Oration 66
Imperial Dio Chrysostom Greek- There are some who call the lovers of money, or of dainties, or the drunkards, or those frantic over women or boys, profligate and wretched, and regard each of these as the greatest disgrace; but the lovers of honour and reputation they praise, on the contrary, as brilliant men. So that each man himself, when gluttonous or drinking or in love with someone, is ashamed and conceals his intemperance, but when chasing reputation and seeking honour he wishes to escape no man's notice, but does these things in the open. 2. For each of the multitude speaks well of this particular disease, thinking it profitable to himself. And publicly nearly all the cities have devised baits of every kind for the senseless—crowns and front seats and proclamations. Therefore they have ere now reduced some who craved these things to wretchedness and poverty, while holding out nothing great nor wonderful, but leading some of them about by a sprig, as one does sheep, or casting upon them some crown or fillet. And so such a man, though he might, if he wished, have ten thousand crowns for nothing—not only of olive or oak, but of ivy and myrtle—has often sold his house and his lands, and after that goes about hungry and with a sorry little cloak. "But he is publicly proclaimed," he says, "by his fellow-citizens"— 3. like a slave who has run away and been advertised. With good reason, then, do they use the olive sprig for their votings, because it is by nature bitter. The peoples drive the reputation-hunters out of the marketplaces with shouting and din, just as, I suppose, the farmers drive off the starlings; and those at least remove for a little while, but for these men there is no longer any returning to a single one of their possessions, but a little later they go about as beggars, and no one, on seeing them, would so much as greet those who formerly were bursting with self-importance. 4. So great is the power of this vanity that from the dyers you may buy fine purple for two minas or three, but publicly, if you wish for it, it is on sale for a great many talents. And the fillets from the marketplace cost a few drachmas, but those from the assembly often the whole of one's substance. And those proclaimed in the marketplace all account wretched, but those proclaimed in the theatre, blessed; and the former they say are "proclaimed," the latter "proscribed"—the difference, plainly, turning on a single syllable. 5. So thoroughly did the men of old despise mankind, and perceive their simplicity, that for the greatest toils and blows they set out leaves as the prize. And yet there are those who choose to die for the sake of these. But not one of the goats would hurl itself down a precipice for the sake of a wild-olive sprig, and that too when other pasture is at hand; and yet to goats the wild olive is not unpleasant, whereas a man would not eat it. And the pine of the Isthmus, which is no greener than the rest, they carry off with much toil and trouble, often paying much money—and that though the plant has no usefulness, for it can make no shade nor bear fruit, and its leaf is acrid and smoky; while of the pine from Megara no one takes any notice. And if some other man, without having broken his head, binds it round, he is laughed at; but to kings it seems becoming, and many tens of thousands have died for the sake of this rag. 6. For the tragedians say that on account of a golden lamb the great house of Pelops came to be overthrown. And the children of Thyestes were cut to pieces, and the father lay with Pelopia and begot Aegisthus; and he, together with Clytemnestra, killed Agamemnon, the shepherd of the Achaeans; and her in turn Orestes her son killed, and, having done this, straightway went mad. And these things it is not right to disbelieve, since they were written by no ordinary men—by Euripides and Sophocles—and are recited in the midst of the theatres. And one may see, besides, another house, richer than that one, shattered through the tongue, and, by Zeus, yet another now in peril. 7. Such being the things connected with reputation, and ten thousand others still more absurd, how is the man who gapes after it not altogether more to be pitied than one frantic for anything else whatever? One fish satisfies the dainty-lover, and none of his enemies could keep him from his pleasure. Likewise the man wretchedly disposed toward boys, if he falls in with a comely one, courts this one alone, and often comes near to ruin. One Thasian jar fills up the drunkard, and, having drunk, he sleeps more sweetly than Endymion; but for the reputation-hunter one man's praise would not suffice, nor often even a thousand. 8. That it is easier to manage the most difficult youth than the most moderate populace, who would not say? Yet the further reputation advances, the more impossible is it to get any sleep; rather, like men in a frenzy, this man is forever on edge, both by night and by day. "But, by Zeus, those others can be seen busied with wine and courtesans and their cookery!" And is not such a man too bound to buy much fish and much wine? And he must collect flute-players and mimes and lyre-players and conjurers, and besides boxers and pancratiasts and wrestlers and runners and all that tribe, if he is not going to feast the multitude poorly and ignobly. 9. For no dainty-lover ever became such that he craved a wild lion or a hundred bulls; but those who wish to please the multitude crave not only these things, but more than one can tell. For it is not with a few nets, they say, or with two or three courtesans, nor with ten women of Lesbos, that reputation is hunted, and a whole people brought into compliance and friendship, while ten thousand work against you; rather one must keep up the dissoluteness of a whole city, and be a lover of song and of the dance and of drink and of dainties, and all such things, not as one man, but as ten thousand, or twice ten thousand, or ten times—however great the city may be of which one is the lover. 