Oration 87

The mass of men suppose that it befits the philosopher to speak about those matters concerning which each man does not hold the true opinion, that, having heard about what they are ignorant of, they may learn; but that to teach about things familiar and appearing alike to all is superfluous. For my part, if I saw that we abide by what we hold to be right and do nothing beyond our existing conviction, I too should not think it necessary to insist about things that are plain.

But since I see that it is not the ignorance of goods and evils that grieves us so much as the failing to be persuaded by the reasonings about them, nor to follow the opinions we ourselves hold, I count it a great benefit to remind men continually and through argument to exhort them to be persuaded and to keep in deed what is fitting. For just as, I think, we see the physicians and the steersmen often prescribing the same things, although those whom they command have heard them the first time, but when they see them careless and inattentive—so too in life it is useful that the discourses about the same things be made often, whenever the many know what they ought but do not do it.

For it is not the end for the sick to know what is advantageous to them, but, I think, to use it; for this will procure them health. Nor, for the rest, is it to learn the things that benefit and harm in life, but not to err in the choice of them. For just as one may see those with sore eyes knowing that it pains them to put their hands to their eyes, yet unwilling to abstain, in like manner too in other matters the many, knowing all too well that it is not profitable to do a thing, none the less fall into it.

Who, for instance, does not know that lack of self-control is a great evil to those who have it? Yet, for all that, one might find countless men without self-control. And, by Zeus, all men know about idleness, that it is not only unable to provide the things needful for living, but further destroys even what one has; and yet one may find well-nigh more idle men than those willing to do anything.

Whence, I think, it befits those of better sense to speak about these things ever and continually, if perchance it may be possible to turn men round and force them toward the better. For just as in the mysteries the hierophant does not once for all proclaim to the initiates each of the things they must do, in the same way the discourses about beneficial things, like a sacred proclamation, it profits to speak often, or rather always.

The inflamed parts of the body, at any rate, do not yield at once to the first fomentation; but if a man do this continually, they are softened and grow easier. So likewise the inflammation in the souls of the many—it would be a welcome thing if a man could allay it, using reason perseveringly. I say, then, that even concerning covetousness all men know that it is neither advantageous nor honourable, but the cause of the greatest evils—yet that no man abstains from it nor is willing that his neighbour should have an equal share with him.

And yet idleness and lack of self-control and, in general, simply all the other vices, one might find harmful to those who have them, and those guilty of any of these justly meeting, I think, with admonition and condemnation, but not hated nor reckoned the common enemies of all. But covetousness is a very great evil to the man himself, and grieves his neighbours too; and the covetous man no one pities, surely, nor thinks fit to instruct, but all keep him off and reckon him their enemy.

Let each of them, then, if he wishes to know the greatness of such wickedness, consider how he himself is disposed toward those who attempt to overreach: for thus he might infer how the rest too must be disposed toward that man, if he be of such a kind. And indeed Euripides, no less famous than any of the poets, brings Jocasta in, speaking to Eteocles, urging him to desist from overreaching his brother, somewhat thus:

"Why, my son, art thou set upon Ambition, basest of divinities? Do not. Unjust is the goddess. Into many prosperous houses and cities has she entered and gone forth to the ruin of those who used her; for her thou art mad. That is the fairest thing for mortals, to honour equality, and to bind friends to friends, cities to cities, allies to allies; for the equal is by nature lawful for men, but to the greater the lesser ever sets itself in enmity, and begins the day of hatred."

I have set down the iambics in order. For to make use of things well said by others is the mark of a man of sense. In these lines are contained all the consequences of covetousness—that it is advantageous neither in private nor in common, but on the contrary overturns and destroys the prosperity both of households and of cities; and again, that it is a law for men to honour equality, and that this makes common friendship and peace for all with one another, but that the differences and the civil strifes and the foreign wars arise from nothing else than from the desire for more, by which each man is robbed even of what is sufficient.

And yet what is more necessary than living, or what do all men value more highly than this? But for all that, even this they throw away for the sake of money; and some have even made their own countries desolate. After this, then, the same poet says that there is no covetousness among things divine; that for this reason they abide imperishable and ageless, each one keeping its own fitting station—night and day and the seasons. For if it were not so, none of them could endure. When, therefore, covetousness brings destruction even upon things divine, what must one think the affairs of men suffer from this disease? And he well makes mention too of measures and weights, as having been invented for the sake of justice and that none should overreach another in these things.

And Hesiod says that the half is even more than the whole, reckoning, I think, the harms and penalties that come from overreaching. For what king or prince or people ever, attempting to overstep what is just and to grasp at more, did not throw away all the prosperity it had, and meet with great and irremediable calamities, and leave to all who came after manifest examples of its folly and wickedness? Or who of those willing to take the lesser part and to endure easily a seeming defeat did not acquire many times more than the rest—things coming to him of their own accord and without toil—and hold his good days the longest time, and use most safely the goods of fortune?

