Oration 72
Imperial Dio Chrysostom Greek- Why is it that men, when they see someone wearing only a tunic, neither attend to him nor laugh at him, reckoning, perhaps, that the man is a sailor, and that there is no need to laugh on this account; and likewise, if they should see someone wearing the dress of a farmer or a shepherd—wearing a workman's smock, or wrapped in a leather jerkin, or having slipped on a goatskin coat—they are not vexed, but do not even take any notice of it at the outset, 2. holding that the dress befits one engaged in such an occupation? And the hucksters, too, whom they see all the time standing girt up before their booths, they never mock; rather they would laugh, on the contrary, if they were not so equipped, the garb being proper to the work they ply. But whenever they see a man without a tunic, in a cloak, with his head and his cheeks unshorn, they cannot keep quiet toward such men, nor pass them by in silence, but stop and provoke them, and either laugh or revile, and sometimes lay hold of them and drag them about—whenever they see a man not very robust, and no one else present to come to his aid—and this though they know that to the so-called philosophers this dress is customary and, in a manner, prescribed. 3. And here is a thing yet more paradoxical: for where they sometimes see men, some with felt caps upon their heads—as now some of the Thracians called Getae, and formerly the Lacedaemonians and Macedonians—others with the tiara and trousers, as, I suppose, the Persians and Bactrians and Parthians and many other barbarians; and others still more outlandish than these are wont to visit, with feathers upright on their heads, like the Nasamonians—well, toward these too they hardly dare to make trouble or to molest them by accosting them. And yet of Getae or Persians or Nasamonians they see the one sort not in great numbers, the other rarely visiting; 4. whereas of such men as these everything is now well-nigh full, and they have become almost more numerous than the cobblers and fullers and buffoons, or those who practise any other craft you please—so that of our own time too it might perhaps be fitly said that "every little boat alike puts to sea, and every cow goes ploughing." 5. Now it is not on this ground alone that the sight is familiar to them; but they also see the statues in the temples—of Zeus, say, and Poseidon and many other gods—in just such an arrangement of figure. For among the Egyptians and Phoenicians and certain other barbarians the type of the statues is not the same, as it is, I suppose, among the Greeks, but very different; whereas here it is the same. And they see the images of men, citizens of the city, both in the marketplace and in the temples—of generals and kings—set up in this fashion, wearing beards. 6. But why need I say these things? For nearly all the Greeks too, one may say, are likewise disposed toward this matter, and habit in no way prevents them from jeering and outraging, whenever they see such a man—I mean one of the many and undistinguished, whom they do not fear as able to defend themselves; since toward such men as those they are well-nigh abashed and admiring. Perhaps, then, what happens is something of this kind. The sailors and the farmers and shepherds, and the Persians and Nasamonians besides, they do not think despise them, nor that those men have any account to make of them; whence they give no thought to them. 7. But the philosophers they suspect of despising them and of condemning in them much ignorance and misfortune, and that, while they do not openly laugh at them, in private among themselves they hold thus—that all the uneducated are wretched, beginning with those very men who are reputed rich and blessed, whom they themselves envy and think to differ little from the gods in respect of happiness; and that they dishonour and deride those who eat and drink sumptuously, and wish to sleep softly, and to take their rest with comely women and boys on every occasion, and to have much money, and to be admired by the great crowd and gazed at—than which they hold nothing greater nor finer. 8. It is, then, on account of this suspicion that they are vexed with those who do not admire the same things as they, nor honour them, nor hold the same opinion about the greatest matters. So they themselves get in the first blow, reviling and jeering, as at wretched and senseless men, knowing that if they show these to be foolish and mad, they will at the same time prove themselves to be self-controlled and possessed of sense; but if they yield, as though these men knew what is needful and were of much worth, they will at the same time confess themselves to be unfortunate and senseless, and to know simply nothing of what it befits free men to know. 9. And further, if they see a man got up as a sailor, they know that he will sail; and if another as a farmer, that he will farm; and the man who has a shepherd's dress they know, too, that he will go off to his sheep and spend his time about them—so that, grieved by none of these, they let them be. But when they see a man having the garb of the philosopher, they reckon that he is so equipped neither for sailing nor for farming nor for the sake of sheep, but is made ready for men—to admonish and refute them, and in no way to flatter any of them nor to spare anyone, but, on the contrary, to chastise them as much as he can by his speech and to show them what manner of men they are. 10. They cannot, therefore, look upon them with pleasure, but clash and contend with them—just as children cannot look with pleasure upon those whom they see in the garb of pedagogues and equipped to rebuke them and not to permit them to err or to be idle. For if, indeed, it were permitted to children too to laugh at and outrage such men, they would do nothing sooner than this. Not, however, that all come up and molest them from this state of mind; but there is a class of men who busy themselves with such curiosity, and in a manner not a bad one; 11. these come up to those whom they take, from their dress, to be philosophers, expecting to hear from them something wise which they could not hear from another, inquiring too about Socrates—that he was wise and discoursed prudent words to those who came to him—and about Diogenes—that he too was well supplied with word and answer for everything. And the sayings of this man the multitude even remember, some of them perhaps spoken by himself, others composed by others. 12. The maxims of the Seven Sages, too, they hear were set up of old at Delphi, as, in a manner, certain first-fruits of those men's wisdom and at the same time for the benefit of mankind—as being in truth divine, and well-nigh more divine than the oracles which the Pythia delivered, sitting upon the tripod, filled with the breath of the god. For each man, having heard the response given to himself, goes away, and these are not set up, so as to be known to all men; but the maxims of those Sages were set forth in common to those who came to the god, as being alike profitable for all to know and to obey. 13. There are those, too, who think that Aesop was such a man—wise and prudent, but withal wheedling and competent to compose such tales as men would most gladly hear. And perhaps they think not altogether falsely; for in truth Aesop tried in this way to admonish men and to show them wherein they erred, that they might most bear with him, taking pleasure in the laughable and in the fables—just as children attend to and delight in the tales their nurses tell. From this opinion, then—that they will hear from us too something such as Aesop used to tell, or as Socrates, or as Diogenes—they come up and molest us and cannot keep away from any man they see in this garb, no more than the birds can from an owl when they see one. With reference to which Aesop composed a tale of this kind: 14. how the birds gathered to the owl and begged her to remove from her shelter in the buildings to the trees and to make her nest among them, as they did, and to settle on their branches, from which one may sing more clearly; and, in particular, on this oak here just springing up, when it should come to its prime, to be ready to perch and to enjoy its green foliage. But the owl advised the birds not to do this, nor to rejoice in the shoot of a plant whose nature it was to bear mistletoe—a destruction to winged things. 15. But they did not accept the owl's counsel; on the contrary, they took pleasure in the oak as it grew, and, when it was big enough, settling upon it they sang. And when the mistletoe had come, and they were now easily caught by men, they repented and admired the owl for her counsel. And even now they are so disposed, holding her to be clever and wise; and for this reason they wish to draw near her, thinking to gain some good from her company; and then, I suppose, they come up in vain, to their own hurt. For the owl of old was in truth prudent and able to give counsel; but those of the present day have only her feathers and her eyes and her beak, while in all else they are more senseless than the other birds. Therefore they cannot benefit even themselves at all; 16. for otherwise they would not be kept bound and in servitude among the fowlers. And each of us has the dress of Socrates and Diogenes, but as for wisdom we are far indeed from being like those men, or from living as they did, or from discoursing such discourses. Therefore, doing nothing else but being gazed at, like the owls, we gather a great crowd of birds in very truth—being ourselves foolish and molested by others such as we.