Ancient Classics for English Readers 
 
 EDITED BY THE 
 
 REV. W. LUCAS COLLINS, M.A. 
 
 PLATO
 
 The Volumes published of this Series contain 
 
 HOMER : THE ILIAD, BY THE EDITOR. 
 
 HOMER : THE ODYSSEY, BY THE SAME. 
 
 HERODOTUS, BY GEORGE C. SWAYNE, M.A. 
 
 CfliSAR, BY ANTHONY TROLLOPE. 
 
 VIRGIL, BY THE EDITOR. 
 
 HORACE, BY THEODORE MARTIN. 
 
 AESCHYLUS, BY REGINALD S. COPLESTON, M.A. 
 
 XENOPHON, BY SIR ALEX. GRANT, BART., LL.D. 
 
 CICERO, BY THE EDITOR. 
 
 SOPHOCLES, BY CLIFTON W. COLLINS, M.A. 
 
 PLINY, BY A. CHURCH, M.A., AND W. J. BRODRIBB, M.A. 
 
 EURIPIDES, BY WILLIAM BODHAM DONNE. 
 
 JUVENAL, BY EDWARD WALFORD, M.A. 
 
 ARISTOPHANES, BY THE EDITOR. 
 
 HESIOD AND THEOGNIS, BY JAMES DAVIES, M.A. 
 
 PLAUTUS AND TERENCE, BY THE EDITOR. 
 
 TACITUS, BY WILLIAM BODHAM DONNE. 
 
 LUCIAN, BY THE EDITOR. 
 
 PLATO, BY CLIFTON W. COLLINS. 
 
 THE GREEK ANTHOLOGY, BY LORD NEAVES. 
 
 SUPPLEMENTARY SERIES. 
 
 The Volumes now published contain 
 
 1. LIVY, BY THE REV. W. LUCAS COLLINS, M.A. 
 
 2. OVID, BY THE REV. A. CHURCH, M.A. 
 
 3. CATULLUS, TIBULLUS, & PROPERTIUS, BY THE 
 
 REV. JAMES DAVIES, M.A. 
 
 4. DEMOSTHENES, BY THE REV. W. J. BRODRIBB, M.A. 
 
 Other Volumes are in preparation.
 
 ANCIENT CLASSICS 
 
 FOB 
 
 ENGLISH READERS 
 
 EDITED BY THE 
 
 EEV. W. LUCAS COLLINS, M.A. 
 
 PLATO 
 
 BY CLIFTON W. COLLINS, M.A. 
 
 LUCIAN 
 
 BY REV. W. LUCAS COLLINS, M.A. 
 
 WILLIAM BLACKWOOD AND SONS 
 EDINBURGH AND LONDON
 
 The subjects in this Series may be had separately, in cloth, price 
 as. 6d. ; or two volumes bound in one, iu leather back and marbled 
 sides and edges, arranged as follows : 
 
 THE ILIAD AND 
 ODYSSEY. 
 
 HERODOTUS. 
 XENOPHON. 
 
 EURIPIDES. 
 ARISTOPHANES. 
 
 PLATO. 
 LUCIAN. 
 
 ^SCHYLUS. 
 SOPHOCLES. 
 
 HESIOD AND THEOGNIS. 
 ANTHOLOGY. 
 
 VIRGIL. 
 HORACE. 
 
 JUVENAL. 
 
 PLAUTUS AND TERENCE. 
 
 CJESXR. 
 TACITUS. 
 
 CICERO. 
 PLINY.
 
 PLATO 
 
 BY 
 
 CLIFTON W. COLLINS, M.A. 
 
 H.M. INSPECTOR OF SCHOOLS 
 
 WILLIAM BLACKWOOD AND SONS 
 
 EDINBURGH AND LONDON 
 1874. REPRINT, 1877
 
 INTRODUCTORY NOTE. 
 
 THE Dialogues of Plato have been grouped together 
 in this little volume as their subject or argument 
 seemed to suit the requirements of the Chapter in 
 which they will be found, without regard to chrono- 
 logical order. Nor has the vexed question of the 
 "Platonic Canon," or what are or are not the gen- 
 uine works of Plato, been entered upon in these 
 pages. All the Dialogues attributed to him in 
 Stallbaum's edition are accepted here, and discussed 
 with more or less brevity, as their interest for the 
 general reader seemed to require. 
 
 The writer desires to express his deep sense of his 
 obligations to Professor Jowett for permission to use 
 his valuable translation of Plato, from which most 
 of the quotations found in the text (including the 
 extracts marked "J.") have been made. Those
 
 vi INTRODUCTORY NOTE. 
 
 marked "D." are taken from the translation of the 
 " Republic " by Messrs Davies and Vaughan. 
 
 The other authorities most frequently consulted are 
 Grote's ' Plato and the other Companions of Socrates,' 
 Whewell's ' Platonic Dialogues,' Zeller's ' Socrates and 
 the Socratic Schools,' and the Histories of Philosophy 
 by Maurice, Hitter, and Ueberweg. 
 
 The writer also wishes to record his sense of the 
 kindness of H. "W. Chandler (Waynflete Professor of 
 Moral Philosophy at Oxford), who was good enough 
 to read through the proofs of the first four chapters of 
 this volume.
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 CHAP. I. LIFE OF PLATO, . . . . . . 1 
 
 ii II. PHILOSOPHERS AND SOPHISTS, ... 19 
 
 DIALOGUES : PABMENIDES SOPHISTES PROTA- 
 GORAS GORGI AS HIPPIAS EUTH YD EMUS. 
 
 ii III. SOCRATES AND HIS FRIENDS, ... 49 
 
 SYMPOSIUM PH JIDRUS APOLOGY CRITO 
 PH-iEDO. 
 
 ii IV. DIALOGUES OF SEARCH, .... 80 
 
 LACHES CHARM1DES LYSIS MENO EUTH Y- 
 PHRO CRATYLUS THE.ETETUS. 
 
 H v. PLATO'S IDEAL STATES, . . . . .109 
 
 ii VI. THE MYTHS OF PLATO, 146 
 
 ii VII. RELIGION, MORALITY, AND ART, . . . 169 
 ii VIII. LATER PLATONISM, 185
 
 PLATO. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 LIFE OP PLATO. 
 
 " Eagle ! why soarest thou above that tomb, 
 To what sublime and star-y-paven home 
 
 Floatest thou ? 
 
 I am the image of great Plato's spirit, 
 Ascending heaven ; Athens doth inherit 
 His corpse below. " 
 (Epitaph translated from the Greek by Shelley.) 
 