Take, for instance, the sons of Jocasta: when they had fallen out for the sake of more—the one wishing to rule alone, the other seeking by every means to recover his share of the power—did they not, being brothers, slay one another, and become the cause of great evils to those who joined either side, the assailants perishing on the spot, the defenders defeated a little after, since they would not let the dead be buried?

And indeed, through the covetousness of one man, the man who seized Helen and the possessions of Menelaus, those who dwelt in the greatest city of Asia perished, with children and wives; and for receiving one woman and a little wealth they paid so great a penalty. Xerxes, again, the lord of the other continent, when he desired Greece too, and, having gathered so great an armament and so many tens of thousands, marched against it, shamefully lost all his power, and scarcely had strength to save his own body in flight. And afterward, when his country and the cities on the sea were being ravaged, he was forced to bear it.

And Polycrates, they say, so long as he ruled Samos alone, was the most fortunate of all men; but wishing to meddle with something beyond it too, and having sailed across to Oroetes, that he might get money, he met not even an easy death, but was impaled by the barbarian and destroyed. These things I have brought forward, that they may be examples for you, from the very ancient times and from those after them, both from the poems and from what is otherwise recorded.

And it is worth considering the god too, how he is wont to chastise the covetous. For when the Lacedaemonians inquired of the oracle whether he would give them Arcadia, he not only refused, and reproached their insatiableness, speaking thus—"Arcadia thou askest of me; a great thing thou askest; I will not give it thee"—but also laid a punishment upon them, foretelling what should be, yet in such a way that they, not understanding, marched against Tegea and fell into the calamities known to all. And yet, plainly refusing them Arcadia, he was not giving them Tegea either; for this was the strongest and greatest part of Arcadia. But for all that, through their covetousness, the mass of men have not even ears, nor perceive what is said.

Again, then, when the Athenians inquired about the island of Sicily, he gave them the oracle to add to their city Sicilia—a certain hill near the city. But they neglected the things lying near and before their eyes; and they were so out of their senses through the desire for more, that they supposed the god was telling them to enclose within one wall Athens and the island that was some ten thousand stades away. And so, having sailed there, they not only failed of Sicily, but were stripped of Attica too, and looked on while their very city came into the power of the enemy.

And such things, if a man should wish to recount them, plainly will not fail him even in a year. But consider that most men reckon strength among the goods; yet, I think, for those who are strong to the extreme and exceed too far in bodily vigour, it is advantageous to take away some part of it; for the more, I think, than the measured is altogether grievous. Likewise wealth, having its use—if it be moderate, does not grieve those who have it, but renders life easier and, by Zeus, free from want; but if it exceed, it furnishes more cares and griefs than seeming pleasure, and many have repented of having grown very rich, while some, for this very reason, have become destitute and have lost even the least.

Well; but among the parts of ourselves, if each of the parts of our nature should wish to overreach, is there any way in which we could endure for the briefest moment? I mean, for instance, if there should be more blood than the measured amount, or, by Zeus, if the warm breath—whatever it be in us—should be strained beyond the measured and fitting amount, do you not know that great and grievous diseases follow from these things? And in the harmonies of these instruments, if one of the notes should overreach in pitch, must not, by Zeus, the whole harmony be dissolved?

And I, for my part, exceedingly wonder what we should have done, if we did not have from the gods even the briefest measure of life—we who even now, as though preparing for eternity, contend to have, one more than another. Just as, then, if a man, knowing that, if the time be longest, he has a voyage of two or three days, should then put aboard provisions for a year, he would seem senseless—in the same way, if a man, knowing that he would live no more than seventy years, should provide a livelihood for a thousand years, would he not perhaps be no less mad? For some provide so much that, if they were sailing, the ship would sink at once.

And, by Zeus, this befalls countless men. Well; but if a man, having invited ten men or fifteen to a feast, when he ought to fill these, should make ready food for five hundred or a thousand, would he not seem altogether out of his mind? And so we too, knowing that the body's needs are easily numbered—for, I think, we need clothing and shelter and food—then strain ourselves, gathering provisions as for an army (and, by Zeus, reasonably; for the many feed an army of desires within themselves); and clothing no one wishes to have larger than his body, as being inconvenient, but property altogether larger than the need all men desire, not knowing that this is harder than that.

And Croesus the Lydian too seems to have done well, when, wishing to refute the insatiableness of men, having led some into his treasuries, he allowed them to carry out as much gold as each could with his body. For the many, having filled not only their bosoms, but carrying out the gold-dust on their heads and in their mouths too, and scarcely walking, exceedingly ridiculous and bent over. So too in life, then, some go on their way unseemly through covetousness and laughable.