Oration 6

Diogenes of Sinope, when he was exiled from Sinope, came to Greece and passed his time sometimes at Corinth, sometimes at Athens. And he said that he imitated the manner of life of the king of the Persians; for that king too passed the winter in Babylon and Susa, and sometimes in Bactra—the most temperate regions of Asia—and the summer in Ecbatana of Media, where the air is always coldest, and the summer is like the winter about Babylon.

And so he too changed his dwelling according to the seasons of the year. For Attica, he said, has neither great mountains nor rivers flowing through it, as the Peloponnese and Thessaly have; for the country is porous and the air light, so that there is neither frequent rain nor any holding of the water that falls, and nearly the whole of it is surrounded by the sea—whence indeed it took its name, being a kind of coastland (akte); and the city itself lies in the lowland and toward the south.

The proof: those who put in from Sunium to the Piraeus cannot make harbor save with a south wind. Reasonably, then, the winter there is mild. But at Corinth the summer is breezy, because of the gulfs running in, the winds always streaming together there; and the Acrocorinthus casts its shade, and the city itself inclines rather toward Lechaeum and toward the north.

And these cities, he said, were far fairer than Ecbatana and Babylon, and the Craneum and the Acropolis at Athens and the Propylaea far better built than the palaces there, falling short only in size; and yet the perimeter of Athens was two hundred stades, the Piraeus and the connecting walls being added to the circuit of the city—for all these too had been inhabited not long since—so that Athens was half of Babylon, if what is said of the place there happens to be true.

And indeed in the beauty of its harbors, and besides in statues and paintings and gold and silver and bronze, and in coinage and furniture, and the construction of the houses, the places there surpassed these; except that he himself cared little for such things.

But the length of the road for that king, to make his change, was very great; he passed, at any rate, the greater part of winter and summer on the road; whereas he himself, putting up nearby at Megara, could be at Athens the next day quite easily—by way of Eleusis, if he wished, or, if not, by a shorter way through Salamis, not journeying through desert stations; so that he had the advantage over the king and lived more luxuriously, for his dwelling was better appointed.

These things he was wont to say in jest; yet for all that he showed to those who admired the wealth of the Persian and his so-called happiness, that none of that king's affairs is such as they suppose. For of them some are of no use, and others even very poor men are able to provide.

Nor, as some of the foolish supposed, was he careless of his body; but they, seeing him shivering and living in the open and often thirsty, thought he was careless of his health and his life; whereas he, suffering these things, was more healthy than those who are always being filled, more healthy than those who stay indoors and never make trial of either cold or heat,

and besides he perceived warmth with more pleasure, and took his food with more pleasure; but most of all he rejoiced in the seasons, both gladdened at the approach of summer, when it would now diffuse the air, and not vexed at its passing, since he was rid of the violent heat; and following along with the seasons and making trial of them little by little, he arrived painlessly at each extreme.

And he rarely used fire or shade or shelter, not anticipating the season; nor, like other men—because it is open to them always to burn fire, and they have plenty of clothing and have houses—if they perceive even a little cold do they straightway flee from the air, and make their bodies useless and unable to endure winter;

and because it is open to them to use shade in abundance in summer and to drink as much wine as they wish, for this reason they continue without experience of the sun, without experience of natural thirst, kept at home no less than the women, untoiling and idle in body, but their souls full of drunken surfeit and forgetfulness. Whence indeed they contrive for themselves wretched foods and bathhouses for this very purpose, and on the same day they often need wind, and need clothing, and need at once snow and fire; and—most absurd of all—they crave even hunger and thirst.

And being licentious, they take no pleasure in the things of love, because they do not wait to feel desire for them; whence they seek graceless and joyless pleasures. But he made use of hunger and thirst before his food on each occasion, and held this the most sufficient and most pungent of relishes. Accordingly he took a barley-cake with more pleasure than others the most costly of foods, and drank running water with more pleasure than others Thasian wine.

And he laughed at those who, when they were thirsty, passed the springs by, but sought by all means where they might buy Chian or Lesbian wine, and he said they were far more witless than the cattle; for those, when thirsty, never pass by a spring or a clean stream, nor, when hungry, abstain from the tenderest leaves and grass enough to nourish them.

And he had the fairest and most healthful houses in all the cities, the temples and the gymnasia thrown open. And one cloak sufficed him for summer and for winter; for he endured the air easily, having become accustomed to it.