 PLATO was born at JEgma. in B.C. 430 the same year 
 that Pericles died of a noble family which traced its 
 descent from Codrus, the last hero -king of Attica. 
 Little is told us of his early years beyond some stories 
 of the divinity which hedged him in his childhood, 
 and a dream of Socrates,* in which he saw a cygnet 
 
 * Athensens tells us of another dream, by no means so com- 
 plimentary to Plato, in which his spirit appeared to Socrates 
 in the form of a crow, which planted its claws firmly in the 
 bald head of the philosopher, and flapped its wings. The in- 
 terpretation of this dream, according to Socrates (or Athenseus), 
 was, that Plato would tell many lies about him. 
 
 A. C. VOL XIX. A
 
 2 PL A TO. 
 
 fly towards him, nestle in his breast, and then spread 
 its wings and soar upwards, singing most sweetly. The 
 next morning Ariston appeared, leading his son Plato 
 to the philosopher, and Socrates knew that his dream 
 was fulfilled. 
 
 It is easy to fill in the meagre outlines of the 
 biography as given us by Diogenes Laertius; for 
 Plato lived in a momentous time, when Athens could 
 not afford to let any of her sons stand aloof from 
 military service, and when every citizen must have 
 been more or less an actor in the history of his times. 
 Plato of course underwent the usual training of an 
 Athenian gentleman, such as he has sketched it him- 
 self in the " Protagoras ; " first attending the grammar 
 school, where he learnt his letters, and committed to 
 memory long passages from the poets, which he was 
 taught to repeat with proper emphasis and modulation ; 
 and the frequent quotations from Homer in his Dia- 
 logues prove how thoroughly this part of his mental 
 training was carried out.* Then he was transferred to 
 the Master who was to infuse harmony and rhythm 
 into his soul by means of the lyre and vocal music. 
 Then he learned mathematics, for which subject he 
 showed a special aptitude; and we hear of him 
 
 * Several pieces of poetry bearing Plato's name have come 
 down to us; and there is a graceful epitaph on "Stella," 
 ascribed to him, which Shelley has thus translated : 
 
 " Thou wert the morning star among the living, 
 
 Till thy fair light had fled ; 
 Now having died, thou art as Hesperus, giving 
 New splendour to the dead."
 
 LIFE OF PLATO. 3 
 
 wrestling in the palaestra, where his breadth of shoul- 
 ders stood him in good stead, and winning prizes 
 at the Isthmian garnea He also found time to study 
 "the old masters" of philosophy, and (as might be 
 expected) the two whose works attracted him the 
 most were Heraclitus and Pythagoras. The melan- 
 choly of the one, and the mysticism of the other, 
 found an echo in his own thoughts. 
 
 He was fifteen at the time of the expedition to 
 Sicily, and was probably among the crowd which 
 watched the great fleet sail out of the harbour of 
 Piraeus in all the pomp and circumstance of war ; and 
 two years afterwards he must have shared in the 
 general despair, when the news came that the fleet 
 and the flower of the army had perished, and with 
 them the hopes of Athens. 
 
 Then Decelea (only fifteen miles from the city) was 
 fortified by the Spartans, and proved a very thorn in 
 the side of Attica; for flocks and herds were destroyed, 
 slaves fled thither in numbers, and watch had to be 
 kept by the Athenians night and day, to check the con- 
 tinual sallies made from thence by the enemy. Plato 
 was now eighteen, and was enrolled in the list which 
 corresponded to the modern Landwehr, and had to take 
 his share in that harassing garrison duty which fell 
 on rich and poor alike, when the citizens (as Thucy- 
 dides tells us) slept in their armour on the ramparts, 
 and Athens more resembled a military fort than a 
 city. 
 
 Then followed the loss of prestige and the defection 
 of allies ; for the subject islands either openly revolted
 
 4 PL A TO. 
 
 or intrigued secretly with Sparta ; and Alcibiades, the 
 only Athenian who could have saved Athens, was an 
 exile and a renegade, using Persian gold to levy Spartan 
 troops against his country. Suddenly the Athenians, 
 with the energy of despair, made a prodigious effort to 
 recover the empire of the seas, which was passing from 
 their hands. They melted down their treasures ; they 
 used the reserve fund which Pericles had stored up 
 for such an emergency ; and within thirty days they 
 had equipped a fresh fleet of over a hundred sail. 
 Then followed a general levy of the citizens ; every 
 man who could bear arms was pressed into the service ; 
 freedom was promised to any slave who would volun- 
 teer ; and even the Knights (of whom Plato was one) 
 forgot the dignity of their order, hung up their bridles 
 in the Acropolis, and went on board the fleet as 
 marines. There is no reason to suppose that Plato 
 shunned his duty at such a crisis ; and we may there- 
 fore conclude that he volunteered with the rest, served 
 with the squadron which relieved Mitylene, and was 
 present at the victory of Arginusse shortly afterwards. 
 Soon Alcibiades was recalled, and his genius gave a 
 different character to the war ; but the success of the 
 Athenians was only temporary. Lysander came upon 
 the scene ; and on the fatal shore of ^Egos-Potami the 
 Athenian fleet was destroyed almost without a blow 
 being struck. Then followed the blockade of Athens, 
 the consequent famine, and the despair of the citizens, 
 with the foe without and two rival factions within, 
 till at last the city surrendered, and the long walls 
 were pulled down to the sound of Spartan music.
 
 LIFE OF PLATO. 5 
 
 We have no clue, beyond a casual reference in 
 Xenophon, as to what part Plato took in subsequent 
 events. His own tastes and sympathies lay with 
 the few; and all his intimate friends were among 
 the oligarchs (the " good men and true," as they termed 
 themselves), who, by a coup d'etat, effected what is 
 known as the Revolution of the Four Hundred. A 
 section of these formed the execrated Thirty Tyrants. 
 Critias, the master-spirit of this body, was Plato's 
 uncle, and probably had considerable influence over 
 him. But be this as it may, we find Plato attracted 
 by the programme in which the oligarchs pledged 
 themselves to reform abuses and to purge the state 
 of evil-doers ; and for a time, at all events, he was an 
 avowed partisan of the Thirty. But they soon threw 
 off the mask, and a Reign of Terror followed, which 
 made their name for ever a byword among the Athe- 
 nians. Plato was probably in the first instance dis- 
 gusted by the jealous intolerance of this new party, 
 which drove the aged Protagoras into exile, and pro- 
 scribed philosophical lectures ; but when this intoler- 
 ance was followed by numerous assassinations, he was 
 utterly horrified, and at once withdrew from public life, 
 and from all connection with his former friends. 
 
