Oration 35

I have not come forward to give you a display, men, nor as one needing money from you, nor expecting praise. For I know that I myself am not adequately prepared so as to please you by speaking, nor are you so disposed as to have need of my words. And great is the gulf between your wish and my power. For I am by nature simple and a poor speaker, and no better than any chance man; but you marvellously and beyond measure desire to hear, and endure only the very clever.

Not, then, for this reason have I come forward, that you may marvel at me; for there is no way I could be marvelled at by you, not even if I should speak truer things than the Sibyl or Bacis; but that no one may look askance at me nor inquire of others who I am and whence I have come. For now perhaps they suspect that I am one of the wise men who know all things, using a ridiculous and absurd proof — the wearing of long hair. For if this were a cause of virtue and temperance, men's affairs would need no great nor difficult power.

But I fear that there is no benefit to the foolish in wearing long hair, as indeed there is not, not even if they should become hairy to the very heart, as they say Aristomenes the Messenian was, who gave the Lacedaemonians the most trouble and, often taken, escaped from them, and who, when at last he died, was found to be in this state. I say, then, that there is no benefit to these light-armed men, not even if they become peltasts, toward justice and true temperance and prudence, not even if they strip still more and run about naked in winter or take the dress of the Medes and Arabs, just as they will not be able to play the flute by putting on the dress of flute-players. For neither is it possible for asses to become horses, not even if their nostrils be slit still more, nor if, having bored their jaws, men put a curb in them, nor if one take off their packsaddles; but they will bray very loud before the walls and do the other things befitting them.

So let no one think that I differ from anyone on account of my garb, nor that I speak trusting in this, but on the contrary observe: if I keep quiet once for all and discourse to no one, men will much more suspect, as one giving himself airs, I think, as concealing something serious — for many have been admired for this very thing, the keeping silence — but if, standing in the midst, I appear to speak no better than the hucksters and the muleteers, I shall not trouble them, since they have clearly seen what sort I am.

And one may see this happening in other cases too: for instance, when some suspect that a man has this very thing which they happen to be seeking, they approach and search; if, then, he wraps it up and will not show it, they suspect still more; but if he straightway uncovers and becomes manifest as having nothing, they go off, thinking they have been mistaken. It is much better, then, for those who do not need reputation to uncover themselves before the many and to make plain by speaking what sort of man one is to those able to understand. For I think they will clearly despise me, as I now experience, and that we shall not understand one another, neither I the hearers nor they the speaker. And of this I would set down myself rather than you as the cause. This, then, is one reason for my coming forward.

And another is the fearing lest I myself be corrupted through your suspicion and really come to think that something serious belongs to me. For great judgment and power seem to be needed, when many marvel at one man and think he differs from the rest, if this man is to be temperate and to suffer nothing foolish nor to be exalted by the words of the many, as by wings; just as Homer has represented Achilles, through his boastfulness, exalted and borne up by his arms:

To him in turn there came wings, and they lifted up the shepherd of the people. And how great is the power of the many to persuade whatever they themselves wish, one might learn not least from children, when little boys follow a temperate man saying he is mad. For at first he goes off indignant within himself, then, ever clashing and reviling each and pursuing them, suffers this very thing, in the end he is driven out of his mind; and he supposed report to be a god, not only that of men, but also that of children.

And it seems to me that the race of the sophists too grows from somewhere here. When many young men at leisure marvel at one, leaping about, as the Bacchae about Dionysus, it is altogether necessary that this man, in no long time, seem to many of the rest to say something. For well-nigh as parents teach their children to talk, rejoicing at everything whatever they say; so then from these things the child takes courage and advances more and ever talks more clearly and at last has learned the speech of his companions, whether they be Greeks or barbarians; and the sophists too must take up the mind of their hearers, saying and thinking such things as these may happen to be.

And the most are reasonably silly and unfortunate. This, then, is perhaps no great danger, if one seems to himself and to others to be clever and leads about a multitude of foolish men, as they say Orpheus led the oaks and the rocks and the stones; but for one who is himself foolish and cowardly and licentious and in no way differing from the cattle to think that some virtue and nobility belongs to him, this is altogether dreadful and of the most grievous folly and madness of all. But when report lays hold of someone and such talk begins to smoulder, one must rend one's garment and leap out naked into the streets, showing all that he is better than no one.

And if anyone follows saying he is a disciple, to drive him off, striking and pelting with clods and stones, as foolish or wicked. And I say this not against all — for there are those who do the thing nobly and beneficially, to whom one ought to pour libations and burn incense — but those whom three or four long-haired men declare wise to you, like the priests among you; the blessed ones, I mean, the rulers of all the priests, the eponyms of one whole of the two continents. For these are the things that make these men too happy: a crown and purple and little long-haired boys carrying frankincense. These things, then, however they may be, let them be said.

But one ought not at all to suppose that wearing long hair is a sign of virtue. For many men wear long hair on account of some god; and farmers wear long hair, never having even heard the name of philosophy, and, by Zeus, the most of the barbarians, some for shelter, some thinking it befits them. And of these none is envied nor ridiculous.

For perhaps they do it rightly; since you see the hares too, the very weak, saved by their shagginess, and to the weakest of the birds their feathers suffice to ward off the wind and the rain, because they grow from themselves. But we take off our hair, like the herdsmen of the horses, those which they wish to put with the asses, and shear off our beards, but cover our heads. And we see the cocks needing no such thing, of which men, stitching together sheepskins and felt hats and other such things — and what felt hat, Arcadian or Laconian, could be more fitting to each than his own hair? And what need, one says, of so many coverings? None for the rich; for those there is need of neither hands nor feet.

