do not touch the truth?"
These things—in the name of the gods—what necessity or what propriety have they? Who will endure Charondas being ranked before Homer, and Protagoras and Prodicus and very many others? And this same Prodicus lies prostrate in his own writings, most ridiculously, and Protagoras looks askance at Hippias, and Hippias talks nonsense. What, one might ask, does this contribute to his marvellous doctrines? But
nonetheless these men, who are ridiculous elsewhere, he has here placed among the well-spoken-of—not in order to praise them, but in order, though it is unpleasant to say it, yet not enduring to hide the truth, to do despite, I say, to Homer. For who is it that says, "And indeed I beheld Tantalus," and "the other I perceived after him"? Therefore he lampoons those men through the words of Homer, and Homer again through them. And Hesiod too has become an insertion for him. So that I marvel what blasphemies he would have hurled against them if they had slandered the city itself, or taken away the constitution, seeing that, though he had nothing else to bring against them than that perhaps more men than is right praise them, he himself has behaved toward them so unlike them. But, my excellent Capito, I bethought me of this too in the midst of the discourse, that all things are images to the man—on the one hand the poets are imitators of images of virtue, on the other hand rhetoric is an image of a part of statecraft. And of images Homer might say to him that there is a fuller forecourt. Which, then, are the more reckless and rash, these, or my own words, in which I say that Plato journeyed abroad on behalf of these very matters, and say that I say these things not disparaging the journey, but confirming the argument by the journey? "Yes, but we have deprived him of the reputation of philosophy"—just as he does not even reckon the writers of tragedy in the account, but has called Homer a maker of tragedy, not honouring this man by that title, but cutting those men down through this one, and demolishing this man by that with which he honours him. For more, I think, did the Greeks credit tragedy to Homer. "But Epicharmus, then, is justly the chief of comedy to him"—to whom I myself would say that those things stand best which are nearest to the Attic tongue. Is it not, then, monstrous, if this man may set up for himself both makers of tragedy and makers of comedy, and a city and a constitution and laws, but to us it shall not be permitted even to dispute any argument with him—and that too while we anoint him not with myrrh,
but with the most auspicious words, and such as not even he himself would have deemed it worth while to hear greater on his own behalf? For if we said only one thing as we began our discourse against him—and I call, in this bold venture, both Hermes the God of Eloquence and Apollo Leader of the Muses and all the Muses—if we added only this, "all," who would have been able to come up to Plato to such a degree? For do not think that this word is an idle addition, as in Homer is "and all the nine Muses," but if one may speak of one's own work, the magnitude of the addition is past contriving. "By Zeus," one might say. "But is it only in these matters that he meddles more than we, and in the rest the man is full of caution?" Does he not fasten a hiccough on Aristophanes, with no relevance—or rather an altogether graceless and discordant thing, out of tune with the discourses on love—and is he so far from saying necessary or true things that he has falsified the whole gathering and fashions the dead together as though living? And you might know it from the very things said. For the Mantineans, of whom he makes mention in the discourse, saying that they were dispersed among the Arcadians in the archonship of so-and-so—but Socrates had died so much and so much before—and yet Aristophanes hiccoughs for him and says these things in Socrates' presence. Then to him it is permitted to fashion some things that in no way fit, even if they are manifestly outside the argument, but to us, then,
shall anyone bear a grudge if we brought into the open some of the things he himself did?