 There was little indeed to tempt a man of Plato's 
 spirit and principles to meddle with the politics of his 
 day. The great statesmen, and with them the bloom 
 and brilliancy of the Periclean age, had passed away ; 
 and the very name of Pericles, as De Quincey says, 
 " must have sounded with the same echo from the 
 past as that of Pitt to the young men of our first
 
 6 PL A TO. 
 
 Reform Bill." The long war had done its work. 
 Not only had it wellnigh exhausted the revenues and 
 strength of Athens, but it had brought in its train, 
 as necessary consequences, ignoble passions, a selfish 
 party spirit, a confusion of moral sentiments, and an 
 audacious scepticism, which Were going far to under- 
 mine the foundations of right and wrong. One revo- 
 lution had followed another so rapidly that public 
 confidence in the constitution was fast disappearing ; 
 and the worst symptom of a declining nation had 
 already shown itself, in that men of genius and honour 
 were beginning to despair of their country and to with- 
 draw from public life. We can well believe that the 
 picture which Plato draws of the Philosopher in his 
 " Republic " was no fancy sketch : 
 
 Those who belong to this small class have tasted how 
 sweet and blessed a possession philosophy is, and have also 
 seen and been satisfied of the madness of the multitude, 
 and known that there is no one who ever acts honestly in 
 the administration of states, nor any helper who will save 
 any one who maintains the cause of the just. Such a saviour 
 would be like a man who has fallen among wild beasts, unable 
 to join in the wickedness of his friends, and would have to 
 throw away his life before he had done any good to himself 
 or others. And he reflects upon all this, and holds his peace, 
 and does his own business. He is like one who retires 
 under the shelter of a wall in the storm of dust and sleet 
 which the driving wind hurries along ; and when he sees 
 the rest of mankind full of wickedness, he is content if 
 only he can live his own life, and be pure from evil or 
 unrighteousness, and depart in peace and goodwill, with 
 bright hopes.* 
 
 * Republic, iv. (Jowett.)
 
 LIFE OF PLATO. 7 
 
 The next twelve years must have "been the period of 
 Plato's greatest intimacy with Socrates ; and he was the 
 great philosopher's constant companion until the day of 
 his death. He had now no ties to bind him to Athens 
 perhaps, indeed, he did not feel secure there and he 
 went to live at Megara with his friend Euclid. Then 
 he set out upon those travels of which we hear so 
 much and know so little ; " and " (says an old his- 
 torian), "whilst studious youth were crowding to 
 Athens from every quarter in search of Plato for 
 their master, that philosopher was wandering along 
 the banks of Nile or the vast plains of a barbarous 
 country, himself a disciple of the old men of Egypt." * 
 After storing his mind with the wisdom of the Egyp- 
 tians, Plato is said to have gone on to Palestine and 
 Phoenicia to have reached China disguised as an oil 
 merchant to have had the "Unknown God" revealed 
 to him by Jewish rabbis and to have learned the 
 secrets of the stars from Chaldaean astronomers. But 
 these extended travels are probably a fiction. 
 
 His visit to Sicily, however, rests on better evidence. 
 He made a journey thither in the year 387 B.C., with 
 the object of witnessing an eruption of Mount Etna 
 already fatal to one philosopher, Empedocles. On his 
 way he stayed at Tarentum with his friend Archytas, 
 the great mathematician, and a member of the Pytha- 
 gorean brotherhood. This order which, like the 
 Jesuits, was exclusive, ascetic, and ambitious had 
 formerly had its representatives in every city of Magna 
 
 * Valerius Maximus, quoted in Lewes's Hist, of Philos., 
 L 200.
 
 8 PLA TO. 
 
 Graecia, and had influenced their political history ac- 
 cordingly. Even then their traditions and mystic 
 ritual, as well as the ability shown by individual 
 members, daily attracted new converts. Among these 
 was Dion, the young brother-in-law of Dionysius, 
 Tyrant of Syracuse. Dion was introduced by the 
 Pythagoreans to Plato, and their acquaintance soon 
 warmed into a friendship which has become historical. 
 There was much on both sides that was attractive. In 
 Plato, Dion found the friend who never flattered, the 
 teacher who never dogmatised, the companion who was 
 never wearisome. The gracious eloquence, the charm 
 of manner, the knowledge of life, and, above all, the 
 generous and noble thoughts so frankly expressed by 
 Plato, must have had the same effect upon him as the 
 conversation of Socrates had upon Alcibiades. His 
 heart was touched, his enthusiasm was kindled, and he 
 became a new man. There dawned upon him the con- 
 ception of another Syracuse, freed from slavery, and 
 from the oppressive presence of foreign guards self- 
 governed, and with contented and industrious citizens 
 and Dion himself, the author of her liberties and the 
 founder of her laws, idolised by a grateful people.. 
 
 These day-dreams had a strong effect on Dion ; and 
 Plato partly shared in his enthusiasm. As in his own 
 model Republic, all might be accomplished " if philo- 
 sophers were kings." Even as things were, if Diony- 
 sius would but look with a favourable eye upon Plato 
 and his teaching, much might be done in the way of 
 easing the yoke of tyranny which pressed so heavily 
 upon the wretched Syracusans.
 
 LIFE OF PLATO. 9 
 
 Accordingly, Plato visited Syracuse in company with 
 Dion, and was formally presented at court. Lut the 
 results were unsatisfactory. It was not, indeed, likely 
 that the philosopher, who was the sworn foe of Tyranny 
 in the abstract, and who looked upon the Tyrant as the 
 incarnation of all that was evil in human nature, would, 
 either by flattery or plain speaking, convince Dionysius 
 of the error of his ways. Plato had several interviews 
 with Dionysius; and we are told that he enlarged 
 upon his favourite doctrine of the happiness of the 
 virtuous and the inevitable misery of the wicked, till all 
 who heard him were charmed by his eloquence, except 
 the despot himself, who in a rage ordered him to be 
 taken down to the market-place there and then, and 
 to be sold as a slave to the highest bidder ; that so he 
 might put his own philosophy to a practical test, and 
 judge for himself if the virtuous man was still happy 
 in chains or in prison. Plato was accordingly sold, and 
 was " bought in " by his friends for twenty minse. 
 Another account is, that he was put on board a trireme 
 and landed at ^Egina on the way home, where he was 
 sold, and bought by a generous stranger, who set him 
 at liberty and restored him to Athens. In any case, 
 Plato might consider himself fortunate in escaping from 
 such a lion's den as the court of the savage Dionysius ; 
 and he had learnt a salutary lesson, that theoretical 
 politics are not so easily put into practice as men think, 
 and that caution and discretion are necessary in deal- 
 ing with the powers that be. 
 