10. And ever at such a man's house you would find "the sound of flutes and pipes and the din of men. Beside him are tables laden with bread and meats, and the wine-pourers carry round strong drink from the mixing-bowls. And the house, reeking of savour, resounds throughout the courtyard by day; and at night, beside their honoured wives, they never sleep," not though they spread out beneath them very many coverlets. 11. So that the lovers of boys, I think, count themselves exceedingly blessed when they compare themselves with the lovers of reputation, when they themselves seek quails or a cock or a little nightingale, but see that the others are obliged to seek out an Amoebeus or a Polus, or to hire one of the victors at Olympia for five talents. And they themselves have filled the belly of one pedagogue or one attendant; but for the others there is no profit unless they sumptuously feast at least a hundred a day. Now for the sick those who attend them provide quiet, that they may sleep; but for the reputation-hunters, whenever they get quiet, then above all does sleep fail to come. 12. Now those who have come into money, or birth, or some such thing, or bodily vigour, or have at least acquired a glib tongue, as though winged, all but soar among the stars—called demagogues and condottieri and sophists—hunting peoples and satraps and pupils; whereas each of the rest, who have no such resources but are mastered by the same disease, goes about living for another, taking thought what someone says about him; and if anyone speaks well of him, as he supposes, he is blessed and beaming, but if not, he is dejected and downcast, and thinks himself to be such a man as anyone may say. And if he has an arbitration or a lawsuit with someone, he does not think the arbitrator or judge should attend to ordinary witnesses; but for himself, on his own behalf, he holds all men to be competent witnesses. 13. What, then, is more miserable than men who lie at the mercy of others and have whomever they meet for their master—a man toward whom they must forever look, scanning the face of each, as slaves scan the faces of their masters? Now every kind of slavery is hard; but those who by chance are slaves in such a household as has two or three masters, and these differing both in age and in disposition—I mean an illiberal old man, and his sons, young men who wish to drink and squander—who would not admit that they are more wretched than the other slaves, when they have to serve so many, and each of them wishing and commanding something different? 14. And if there were a public slave, of old men or of young, of poor and rich, of profligate and miserly, what manner of man would he be? And I think that if anyone with money were compelled to live in such a city, in which all were permitted to plunder their neighbour's goods, and no law forbade it, he would straightway part with his money, even had he surpassed all men ever born in love of money. This is now the case with reputation; for against it license is given to harm anyone he will—citizen, stranger, or resident alien. 15. To the disfranchised, life reasonably seems not worth living, and many choose death rather than to live having lost their civic rights, because anyone who wishes is free to strike them, and there is no penalty for the man who maltreats them. So all men are free to strike the reputation-hunter blows altogether harder than those upon the body. And yet one would not easily find the disfranchised suffering this from anyone; for the multitude are wary of incurring resentment and envy, and finally there is no danger to them from the weaker. But of slandering above all those reputed to be illustrious no one is sparing, nor is anyone so powerless that he could not muster the strength to utter a word. 16. Therefore a certain moderate man among the ancients, when someone was continually bringing him such reports, said: "If you do not cease hearing ill spoken of me, I too will hear ill spoken of you." But it would perhaps have been better not even to admit that the man was speaking at all. The master, coming suddenly upon his slave when he was relaxed and at play, often made him weep; and the slave of reputation any man who wishes has crushed with a single word. If a man knew such spells, learned from Medea or from the Thessalians, that by uttering them he could make whatever men he wished weep and suffer though no evil was present, would not his power be thought a tyranny? Against the man puffed up with reputation, then, there is no one who does not possess this very strength. 17. For by uttering two or three words he has cast him into calamity and grief. And indeed, if a man were so disposed in body, through some supernatural cause, that, should anyone curse him, he straightway took a fever or had a headache, this man would be more wretched than the thrice-wretched. And if a man is so weak of mind that, should anyone revile him, his soul straightway gives way, how is life not to be shunned by such a man? And if a man were tried every day about whatever it might be—either about his life or about his property—would it not be altogether better to give it up and no longer be in peril thereafter: if about property, the property; if about life, his life? 18. What, then? Is not the contest about reputation forever set before senseless men, not once a day only, but many times; and not before appointed judges, but simply before all, and these unsworn, and giving heed neither to witnesses nor to proofs? For without knowing, without hearing, without being allotted to the case, they judge; and it makes no difference to them whether they cast their vote while drinking or while bathing; and—most terrible of all—whomever they acquit today, tomorrow they condemn. 