Oration 10

Once, as Diogenes was going off from Corinth to Athens, he fell in along the road with one of his acquaintances, and asked where he was going—not as the many ask such things, displaying that it is no light matter for them to know about their friends' affairs, and then, having merely heard, take their leave; but just as physicians question the sick about what they intend to do, for the sake of giving counsel, and some things they enjoin, others they forbid, so Diogenes questioned the man as to what he was doing.

And he said, "Diogenes, I am journeying to Delphi to consult the god. And being about to go through Boeotia—for the boy who was journeying with me ran off—I am now going to Corinth; for perhaps I might find the boy too." And Diogenes said, as was his wont, in earnest, "Then, you ridiculous fellow, do you attempt to make use of a god, when you cannot make use of a slave? Or does this not seem to you less hard than that, and to have less danger for those who cannot use them rightly? And what, indeed," he said, "do you want, seeking the boy? Was he not wicked?" "Most of all," he said;

"for, though wronged in nothing by me, and besides having been brought up by me, he thought me wicked; for if he had thought me good, he would never have left me." "Perhaps, Diogenes, because you yourself are bad." "Then," he said, "that boy, thinking you wicked, fled, that he might not be harmed by you; but you, saying that he is wicked, seek him—plainly wishing to be harmed by him?

Or are not wicked men harmful to those who keep and use them, whether they be Phrygians or Athenians, whether free or slave? And yet no one, thinking a dog bad, seeks it when it has run off, but men even cast it out if it comes back; whereas, being rid of a wicked man, they are not content, but have much trouble both writing to strangers and themselves traveling abroad and spending money, that they may recover him.

And which do you think more numerous—those harmed by bad dogs, or by bad men? By bad dogs they say one man, Actaeon, perished, and those gone mad; but by bad men it is not possible even to tell how many have perished—private men and kings and whole cities—some by their household-folk, some by soldiers and bodyguards, some by certain so-called friends, and some even by sons and brothers and wives.

Is it not, then, a great gain for whomever it befalls to be rid of a bad man? Must one rather seek and pursue him?—as if one should seek a disease that had departed and wish to take it back into the body?" And the man said, "These things you have said rightly, Diogenes; but it is hard, when one has been wronged, not to avenge oneself. For that boy, having suffered nothing from me, as you see, dared to leave me—he who did no work at my house of all that slaves do, but, being idle, was fed indoors, doing nothing but following me."

"Then," he said, "did you do him no wrong, feeding him idle and untaught and making him as bad as could be? For idleness and the keeping of leisure above all things destroy the witless among men. So he rightly perceived that he was being corrupted by you, and ran off justly, that he might work, plainly, and not, keeping leisure and sleeping and eating, become ever worse. But you perhaps think it a small wrong, you who make a man more wicked—and not that one ought above all to flee from this man as the most hateful and most treacherous?" And the man said, "What, then, shall I do? For I have no other servant."

"And what," he said, "will you do, when you have no other shoes, and those you have trouble and chafe your feet? Will you not, having taken them off as quickly as possible, walk barefoot? But if they come loose of themselves, do you again tie and bind them tight upon your foot? For indeed, just as the unshod sometimes walk more easily than the badly shod, so many live more easily and with less pain without servants than those who have many.

Do you not see the rich, how many troubles they have—some tending their sick servants and needing physicians and the others who must wait on them? For the slaves are for the most part apt to neglect themselves and to take no heed in their sicknesses, partly from incontinence, partly thinking that, if they suffer anything, the masters will be the losers, not themselves; and others must scourge them daily, others bind them, others pursue them when they flee. And indeed they can neither travel abroad easily, whenever it seems good to them, nor, staying at home, do they keep leisure.

And the most ridiculous thing of all: sometimes they are more in want of attendants than the poor and those who have no servant at all. And the thing is like the millipedes; for I think you know them; for those, having ten thousand feet, are the slowest of creeping things. Do you not know that nature has made each one's body sufficient for its own service?—feet, that one may walk; hands, that one may work and tend the rest of the body; eyes, that one may see; ears, that one may hear.

And besides these she made the belly proportionate, and a man needs no more food than he is able to provide for himself, but this is for each the most sufficient and best and most healthful measure. As, then, the hand that has more fingers than nature gives is weaker, and such a man is called maimed, in a way, to whom a superfluous finger is grown from outside, and he cannot even use the others properly—so, when many feet and many hands and many bellies are added to a man, by Zeus, he does not become stronger for anything, nor does he the more obtain what he needs to obtain, but far less and with more difficulty.