 On his return to Athens, weary of politics, and 
 wishing to escape from the turmoil and distractions
 
 10 PLATO. 
 
 of the town, he retired to a house and garden which 
 he had purchased (or inherited, for the accounts diifer) 
 at Colonus. There, or in the famous " olive grove " of 
 the Academy close by, he gave lectures to, or held dis- 
 cussions with, a distinguished and constantly increas- 
 ing body of pupils. Sauntering among the tall plane- 
 trees, or pacing those historical colonnades, might 
 be found all the wit and genius of the day, men 
 of science and men of letters artists, poets, and, in 
 greater numbers than all, would-be philosophers. The 
 pupils of Plato, unlike the poor crushed followers of 
 Socrates, are described by one comic poet as dandies 
 with curled hair, elegant dress, and affected walk ; and 
 we are told by another how the master's broad shoulders 
 towered above the rest, and how he charmed them with 
 his sweet speech, " melodious as the song of the cicalas 
 in the trees above his head." No one must suppose, 
 however, that the subjects of discussion in the Academy 
 were trivial or frivolous. Over the gates was to be seen 
 the formidable inscription " Let none but Geometri- 
 cians enter here ; " * and, according to Aristotle, the lec- 
 tures were on the Supreme Good i.e., the One, as con- 
 trasted with the Infinite. 
 
 Twenty years thus passed, and Plato's eloquence was 
 daily attracting to the Academy fresh students from all 
 parts of Greece, when he received a second summons 
 to visit Sicily from his old friend and pupil Dion, with 
 whom he had kept up a constant correspondence. 
 Dionysius I. was dead, and his empire, " fastened " 
 
 * Sir W. Hamilton considers this tradition "at least six cen- 
 turies too late. "---Essays, p. 27, note.
 
 LIFE OF PLATO. 11 
 
 (as he expressed it) " by chains of adamant," had 
 passed to his son a young, vain, and inexperienced 
 prince, who had not inherited either the ability or 
 energy of his father. Dion still retained his position 
 as minister and family adviser, and there seemed to be 
 at last an opening under the new regime for carrying 
 out his favourite scheme of restoring liberty to the 
 Syracusans. Accordingly he spared no pains to im- 
 press the young prince with the wisdom and eloquence 
 of Plato ; and so successfully did he work upon his 
 better feelings, that Dionysius, says Plutarch, "was 
 seized with a keen and frantic desire to hear and con- 
 verse with the philosopher." He accordingly sent a 
 pressing invitation to Plato, and this was coupled with 
 a touching appeal from Archytas and other Pytha- 
 goreans, who looked eagerly forward to a regeneration 
 of Syracuse. Plato (though reluctant to leave his work 
 at the Academy) felt constrained to revisit Sicily 
 " less with the hope of succeeding in the intended 
 conversion of Dionysius, than from the fear of hearing 
 both himself and his philosophy taunted with con- 
 fessed impotence, as fit only for the discussion of the 
 school, and shrinking from all application to practice."* 
 He was received at Syracuse with every mark of 
 honour and respect. Dionysius himself came in his 
 chariot to meet him on landing, and a public sacrifice 
 was offered as a thanksgiving for his arrival. And at 
 first all things went well. There was a reformation in 
 the manners of the court. The royal banquets were 
 
 t 
 * Grote, Hist, of Greece, vii. 517.
 
 12 PLATO. 
 
 curtailed ; the conversation grew intellectual ; and 
 geometry became so much the fashion that nothing 
 was to be seen in the palace but triangles and figures 
 traced in the sand. Many of the foreign soldiers were 
 dismissed ; and at an anniversary sacrifice, when the 
 herald made the usual prayer " May the gods long 
 preserve the Tyranny, and may the Tyrant live for ever," 
 Dionysius is said to have stopped him with the 
 words " Imprecate no such curse on me or mine." 
 So deeply was he impressed by Plato's earnest pleading 
 in behalf of liberty and toleration, that he was even 
 prepared, we are told, to establish a limited monarchy 
 in place of the existing despotism, and to restore free 
 government to those Greek cities in Sicily which had 
 been enslaved by his father. But Plato discounte- 
 nanced any such immediate action ; his pupil must go 
 through the prescribed training, must reform himself, 
 and be imbued with the true philosophical spirit, 
 before he could be allowed to put his principles into 
 practice. And thus, like other visionary schemes of 
 reform, the golden opportunity passed away for ever. 
 The ascendancy of "the Sophist from Athens" (as 
 Plato was contemptuously termed) roused the jealousy 
 of the old Sicilian courtiers, and their slanders poisoned 
 the mind of Dionysius, whose enthusiasm had already 
 cooled. He grew suspicious of the designs of Dion, 
 and, without giving him a chance of defending himself 
 against his accusers, had him put on board a vessel 
 and sent to Italy as an exile. Plato himself was de- 
 tained a state prisoner in the palace, flattered and 
 caressed by Dionysius, who appears to have had a
 
 LIFE OF PLATO. 13 
 
 sincere admiration and regard for him, but at the same 
 time to have found the Platonic discipline too severe a 
 trial for his own weak and luxurious nature. At last 
 he was allowed to depart, after giving a conditional 
 promise to return, in the event of Dion being recalled 
 from exile. It is said that, as he was embarking, 
 Dionysius said to him "When thou art in the 
 Academy with thy philosophers, thou wilt speak ill of 
 me." " God forbid," was Plato's answer, " that we 
 should have so much time to waste in the Academy as 
 to speak of Dionysius at all." 
 
 Ten years later Plato is induced for the third and 
 last time by the earnest appeal of Dionysius to revisit 
 Syracuse ; and a condition of his coming was to be the 
 recall of Dion. As before, he is affectionately wel- 
 comed, and is treated as an honoured guest ; but so far 
 from Dion being recalled, his property is confiscated 
 by Dionysius, and his wife given in marriage to another 
 man ; and Plato (who only obtains leave to depart 
 through the intercession of Archytas) is himself the 
 bearer of the unwelcome news to Dion, whom he meets 
 at the Olympic games on his way home. Dion (as we 
 may easily imagine) is bitterly incensed at this last 
 insult, and immediately sets about levying an army to 
 assert his rights and procure his return by force. At 
 Olympia he parts company from Plato, and the two 
 friends never meet again. The remainder of Dion's 
 eventful career (more romantic, perhaps, than that of 
 any other hero of antiquity) has been well sketched 
 by Mr Grote, who records his triumphant entry into 
 Syracuse, his short-lived popularity, the intrigues and
 
 14 PLATO. 
 
 conspiracy of Heraclides, whose life lie had spared, and 
 his base assassination by his friend Callippus. 
 