But I see this city too in no way inferior to the foremost, and I rejoice with it and love it. For you inhabit the strongest and richest part of the mainland, and are established between the fairest plains and mountains, and have the most abundant springs and a most fruitful land bearing all things in countless measure — wheat and spelt and broad-grown white barley — and you pasture and herd many flocks and many herds. And of the rivers the greatest and most useful have their source from here — this Marsyas, flowing through the middle of your city, and the Orgas, and the Maeander, far the most divine and wise of all rivers, who, winding countless turns, traverses well-nigh the best of Asia.

And you sit before Phrygia and Lydia, and besides Caria, and other most populous nations dwell around — Cappadocians and Pamphylians and Pisidians — and to all these you furnish your own city as a market and place of assembly. And you have many of the nameless cities and many prosperous villages as subjects. And the greatest sign of your power is the amount of the tributes. For, as I think, of beasts of burden the strongest seem those that draw the most, so of cities too it is likely that the best are those that pay the most money.

And besides this, the assizes are held among you every year, and a countless multitude of men gathers — litigants, judges, orators, governors, attendants, servants, panders, muleteers, hucksters, courtesans, and artisans; so that those who have wares sell them at the highest price, and nothing in the city is idle, neither the teams nor the houses nor the women. And this is no small thing toward prosperity.

For wherever the greatest crowd of men gathers, there of necessity the most money is made, and the place is likely to thrive; just as, I think, they say the land where most sheep are folded becomes best for the farmers on account of the dung, and many of the shepherds beg to fold their sheep among them.

Therefore the matter of the assizes is considered greatest toward the strength of a city, and all are eager about nothing so much. And the foremost cities share in it in turn every other year. But they say it will now be at longer intervals. For men do not endure to be continually driven everywhere. And indeed you share in the temples of Asia, both of the expense as much as those cities in which the temples are. So I, for my part, know no city more fortunate than this, nor men living better, except the Indians.

For there, as they say, rivers flow, not, as among you, of water, but one of milk, another of clear wine, another of honey, another of oil. And they flow from near at hand, from hills, as from the breasts of the earth. And all these differ infinitely from those among us, both in pleasure and in power. For the things here we gather scantily and with difficulty from certain animals and plants, beating down the fruits of trees and milking and taking honey for the food of animals; but those there are altogether purer, without, I think, violence and villainy. And the rivers flow one month for the king, and this is a tribute to him, but the rest of the time for the commons.

They gather, then, each day with children and women to the springs and to the streams of the rivers, playing and laughing, as for a feast. And there grows by the banks both the strong lotus and well-nigh the sweetest of all foods, not, as that among us, food for cattle, and much sesame and parsley, as one might conjecture from the likeness; but its excellence it is not worth comparing. And there grows there another seed, a better and more useful food than wheat and barley. And it grows in great calyxes, like those of roses, but more fragrant and larger. These roots and the fruit they eat, having toiled at nothing.

And there are many channels flowing from the streams, some greater, some lesser, mingling with one another, the men having made them, as it seems good to them. And they divert them easily, as we the water in the gardens. And there are baths near them of water, the warm whiter than silver, the other, through its depth and coldness, dark blue. There women bathe and children together, all fair. Then, I think, lying down in the meadows they sing and warble.

And there are most beautiful meadows there and a nature of flowers and trees furnishing the shade from above on high, and the fruit within reach for those wishing to take it, the branches bending down. And the birds sing, some sitting together in the mountains, a great multitude, others from above on the branches, more sweet-voiced than the instruments among us. And a moderate breeze ever flows through, and the temper of the air is alike throughout, but most resembles the beginning of summer. And besides, the heaven there is purer and the stars more and brighter. And they live more than four hundred years, all this time comely and young, and there is among them neither old age nor disease nor poverty.

But these things being such and so great goods existing, nevertheless there are men called Brahmans, who, bidding farewell to those rivers and the things flung down among them, turning aside, by themselves reason and reflect, having taken up marvellous toils for their bodies with no one compelling them and enduring grievous hardships. And they say there is for them one special spring, that of truth, by far the best of all and most divine, of which those who have tasted are never sated. Now the things from thence are a true report. For some of those who come have already said so — and not many come, for the sake of trade; and these mingle with those by the sea. But this race of the Indians is dishonoured, and the rest shun them.

These one must admit are more prosperous than you, but you than the rest, except one race of men still, the richest in gold. And the gold they get from ants. These are larger than foxes, but in other respects like those among us. And they dig under the earth, like the rest of the ants. And the heaped earth is for them gold, the purest of all gold and the most gleaming. There are, then, nearby in succession, like mounds of the gold-dust, and the whole plain glitters. It is hard, then, to look toward the sun, and many of those who attempt to look have had their sight destroyed.

And the men who dwell nearby, having crossed the country between, which is desolate and not great, on chariots, having yoked the swiftest horses, arrive at midday, when the ants have gone down under the earth; then they flee, having snatched up the heaped earth. And the ants, perceiving it, pursue and, having overtaken, fight, until they die or kill; for they are the most valiant of all beasts. So that these at least know how much the gold is worth, and do not give it up before they die.

Come now, what others among us do we hear are prosperous? The Byzantines, inhabiting a most excellent land and a most fruitful sea. But they have neglected the land on account of the excellence of the sea. For the one bears them fruit after a long time and one must take it having laboured, but the other yields it at once with no toil.