But you," he said, "now seek food for one man, but then for two; and now you will nurse yourself, if some sickness befalls, but then you must tend him too when sick; and now, when you are in the house, you do not worry lest you yourself filch something, nor, when you sleep, lest the boy, being awake, do some mischief. All these things you must consider. And if you have a wife, then she would not have thought fit to tend you, seeing a servant fed indoors, and, quarreling partly with him and partly living in luxury herself, she would have troubled you; but now she will be less idle and will tend you more.

And indeed, where there is a servant, the children born are at once corrupted, and become more idle and more arrogant, there being one to wait on them and having one whom they despise; but where they themselves are not, they are far braver and stronger, and learn at once from the beginning to care for their fathers." "But, Diogenes, I am poor, and if it should not profit me to keep the servant, I will sell him." "Then," he said, "are you not ashamed, first, of deceiving the man, selling him a wicked slave? For either you will not tell the truth, or you will be unable to sell him.

And besides this, if anyone sells a counterfeit garment, or a vessel, or a beast sick and useless, he must take it back, so that you will gain nothing. And if you are even able to deceive someone, and he does not perceive the man's wickedness, do you not fear the money? For perhaps you will buy another worse, if you chance on a buyer sharper than yourself; and perhaps, having taken it, you will use it for some other thing whereby you will be harmed. For money does not always benefit those who acquire it, but men have suffered far more harms and more evils from money than from poverty—especially when they are witless.

Will you not be eager first to acquire that by which you will be able to be benefited by everything and to use all your affairs well, but, before gaining wisdom, will you seek money or land or slaves or a yoke of oxen or a ship or a house?—things to which you will be a slave, and you will be grieved for their sake and toil much in vain and continue your whole life worrying about them, and will profit nothing whatever from them.

Do you not see these beasts and birds, how much more free of pain they live than men, and besides more pleasantly, and are more healthy and stronger, and each of them lives as long a time as it can, and yet they have neither hands nor a man's understanding? But nonetheless, in place of all their other evils, they have the greatest good—that they are without possessions." "But I think I shall let the servant be, Diogenes, unless he falls in with me by chance." "Yes, by Zeus," said Diogenes, "just as if you should say that you would not seek a horse that bites or kicks; yet if I happen on one, I would go up to it, so as to be bitten or kicked."

"Let these things be; but why do you not allow me to make use of the god? For do I forbid you to make use of a god, if you can?" "I did not say that, but that it is hard—or rather impossible—to make use of a god or a man or oneself, without understanding it; and to attempt it without the understanding is of all things most harmful. Or whoever is not experienced in the use of horses, does he seem to you to be able to use horses?" "Not to me." "And if he should force the matter, would he not reap some evil rather than good first?" "True."

"And what? Whoever is ignorant of the use of dogs, would he be able to use them? Or is not using something being benefited from it?" "It seems so to me." "No one, then, of those harmed by something uses that by which he is harmed?" "No." "And so he who tries to use dogs without understanding will be damaged by them?" "Likely enough." "Then he will not even use them, since there is no use where damage attends. And not only with dogs and horses is it so, but with oxen and mules too; and—what you would wonder at more—not even an ass or a sheep can the inexperienced use.

Or do you not know that some have been benefited, and others harmed, by sheep-keeping and ass-driving?" "I do." "For any other reason than that the inexperienced must be damaged, and those who know must profit, both from asses and from swine and from geese and from every other animal?" "It seems so." "And what? Is not the same argument true of implements? Could the unmusical man use a lyre, or, attempting it, would he not be ridiculous, and besides accomplishing nothing, ruin the lyre and break the strings? And what?

If one not skilled in the flute should wish to use flutes, and, coming forward into the theaters, to play, will he not himself pay the penalty, being pelted, and besides shatter the flutes? And whoever attempts to use a rudder, not knowing how to steer, is it possible that he will not most quickly overturn the ship and destroy both himself and those sailing with him? And what? Does the use of spear or shield profit the cowardly and unskilled, or would they not, by such a trial of the use, cast away not their arms only, but themselves too?" "I grant it, Diogenes," he said; "but you make the sun set with your questioning about everything."

"And which is better," he said, "to make the sun set hearing what one must, or walking in vain? And likewise in nearly all things from which experience of use is absent, eagerness is dangerous, and the harm is likely to be greater from the greater things. Does, then, the use of an ass seem to you like that of a horse?" "How could it?" "And what? That of a man like that of a god?" "But it is not even worth speaking of, Diogenes," he said. "Is there, then, anyone who can use himself, not knowing himself?" "And how?" he said. "For he who is ignorant of man is unable to use a man." "Unable, indeed." "Then he who is ignorant of himself would not be able to use himself?" "It seems so to me."