 Once more restored to Athens, Plato continued his 
 lectures in the Academy, and also employed himself in 
 composing those philosophical Dialogues which bear 
 his name, and of which some thirty have come down 
 to us. Several reasons probably contributed to make 
 Plato throw his thoughts into this form. First, it 
 was the only way in which he could give a just idea 
 of the Socratic method, and of the persistent exami- 
 nation through which Socrates was wont to put all 
 comers ; again, he wished to show the chain of argu- 
 ment gradually unwinding itself, and by using the milder 
 form of discussion and inquiry, to avoid even the ap- 
 pearance of dogmatism, especially as he must have often 
 felt that he was treading on dangerous ground. Prolix 
 and wearisome as some of these Dialogues may often 
 seem to modern ears, we must remember that they were 
 the first specimens of their kind ; that they were writ- 
 ten when the world was still young, when there was 
 little writing of any sort, and when romances, essays, 
 or " light literature " were unknown ; while at the 
 same time there was a clever, highly-educated, and 
 sympathetic " public " ready then as now to devour, 
 to admire, and to criticise. After the barren wastes of 
 the old philosophy, with its texts and axioms, its quo- 
 tations from the poets, and crude abstractions from 
 nature, these Dialogues must have burst upon the 
 Athenian world as an unexpected oasis upon weary 
 travellers in the desert; and they must have hailed 
 with delight these fresh springs of truth, and these
 
 LIFE OF PLATO. 15 
 
 new pastures for thought and feeling. As a new 
 phase of literature, we may well believe that they 
 were received with the same interest and surprise as 
 the appearance of the ' Spectator ' in the last century, 
 or the ' Waverley Novels ' at the beginning of our own. 
 They were, in fact, the causeries de Lundi of their age. 
 Plato assuredly knew well the lively and versatile 
 character of those for whom he was writing. The 
 grave and didactic tone of a modern treatise on philo- 
 sophy would have fallen very flat on the ears of an 
 Athenian audience, accustomed to see their gods, 
 statesmen, and philosophers brought upon the stage 
 in a grotesque medley, and unsparingly caricatured. 
 But not Momus himself (as a Greek would have said) 
 could have turned these Dialogues into ridicule ; and 
 their very faults their want of method and general 
 discursiveness must have been a relief after the for- 
 mal commonplaces of the Sophists. Plato himself 
 makes no pretence of following any rules or system. 
 " "Whither the argument blows, we will follow it," he 
 says in the " Republic," and he is fond of telling us 
 that a philosopher has plenty of time on his hands. But 
 the vivacity and variety, the subtle humour which 
 can never be exactly reproduced in a translation the 
 charming scenes which serve as a framework to the 
 discussion, and, above all, the purity and sweetness of 
 the language, which earned for the writer the title of 
 " The Attic Bee," all these were reasons for the 
 popularity which these Dialogues undoubtedly enjoyed. 
 There is no means of fixing the order in which they 
 were written, but they probably all belong to the last
 
 16 PL A TO. 
 
 forty years of his life. A story is indeed extant to the 
 effect that Socrates heard the " Lysis " read to him, 
 and exclaimed " Good heavens ! what a heap of false- 
 hoods this young man tells about me ! " but Socrates 
 had in all probability died some years before the "Lysis" 
 was published. The speakers in these Dialogues are 
 no more historical than the characters in Shakspeare's 
 plays, and Plato was (perhaps purposely) careless 
 of dates and names. But the personages thus intro- 
 duced serve their purpose. They give a life and a real- 
 ity to the scenes and conversations which is wanting 
 in Berkeley's Dialogues, and in all modern imitations, 
 and their tempers and peculiarities are touched by a 
 master-hand. But there is one character which Plato 
 never paints, and that is his own. Except in two 
 casual allusions, he never directly or indirectly intro- 
 duces himself ; and no one can argue, from the internal 
 evidence of his writings, as to what he was or was not. 
 Like Shakspeare, he deserves Coleridge's epithet of 
 " myriad-minded," for he appears to us in all shapes and 
 characters. He was " sceptic, dogmatist, religious 
 mystic and inquisitor, mathematical philosopher, artist, 
 poet all in one, or at least all in succession, during 
 the fifty years of his philosophical life." * 
 
 There is one pervading feature of similarity in all 
 the Dialogues, and that is, the style.t If Jove had 
 spoken Greek (it was said of old), he would have 
 
 * Crete's Plato, i. 214. 
 
 t Sir Arthur Helps, himself a writer of purest English, has 
 given us in ' Kealmah ' his ideas of what a perfect style should 
 be. Every word in his description would closely apply to Plato,
 
 LIFE OF PLATO. 17 
 
 spoken it like Plato ; and Quintilian no mean critic 
 declared that his language soared so far at times above 
 the ordinary prose, that it seemed as if the writer was 
 inspired by the Delphic Oracle. But these very sen- 
 tences which seem to us to flow so easily, and which 
 we think must have been written currente calamo, were 
 really elaborate in their simplicity; and the anecdote 
 of thirteen different versions of the opening sentence 
 in the " Kepublic " having been found in the author's 
 handwriting is probably based upon fact. 
 
 Up to the age of eighty-one, Plato continued his liter- 
 ary work " combing, and curling, and weaving, and 
 unweaving his writings after a variety of fashions ; " * 
 and death, so Cicero tells us, came upon him as he 
 was seated at his desk, pen in hand. He was buried 
 among the olive-trees in his own garden; and his 
 disciples celebrated a yearly festival in his memory. 
 
 As might be expected, such a man did not escape 
 satire and detraction even in his own day. To say 
 that he was ridiculed by the comic poets, is merely to 
 say that he paid the penalty common to all eminence 
 at Athens ; but he was accused of vanity, plagiarism, 
 and what not, by writers such as Antisthenes and 
 Aristoxenus, whose philosophy might have taught 
 
 especially the concluding lines ; . . . " and withal there must 
 be a sense of felicity about it, declaring it to be the product of 
 a happy moment, so that you feel it will not happen again to 
 that man who writes the sentence, nor to any other of the sons 
 of men, to say the like thing so choicely, tersely, mellifluously, 
 and completely. " Realmah, i. 175. 
 
 * Dionysius of Halicarnassus, quoted in Sewell's Dialogues 
 of Plato, p. 55. 
 