His feet he never covered; for he said they were no more delicate than the eyes and the face. For these, being by nature weakest, best endure the cold, because they are always bared; for it is not possible for men to walk with their eyes bound up, as their feet. And he said the rich were like newborn infants; for they always need swaddling-clothes.

But that thing for which men have the most trouble, and spend the most money, and on whose account many cities have been laid waste, and many nations have miserably perished—of all things this was for him the most toilless and least costly.

For he did not need to go anywhere for the sake of love, but said in jest that Aphrodite was present to him everywhere for nothing; and that the poets slandered the goddess, out of their own incontinence, calling her 'rich in gold.' And since many disbelieved this, he did the thing openly and in the sight of all; and he said that if men were so disposed, Troy would never have been taken, nor would Priam, the king of the Phrygians, descended from Zeus, have been slaughtered at the altar of Zeus.

But the Achaeans were so foolish as to think that even the dead have further need of women, and they slaughtered Polyxena at the tomb of Achilles. And he said that the fishes appeared somewhat more prudent than men; for whenever they need to cast off their seed, they go out and rub themselves against something rough.

And he wondered at men, that for the foot one is not willing to be scratched for money, nor the hand, nor any other part of the body, and not even the very rich would spend a single drachma for this, but for that one part often many talents—and some men have even staked their very lives.

And he said in jest that this practice was the invention of Pan, when, in love with Echo, he could not win her, but wandered in the mountains night and day; and then Hermes taught it to him, pitying him in his straits, as being his son. And Pan, when he had learned it, ceased from his great wretchedness; and from him the shepherds, having learned, made use of it.

Such things, then, he sometimes said, laughing at the conceited and witless among men; but most of all he chastised the sophists, who wish to be august and think they know something more than the rest. And he said that, through their softness, men live more wretchedly than the beasts.

For those, using water for drink and herbage for food, most of them naked throughout the year, never going into a house and using no fire, live as long a time as nature has appointed to each, if no one destroys them; and they pass their lives strong and healthy alike, and have no need of physicians or drugs.

But men, though so very fond of life, and contriving so many things to put off death—the most of them do not even attain to old age, but live full of diseases which it is not easy even to name; and the earth does not suffice them, supplying drugs, but they need also iron and fire.

And neither Chiron nor Asclepius nor the sons of Asclepius healing them are of any benefit to them, because of their own licentiousness and wickedness; nor seers prophesying, nor priests purifying.

And having come together into cities, that they may not be wronged by those outside, on the contrary they wrong one another and work all the most terrible things, as though they had come together for this. And on account of these things, it seemed to him, the myth too is told, that Zeus punishes Prometheus for the discovery and giving of fire, as being the beginning and starting-point of softness and luxury for men. For surely Zeus does not hate men nor grudge them any good thing.

And when some said it was not possible for man to live like the other animals, because of the tenderness of his flesh, and because he is bare, neither covered with hair, like most of the beasts, nor with feathers,

nor clad in a strong hide, against these things he argued that men were so very tender because of their manner of life; for they flee, for the most part, the sun, and flee the cold; but the bareness of the body troubles them not at all. And he pointed to the frogs and not a few other animals, much tenderer than man and much barer, and some of these able to endure not only the air, but to live even in the coldest water in winter.

And he pointed out that of men themselves the eyes and the face need no covering. And in general no animal is born in any place where it cannot live; or how would the first men have been preserved when they came into being, there being neither fire nor houses nor clothing nor any food save the spontaneous? But the craft of those who came later, and the discovering and contriving of many things for life, was of no great profit.

For men use their wisdom not for courage nor justice, but for pleasure; pursuing, then, the pleasant by every means, they ever live more unpleasantly and more laboriously, and, seeming to take forethought for themselves, they perish most miserably through their much care and forethought.

And so indeed Prometheus is justly said, bound on the rock, to have his liver cropped by the eagle. As many things, then, as are costly and require labor and toil, these he did away with and declared harmful to those who use them; but as many as it is possible easily and without trouble to use to help the body, both against winter and against hunger and toward putting a stop to some appetite of the body, none of these did he set aside, but he chose places healthful rather than diseased, and those easy to bear in each season,

and he took care that he should have enough food and moderate clothing, but was outside affairs and lawsuits and rivalries and wars and factions. And most of all he imitated the life of the gods; for them alone, Homer says, live easily, since men live laboriously and harshly. And such things, he said, even the beasts discern.