19. So the man held by this disease must go about as one liable to account, attending to every man, and fearing lest, willingly or unwillingly, he grieve someone—above all one of the ready-witted and facetious. For if, in some small matter, as often happens, he chances to give offence to someone, that man straightway flings out a harsh word; and, having uttered it, even if he somehow misses the mark, he has nonetheless thrown him into confusion; but if he hits the vital spot, he has straightway destroyed him. For many are so disposed as to be upset and to melt away at anything. And yet sometimes some words have more force against some men than against others; 20. just as, I think, each little child fears some peculiar bogey, and has grown accustomed to be afraid of it—for the naturally timid scream at everything one displays as fearful—except that, in these larger matters, certain words are now effective against certain men. The braggart beggar, who wishes to appear a Croesus, is unsettled by Irus; and he does not even read the Odyssey, because of the line: "And there came a public beggar, who used to beg through the town of Ithaca." 21. The man of servile birth is unsettled by Cecrops; the man cheap of countenance who wishes to be thought handsome, by Thersites. For if you jeer at the man who plumes himself on his self-control and has "virtue" inscribed upon him, as a glutton or a money-lover or a catamite or wholly base, you have utterly undone him. Perseus, carrying about the Gorgon's head and showing it to his enemies, turned them to stone; but the multitude, at a single word, if they hear it, have become stones—and one need not carry it about, keeping it in a wallet. 22. And yet, come now—if we understood the cries of the birds too, of the crows or jackdaws and the other creatures, such as frogs or cicadas, plainly we should attend to their cries as well, as to what the jackdaw flying overhead says about us, or what the jay says, and what opinion it holds. So it is a piece of good fortune not to understand. How many of mankind are more senseless than the frogs and the jackdaws! And yet what comes from these men moves us and disposes us very ill. 23. The man, however, who has set himself free pays no heed to the chatter of the multitude, but laughs at their babbling, having long since said to all: "I reck not, as though a woman struck me, or a senseless child; for the shaft of a feeble, worthless man is blunt." Heracles, the son of Zeus—how many do you suppose slander him, some calling him a thief, some a man of violence, some even an adulterer or a slayer of his own children? But none of these things troubled him; nor, perhaps, was there anyone who said them openly, since he would straightway have paid the penalty. 24. Unless you persuade yourself to despise the rest of mankind, you will never cease to be miserable, but will forever live a wretched and hard life, lying open to all who wish to grieve you—and that, as the saying goes, living the life of a hare. But those creatures fear the dogs and the nets and the eagles; you, cowering and trembling before words, will go about, able to keep no guard, whatever you do, however you wish to pass your life. 25. Rather, if you frequent the marketplace constantly, you will be called a hanger-about and an informer; if, on the contrary, you guard against this and keep more at home and among your own affairs, a coward and a private nobody, a mere cipher; if you take forethought, a simpleton and a weakling; if you are engaged in some trade, a vulgar mechanic; if you walk about at leisure, an idler; if you put on softer clothing, a braggart and a voluptuary; if you go barefoot in a threadbare cloak, they will say you are mad. 26. They said that Socrates corrupted the young and was impious toward the divine; and they did not say these things only—for that would have been a lesser evil—but they actually put him to death, exacting a penalty for his going barefoot. The Athenians ostracized Aristides, though clearly convinced that he was just. Why, then, ought one to desire reputation, of which, even if a man obtains it, he has often reaped no good, but often harm? Whereas one ought often to be on his guard against it, even should it fall to someone. Bion holds it to be impossible to please the multitude, save by becoming a cake or a Thasian wine—foolishly, as it seems to me. For often, even at a dinner of ten men, the cake has not pleased all; rather one says it is stale, another that it is too hot, another that it is too sweet—unless, by Zeus, Bion means that the cake must be at once hot and stale and cold. But on the whole the matter is not of this kind. How could it be? 27. Rather, one must become perfume too, and a flute-girl, and a comely youth, and Philippus the buffoon. And one thing perhaps remains which he who wishes to please the multitude will need to become: money. And yet, even if a man becomes money, he does not straightway please; rather he must be jostled and bitten. Why, then, do you still pursue, wretched man, a thing unattainable? For neither perfume, nor a crown, nor wine, nor money could you ever become. 28. And even if a man becomes money, gold is more esteemed; and even if gold, it will have to be assayed in the fire. For that is wherein it differs. Each of the rich resembles coin: for the coin no one praises, yet each who gets it uses it; then it is worn away by those who use it, and at last has come to be among the rejected. And he too has been passed on to the poor and the rejected, and no one any longer of those who formerly admired such a man receives him, but does not even turn to fling him away. 29. Reputation resembles the Furies of the tragedies. For her bright appearance is like the torch; her scourge one might, I think, liken to the applause and shouting of the multitude, and to the serpents those who at times hiss. Often, then, when a man is at peace and has no evil befalling him, she has snatched him up and, cracking her scourge, has cast him out into some festal assembly or theatre.