 A. C. vol. XIX. B
 
 18 PLA TO. 
 
 them better. Athenseus, with whom no reputation is 
 sacred, devotes six successive chapters to a merciless 
 attack on his personal character ; and besides retailing 
 some paltry anecdotes as to his being fond of figs, and 
 inventing a musical water-clock which chimed the 
 hours at night, he accuses him of jealousy and malev- 
 olence towards his brother philosophers, and tells a 
 story to show his arrogance, and the dislike with which 
 his companions regarded him. On the same evening 
 that Socrates died (so says Athenseus), the select few 
 who had been with him in the prison, met together at 
 supper. All were sad and silent, and had not the 
 heart to eat or drink. But Plato filled a cup with 
 wine, and bade them be of good cheer, for he would 
 worthily fill their master's place ; and he invited 
 Apollodorus to drink his health, and passed him the 
 cup. But Apollodorus refused it with indignation, 
 and said, " I would rather have pledged Socrates in 
 his hemlock, than pledge you in this wine."
 
 CHAPTEE II. 
 
 PHILOSOPHERS AND SOPHISTS. 
 
 DIALOGUES ! PARMENIDES SOPHTSTES PROTAGORAS 
 GORGIAS HIPPIAS EUTHYDEMUS. 
 
 " Divine Philosophy, 
 
 Not harsh and nigged, as dull fools suppose, 
 But musical as is Apollo's lute." Milton. 
 
 " PHILOSOPHY," says Plato in his ' Theaetetus,' " begins 
 in wonder, for Iris is the child of Thaumas." It is 
 the natural impulse of the savage, wherever he sees 
 force and motion that he cannot explain, to invent a 
 god ; and BO the first stage of Science is a sort of 
 Fetishism, or worship of the powers of nature. The 
 Greek, especially curious and inventive, carried this 
 tendency to its furthest limits ; and the result was an 
 elaborate Mythology, in which every object and oper- 
 ation in the physical world was referred to a special 
 god. Thus the thunder was caused by the wrath of 
 Zeus ; the earthquake was produced by Poseidon ; 
 and the pestilence by the arrows of Apollo. Poets 
 like Homer and Hesiod reduced these myths to a sys- 
 tem, and perpetuated them in their verse ; and so it 
 may be said that Greek philosophy springs from 
 poetry, for in this poetry are contained the -germs of
 
 20 PL A TO. 
 
 all subsequent thought. Homer, indeed, has been 
 called " the Greek Bible ; " and every Athenian 
 gentleman is said to have known the Iliad and 
 Odyssey by heart. Their morality, it is true, was of 
 a rough and ready character, suited to the high spirit 
 of heroic times, when war and piracy were the hero's 
 proper profession ; but there are everywhere traces of 
 a strict code of honour and a keen sense of rights and 
 duties. The oath and the marriage tie, the claims of 
 age and Aveakness, the guest and the suppliant, are all 
 respected ; and though all stratagems are held to be 
 fair in war, Achilles, the poet's model hero, tells us 
 that his soul detests the liar " like the gates of hell." 
 
 Hesiod looks back with regret to the heroes of this 
 golden time, long since departed to the islands of the 
 blest. His own lot has fallen upon evil days ; the 
 earth has lost its bloom ; the present race of men are 
 sadly degenerate ; and Shame and Retribution, the 
 two last remaining virtues, have gone for ever. 
 
 Simonides and Theognis complete this gloomy pic- 
 ture ; they and the other " Gnomic " poets, fragments 
 of whose writings have come down to us, preach for 
 the most part a prudential morality, unlike the chival- 
 rous naivete of Homer, and expressed in mournful 
 sentences which read like verses from Ecclesiastes. 
 The uncertainty of fortune, the inconstancy of friends, 
 the miseries of poverty and sickness these are the 
 phases of life which strike them most. 
 
 Then come the " Seven Wise Men," of whom 
 Solon was one, who stand on the border-land of ro- 
 mance and history, like the Seven Champions of
 
 DIALOGUES. 21 
 
 Christendom. "We know little of them "beyond those 
 aphorisms ascribed to each of them, and said to 
 have been engraven in gold on the gates of Delphi, 
 which became as household words in Greece, and some 
 of which have found their way into modern proverbs 
 " The golden mean," " Know thyself," " Virtue is 
 difficult," " Call no man happy till he dies." Ano- 
 ther of the seven was Thales half star-gazer, half 
 man of business honoured by Aristotle with the 
 title of "the first philosopher." He and those who 
 followed him tried to discover some one element or 
 first principle underlying the incessant change and 
 motion which they saw in the world around them. 
 Thales believed this principle to be Water improving 
 on the old myth of Oceanus, the eternal river that 
 girds the universe. Anaximander thought the uni- 
 verse originally was a bath of flames, or a ring of 
 fire broken up into sun, moon, and stars, while the 
 earth remained balanced like a column in the centre. 
 Anaximenes, again, said that "Air ruled over all 
 things ; and the Soul, being Air, ruled in man." Thus 
 these three Ionian philosophers took each some one 
 element as the symbol of an abstract idea. 
 
 Then came Heraclitus of Ephesus, surnamed the 
 Obscure, " shooting," says Plato, " as from a quiver, 
 sayings brief and dark." He is oppressed with the 
 sense of the perpetual change in nature. Nothing is 
 at rest, all is in continual movement and progression. 
 Life and time are like a stream flowing on for ever, 
 in which thoughts and actions appear for a moment 
 and then vanish. Pythagoras, again, maintained that
 
 22 PL A TO. 
 
 Number was the sacred and \inchangeable principle by 
 which the universe was regulated ; that there was a 
 " music of the spheres ;" and that the soul itself was a 
 harmony imprisoned in the body : while his contempo- 
 rary Democritus, " the first materialist," held that by 
 some law of necessity countless atoms had moved to- 
 gether in the void of space, and so produced a world. 
 
 Lastly, the Eleatics took higher ground, and con- 
 ceived the idea of one eternal and absolute Being 
 which alone exists, while non-existence is inconceiv- 
 able. Plurality and change, space and time, are 
 merely illusions of the senses. This doctrine is set 
 forth at some length by Parmenides, the founder of 
 this school of thought, in an epic poem, in which he 
 has been commissioned, he says, by the goddess of 
 wisdom, " to show unto men the unchangeable heart 
 of truth." Plato, who always speaks of him with re- 
 spect " more honoured than all the rest of philoso- 
 phers put together" has given his name to one of 
 his Dialogues, in which he introduces him as visiting 
 Athens in his old age, in company with Zeno, his 
 friend and pupil, and there discussing his theories 
 with Socrates, then a young man of twenty. 
 