"Have you, then, already heard the inscription at Delphi, 'Know thyself'?" "I have." "Is it not plain, then, that the god commands all, as not knowing themselves?" "It seems so." "You, then, would be one of all?" "How not?" "Then you too do not know yourself?" "I think not." "And being ignorant of yourself, you are ignorant of man; and not knowing man, you are unable to use a man; and being unable to use a man, you attempt to use a god—which we agree to be altogether greater and harder than that.

And what? Do you think Apollo speaks Attic or Doric? Or that the speech of men and gods is the same? But it differs so much that the river in Troy, the Scamander, is called by them Xanthus, and the bird the cymindis, chalcis, and a certain place before the city, which the Trojans called Batieia, the gods name the tomb of Myrine. Whence indeed the words of the oracles are obscure and have already deceived many.

For Homer, perhaps, it was safe to journey to Apollo at Delphi, since, being bilingual, he understood the languages—if indeed he understood them all, and not merely a few; like those who, knowing two or three Persian words or Median or Assyrian, deceive the ignorant—but do you not fear lest, the god saying one thing, you think another? Just as they say of that Laius, the lover of Chrysippus, who, having come to Delphi, asked the god how children might be born to him. So the god responded that he should not beget, or, having begotten, should expose the child.

But Laius was so witless as to disregard the god in both points; for he both begot and reared. And then he himself perished, and his whole house, because, being unable, he attempted to use Apollo. For had he not heard these things, he would not have exposed Oedipus; and Oedipus, reared at home, would not have killed Laius, knowing that he was his own son.

And indeed you have heard the story of Croesus the Lydian, who, thinking he obeyed the god above all, and having crossed the river Halys, lost his empire, and himself was bound in fetters and was nearly burned alive. Or do you think yourself more prudent than Croesus, a man so wealthy and ruling over so many men and a companion of Solon and of very many other sages?

And Orestes too, you doubtless see in the tragedies blaming the god and reproaching him, whenever he was mad, as though Apollo had counseled him to kill his mother. And yet do not think that Apollo enjoined anything hard or shameful on those who asked him. But, as I said, men, being unable to use the god, and then attempting it, blame not themselves but him. You, then, if you are persuaded by me, will be on your guard, and first be eager to know yourself, and then, having become wise, if it seem good to you, you will then consult oracles.

For I think that, having understanding, you will have no need of divination. For consider: if it should bid you write and read correctly, you not being literate, you will not be able. But knowing letters, even without the god commanding, you will write and read properly. And likewise with any other thing—if it counsel you, not knowing how, you will not be able. And you will not be able to live rightly, not knowing how, not even if you trouble Apollo every day and he keeps leisure for you alone. But having understanding, you will know from yourself what you must do, and how.

But what I forgot to say about Oedipus, that he did not go to Delphi to consult the oracle, but, having met with Teiresias, reaped great evils from that man's divination through his own ignorance. For he learned that he had lain with his mother and that he had children by her; and after this, when perhaps he ought to have hidden this, or to have made it lawful for the Thebans, first he made it plain to all, and then was indignant and cried aloud, that he was father and brother of the same persons, and husband and son of the same woman.

But the cocks are not indignant at these things, nor the dogs, nor any of the asses, nor the Persians—and yet they seem the best of those in Asia. And besides this, he blinded himself; and then he wandered about, blinded, as though unable to wander while seeing." And the man, hearing this, said, "You, Diogenes, declare Oedipus the most senseless of all men; but the Greeks think he was a man not fortunate, but the most intelligent of all;

at any rate, that he alone solved the riddle of the Sphinx." And Diogenes, laughing, said, "Did he indeed solve the riddle? Have you not heard that the Sphinx bade him know himself, that he is a man? But what man is, he neither said nor knew; and saying the name of man, he thought he was saying the thing asked—just as if someone, asked what Socrates is, should say nothing more than the name, that he is Socrates. But I heard someone saying that the Sphinx is ignorance.

This, then, both formerly destroyed the Boeotians, and now, allowing them to know nothing, as being the most ignorant of men. The others, then, perceive their own folly somewhat more, but Oedipus, having thought himself the wisest and to have escaped the Sphinx, and having persuaded the other Thebans of this, perished most wretchedly. For all who, being ignorant, are persuaded that they are wise—these are far more wretched than all the rest; and such is the race of the sophists."