For the storks, leaving the hot regions in summer, come to the temperate air, and after passing here the pleasantest part of the time, thereafter depart all together, withdrawing from the winter; and the cranes visit the sown land, bearing winter moderately, and for the sake of food.

And the deer and the hares, in the cold, come down from the mountains to the plains and the hollows, and there shelter in the windless and gentle spots, but in the heat withdraw into the wood and the most northern places.

And seeing the other men disturbed throughout their whole life, plotting against one another throughout, ever in countless evils, and never able to keep quiet—not even in the sacred months, nor though they proclaim a truce—and all these things they did and suffered for no other end than that they might be able to live, and most of all fearing lest the so-called necessaries should fail them, and besides taking thought and seeking how to leave much wealth to their children: he wondered that he himself did nothing of the kind, but was alone of all men free, and no one else understood his peculiar happiness.

So that he no longer thought fit to compare himself with the king of the Persians; for the distance between was great. For that king was the most wretched of all, fearing poverty in the midst of so much gold, fearing diseases yet unable to abstain from the things that cause disease, dismayed at death, and supposing that all plotted against him, down to his children and brothers.

And on account of these things he took no pleasure even in eating, though the pleasantest things were before him, nor in drinking did he forget his troubles. And he passed no single day easily, on which he saw himself not suffering the most terrible things. And at one time, sober, he craved drunkenness, as though he would then be rid of his calamities; and at another, drunk, he thought himself undone, as unable to help himself.

And besides, awake he prayed to fall asleep, that he might forget his fears; and asleep he rose with all speed, as being destroyed by the very dreams; and of his golden plane-tree and the buildings of Semiramis and the walls in Babylon there was no benefit to him.

And what is most paradoxical of all: he feared the unarmed and trusted himself to the armed, and searched those who approached, lest any had iron, yet lived in the midst of iron-bearers. And he fled from the unarmed to the armed, and from the armed to the unarmed; from the multitude he guarded himself with his spearmen, and from his spearmen with eunuchs. And he had none whom he might trust, nor anywhere to turn and be able to live one day without fear.

And he viewed with suspicion his food and his drink, and had men to test these beforehand, as on a road full of enemies men have those who scout ahead. But he could not trust even his nearest—neither children nor wife. And though the thing was so harsh and monarchy so ill-starred, he could neither wish nor be able ever to be rid of it.

And yet all things that are terrible to men have this consolation, that they may chance to cease. For whoever is held by bonds expects sometime to be loosed, and for the man exiled from his country it is not impossible to return, and for the sick it is possible to hope for health until death; but for that king there is no being rid of the thing—nay, not even to pray for it, if nothing else. And all to whom it has befallen to grieve at the death of some friend know clearly that they will sometime cease grieving with time; but for him, on the contrary, the hard things are rather intensified.

For it is not easy for a tyrant to grow old, and a tyrant's old age is hard, not like a horse's, as they say. For both those ill-treated are more numerous, and those who despise him; and he is unable to help himself with his body. Now all terrible things are apt to dismay those who expect them more than to pain those who have made trial of them—poverty and exile and bonds and dishonor. And if one should take from death the dread of it, nothing grievous is left;

for not only does death itself not trouble those who have suffered it, but they no longer feel any pain. But fear is so harsh that many before now have anticipated the deed; for some, storm-tossed in a ship, did not wait for the ship to sink, but slew themselves first, and others, when the enemy had surrounded them, clearly knowing that they would suffer nothing more terrible.

This hard thing, then, is ever present to monarchs, alike by day and by night. And to the condemned a fixed day is appointed on which they must die, but to him even this is uncertain, whether after a little or at once, and no moment, not even the briefest, is free from this dread; but eating he must fear, and sacrificing to the gods, and drinking with company and sleeping in the company of this fear.

And if it ever comes upon such men to make merry, this man, even when engaged in the pleasures of love, even if he happens to be very much in love, remembers death, as one likely to be destroyed by the very objects of his love; so that, it seems to me, then only does a man who is a tyrant rejoice,

when he has been struck, as one rid of the greatest evil. But the most absurd thing of all: the others, when they fall into incurable calamities, know it, so that they do not suffer ill long, those for whom dying is not impossible; but the tyrants, having the greatest evils, suppose themselves to be among the greatest goods, deceived, I think, by the opinion of the other men who are inexperienced in the matter. And God has yoked this ignorance to them, that they may remain to be punished.