 The Dialogue turns upon the difficulties involved in 
 the famous Eleatic saying, that " the All is one, and 
 the many are nought ; " but, by an easy transition, the 
 argument in the first part of the Dialogue discusses the 
 doctrine of Ideas the key-stone of Plato's philosophy. 
 This doctrine seems to have grown upon him, and en- 
 grossed his mind ; and his poetic feeling is continually 
 suggesting additions and embellishments to it, just as
 
 PARMENIDES. 23 
 
 an artist adds fresh touches to a favourite picture. 
 He admits, with Heraclitus, that all objects of sense 
 are fleeting and changeable ; and he admits with the 
 Eleatics that Being alone can really be said to exist ; 
 but he blends these two theories together. Everything 
 that we can name or see has its eternal Idea or pro- 
 totype ; and this particular flower, with its sensible 
 bloom and fragrance, is merely the transitory image 
 or expression of the universal Flower that never fades. 
 And thus, far removed from this material world of 
 birth and death, change and decay, Plato conceived 
 another world of pure and perfect forms, imperceptible 
 by earthly senses and perceived by the eye of reason 
 alone, each form in itself separate, unchangeable, and 
 everlasting, and each answering to some visible object 
 to which it imparts a share of its own divine essence, 
 as the sun gives light to nature. 
 
 But (objects Parmenides in this Dialogue), how can 
 you bridge over the gulf which separates the sensible 
 from the Ideal world ? How do these earthly imita- 
 tions of the Ideas partake of the essence of their di- 
 vine prototypes? And how far can you carry your 
 theory ? Have the meanest as well as the noblest ob- 
 jects hair and mud, for instance, as well as beauty 
 and truth their ideal Forms ? Again, there may be 
 Ideas of Ideas, and so you may go on generalising to 
 infinity. Lastly, they cannot be only conceptions of 
 the mind ; while, if they are types in nature and have 
 a real existence, we cannot know them ; for all human 
 knowledge is relative, and to comprehend these eter- 
 nal and absolute Ideas, we should require an Ideal and
 
 24 PL A TO. 
 
 absolute knowledge, such as the gods alone can pos- 
 sess. Of ourselves, therefore, we cannot know these 
 Ideas ; and yet, unless we admit that absolute and ab- 
 stract Ideas exist, all discussion nay, all philosophy 
 is at an end. 
 
 These objections, so skilfully put by Parmenides, are 
 not answered by Plato in this, or indeed in any other 
 Dialogue ; and he thus makes out a strong case against 
 his own favourite theory. Socrates himself is lectured 
 by Parmenides on his defective mental training. His 
 enthusiasm (says the old philosopher), which makes 
 him " keen as a Spartan hound " in the quest of 
 truth, is a noble impulse in itself; but it will be use- 
 less unless he, so to speak, reads his adversary's brief, 
 and studies a question in all its bearings, tracing all 
 the consequences which may follow from the assump- 
 tion or denial of some hypothesis. Above all, So- 
 crates should cultivate " Dialectic," * which alone can 
 enable him to separate the ideal from the sensible, and 
 is an indispensable exercise, although most people re- 
 gard it as mere idle talking. 
 
 Parmenides is then prevailed upon himself to give 
 an example of this " laborious pastime ; " though, as he 
 says, he shakes with fear at the thought of his self-im- 
 posed task, " like an old race-horse before running the 
 course he knows so well." He selects for examination 
 his own Eleatic theory, and traces the consequences 
 which follow from the contradictory assumptions that 
 " One is," and " One is not." We need not follow him 
 
 * The process by which the definitions of Logic are attained.
 
 PARMENJDES. 25 
 
 through the mazes of this chain of arguments, "which 
 result after all in two contradictory conclusions. It is 
 douhtful if Plato had any other object in this "leger- 
 demain of words " than to stimulate the curiosity of 
 a youthful inquirer like Socrates with a series of argu- 
 ments as puzzling and equivocal as the riddle in his 
 " Eepublic," to which Mr Grote compares them : " A 
 man and no man, seeing and not seeing, a bird and no 
 bird, sitting upon wood and no wood, struck and did 
 not strike it with a stone and no stone." The only 
 difference is, that in one case the author knew the 
 solution of his riddle; while it may be doubted if 
 Plato himself held the key to the enigmas in his 
 " Parmenides." 
 
 In this Dialogue we are introduced also to Zeno 
 "Parmenides' second self" the able exponent of 
 the art of Dialectic, and a type of a new stage of Greek 
 thought which had just commenced with the Sophists. 
 The appearance of these professors at Athens was a 
 sign of the times. Hitherto, as we have seen, philo- 
 sophy had resulted in rough abstractions from Nature 
 or in a vague Idealism; but now thought was directed 
 to the practical requirements of life, and the Sophists 
 supplied a recognised want in the education of the 
 age. They were the professors of universal know- 
 ledge ; and, above all, they taught Rhetoric in the 
 view of an Athenian the most important of all branches 
 of learning. To speak with fluency and dignity was 
 not so much an accomplishment as a necessary safe- 
 guard at Athens, where " Informers " abounded, where 
 litigation was incessant, and where a citizen was liable
 
 26 PL A TO. 
 
 to be called upon to defend his life and property any 
 day in one of the numerous law-eourts. Again, elo- 
 quence, far more than with us, was a source of success 
 and popularity in public life ; and as a French soldier 
 was said to cany a marshal's baton in his knapsack, so 
 every citizen who had the natural or acquired gift of 
 eloquence might aspire to rise from the ranks, and be- 
 come president of Athens. Provided that he had a 
 ready and plausible tongue, neither his poverty nor 
 mean descent need stand in his way; for the foremost 
 place in Athens had been occupied in succession by a 
 tanner and a lamp-seller. The small number of citizens, 
 as compared with slaves, made political power more 
 accessible than in our over-grown democracies ; and 
 every citizen was forced to become part and parcel of 
 the state in which he lived. Moreover, the Greek 
 Assembly was more easily moved by an appeal to their 
 feelings or imagination, especially on an occasion of 
 strong public interest, than a modern House of Com- 
 mons. Sometimes their enthusiasm, broke through all 
 bounds, and Plato's description of the effect produced 
 by a popular orator is probably not exaggerated. 
 
 All motives, therefore policy, ambition, self-defence 
 combined to induce the Athenian to learn the art 
 of speaking, and there was an increasing demand for 
 teachers. The Sophists undertook to qualify the young 
 aspirant for political distinction ; to teach him to think, 
 speak, and act like a citizen, to convince or cajole the 
 Assembly, to hold his own in the law-court, and gen- 
 erally to give him the power of making " the worse 
 seem the better reason." Their lecture-rooms were
 
 SOPHISTES. 27 
 
 crowded ; they were idolised by the rising generation ; 
 and they not uncommonly made large fortunes, charg- 
 ing often as much as fifty drachmas (about two guineas) 
 a lesson ; for few of them would have the magnanimity 
 of Protagoras, who left it to the conscience of his pupils 
 to name their own fees. 
 