And to those of men who fare well, life seems the better, and death on this account the more grievous;

but those who live ill seem to bear life with more difficulty, and to await death with more pleasure. But for tyrants both these things are harder than for the rest; for they live far more unpleasantly than those who very greatly desire to die, yet they fear death as much as those who pass their lives most pleasantly.

And whereas it is natural that pleasant things gladden the more when they are rare, but to those who use them continually turn into displeasure, and that evils are harder when never escaped, well-nigh both—both the pleasant and the painful—are ever present to tyrants, so that they nearly never cease grieving, but never perceive pleasure.

And he ever fears the power of the rich and the desire for wealth of the poor. And to monarchs alone none of those who have been well treated feels gratitude; for they never think they obtain enough; but those who do not obtain what they wish hate them most of all.

And indeed the most envied of all is he who has the most unjustly; so that none is more envied than a tyrant. And besides these things, he must gratify those about him; otherwise he will most quickly perish. But to gratify many often is not easy without taking from others. He has, then, both those robbed for enemies and those who have received for suspects, seeking to be rid of him as quickly as possible. And the far-off he fears because they stand far off, and the near because they are near him; and from those at a distance he suspects war, from those near, treachery.

And he holds peace to be unprofitable, because of men's leisure, and war, because he must trouble his subjects, both raising money and forcing them to campaign. Accordingly, in war they long for peace, and when peace has come they straightway contrive war.

And at one time, the necessaries being abundant, they fear the insolence of the multitude, and at another, if any want overtakes them, their anger. And they think it safe neither to go abroad nor to stay nor to go forward nor to live indoors at home, nor even to set foot safely where they set foot, but that all is full of ambush and treachery.

And each of them reckons up the deaths of tyrants and the plots, as many as have ever been, and thinks all these are coming upon himself, and is so terrified as one about to die all those deaths; and he wishes always to look about and turn around, thinking he will be struck from every side, yet this very thing he cannot do, for shame together with fear.

For the more plainly a man who is a tyrant is seen to fear, so much the more do men plot against him, despising his cowardice. His life, then, is like that of one shut up in a small prison, with swords hanging above and others fixed all around, and these touching his skin;

so that not only against the body, but against the soul of the tyrant the swords are fixed, so that Tantalus in Hades, who, they say, dreads the rock overhanging his head, passes his time far more easily. For Tantalus no longer fears that he will die; but to the tyrant, living, this has befallen which they tell of him dead.

As many, then, as have become tyrants of a single city or a small country—for these it is not impossible, running off from their rule and fleeing somewhere else, to live; and yet no one loves a man who is a tyrant, but they hate and suspect him and readily give him up to those he has wronged. But as many as rule over many cities and nations and a boundless land, like the king of the Persians—for these it would never even occur to understand their evils; and even if some one of the gods should take away their ignorance, it is not possible to escape.

And he thinks he could never live in safety, not even if he became of bronze or of iron, but even so would be cut to pieces or melted down and perish. If, then, anyone converses with him boldly, he is angry and fears the frank speech; but if anyone tends him and bows beneath him, he suspects the attendance.

And by those who approach him in a free manner he thinks himself insulted, and by the more lowly deceived. And when reviled, he is pained many times more than another, because, being a tyrant, he hears himself ill spoken of; and praised, he takes no pleasure, for he thinks men do not say it as they think.

And of the fairest and most profitable possession of all he is most destitute; for goodwill and friendship he can hope for from no one, but sooner will those who keep them love the wild lions than those who tend and approach tyrants love them.

"But I," he says, "walk wherever I wish by night, and walk by day alone, and am bold, if need be, even passing through a camp without a herald's wand, and through robbers; for no one is hostile or an enemy to me as I walk. And if all the gold should fail, and all the silver, and all the bronze, I should not be harmed even a little.

And if all the houses should fall by an earthquake, as once at Sparta, and all the sheep should perish, so that none had clothing in plenty, and not only Attica but Boeotia too and the Peloponnese and Thessaly should be overtaken by want, as they say happened once before, I shall live no worse nor more in want.

For by how much shall I be barer than now, by how much more houseless? Apples are enough to furnish me food, and millet and barley and vetches and the cheapest of pulse, and an acorn under the ashes, and the fruit of the cornel-tree, with which Homer says Circe feasted the companions of Odysseus, and on which even the greatest beasts hold out, being nourished."