 The Sophists were the sceptics and rationalists of 
 their times, and they headed the reaction against the 
 dogmatism of previous philosophy. According to 
 them, there was no fixed standard of morality ; real 
 knowledge was impossible ; tradition was false ; reli- 
 gion was the invention of lying prophets ; law and 
 justice were devices of the strong to ensnare the weak ; 
 pleasure and pain were the only criteria of right and 
 wrong ; each man should use his private judgment in 
 all matters, and do that which seemed good in his 
 own eyes. 
 
 We can hardly estimate the mingled feelings of fear 
 and dislike with which an average Athenian citizen 
 would regard the influence undoubtedly possessed by 
 this class. Patriotism and religious prejudice would 
 intensify the hatred against these foreign sceptics ; 
 and added to this would be the popular antipathy 
 which has in all times shown itself against scheming 
 lawyers and ambitious churchmen 
 
 " Chicane in furs, and casuistry in lawn." 
 
 For, inasmuch as philosophy was closely blended with 
 their religion, the Sophist would seem to practise a sort 
 of intellectual simony ; tampering with and selling at 
 a high price the divinest mysteries ; holding the keys
 
 28 PLATO. 
 
 of knowledge themselves, but refusing to impart, except 
 to such as came with full purses, those truths which 
 were to the Greek as the very bread of life. 
 
 Doubtless Plato had sufficient reason to justify the 
 repulsive picture which he has drawn of the Sophist 
 in several of his Dialogues, as " the charlatan, the 
 foreigner, the prince of esprits faux, the hireling who 
 is not a teacher ; . . . the ' evil one,' the ideal 
 representative of all that Plato most disliked in the 
 moral and intellectual tendencies of his own age, the 
 adversary of the almost equally ideal Socrates." * 
 
 In the Dialogue called THE SOPHIST, an attempt 
 is made to define, by a regular logical process called 
 " dichotomy," the real nature of this many-sided crea- 
 ture ; no easy task, says Plato, " for the animal is 
 troublesome, and hard to catch." He has a variety of 
 characters. Firstly, he is a sort of hunter, and his art 
 is like the angler's, with the difference that he is a 
 fisher of men, and baits his hook with pleasure, 
 " haunting the rich meadow-lands of generous youth." 
 Secondly, he is like a retail trader, but his merchandise 
 is a spurious knowledge which he buys from others or 
 fabricates for himself as he wanders from city to city. 
 Thirdly, he is a warrior, but his tongue is his sword 
 with which he is eternally wrangling about right and 
 wrong for money. Fourthly, since education purifies 
 the soul by casting out ignorance or the false conceit 
 of knowledge, men would have you believe that the 
 Sophist does this ; though, as a matter of fact, he is 
 
 * Jowett's Plato, iii. 448.
 
 PROTAGORAS. 29 
 
 about as like the real " purger of souls " as a wolf 
 is like a dog. Lastly, this creature aspires to universal 
 knowledge, and will argue ay, and teach others to 
 argue about any object in creation; and, like a clever 
 painter, he will impose upon you the appearance for 
 the reality, and thus he steals away the hearts of our 
 young men, deceiving their ears and deluding their 
 senses, while he disguises his own ignorance under a 
 cloud of words. In fact, he is a mere imitator and 
 an imitator of appearance, not of reality. 
 
 " But how " (an objector replies) " can a man be said 
 to affirm or imitate that which is only appearance, and 
 has no real existence ? " This quibble is followed by a 
 perplexing discussion on "Not-Being" the stumbling- 
 block of Eleatic philosophers. To us nothing can be 
 simpler than the distinction between "this is not," 
 i.e, does not exist and " this is not," i.e., is not true ; 
 but so oppressed was the Eleatic with the sense of 
 " Being " as alone having existence, that he held that 
 no reality could be attached to non-being ; and there- 
 fore falsehood, which was merely the expression of 
 non-being, was impossible. Nothing would be gained 
 by following out the threads of this difficult argument ; 
 and we may dismiss the Eleatic theory with the con- 
 solation that, as Professor Jowett says, Plato has effec- 
 tually " laid its ghost " we will hope, for ever. 
 
 PROTAGORAS. 
 
 The opening of this Dialogue is highly dramatic. 
 Socrates is awakened before daylight by the young 
 Hippocrates, who is all on fire to see and hear this Pro-
 
 30 PL A TO. 
 
 tagoras, who has just come to Athens. Socrates calms 
 his excitement, and advises him to be sure, before he 
 pays his money to the great Sophist, that he will get 
 his money's worth ; for it is a rash thing to commit his 
 soul to the instruction of a foreigner, before he knows 
 his real character, or whether his doctrines are for 
 good or for evil. " my friend ! " he says, earnestly, 
 " pause a moment before you hazard your dearest in- 
 terests on a game of chance ; for you cannot buy know- 
 ledge and carry it away in an earthly vessel : in your 
 own soul you must receive it, to be a blessing or a 
 curse." 
 
 Talking thus gravely on the way, they arrive at the 
 house of Callias, who had spent more money on the 
 Sophists so Plato tells us than any other Athenian 
 of his times. The doorkeeper is surly, and at first 
 refuses to admit them, thinking that his master has 
 had enough of the Sophists and their friends already. 
 But at last they enter, and find a large company 
 already assembled within. Protagoras himself is 
 walking up and down the colonnade, declaiming to 
 a troop of youths who had followed him from all 
 parts of Greece, attracted by the music of his words, 
 "as though he were a second Orpheus." Hippias, 
 another Sophist, whom we shall meet again, is lecturing 
 on astronomy to a select audience in the opposite 
 portico ; while the deep voice of Prodicus, a younger 
 professor, is heard from an adjoining room, where he 
 lies still warmly wrapped up in bed, and conversing 
 from it to another circle of listeners. 
 
 Socrates at once steps up to Protagoras, and tells
 
 PROTAGORAS. 31 
 
 him the purpose for which they have sought him ; 
 and the great man makes a gracious answer. " Yes 
 Hippocrates has done right to come to him, for he is 
 not as other Sophists. He will not treat him like a 
 schoolboy, and weary him with astronomy and music. 
 No y he will teach him nobler and more useful lessons 
 than these : prudence, that he may order his own 
 house well ; and political wisdom, that he may prove 
 himself a good citizen and a wise statesman." 
 
 " But," asks Socrates, half incredulously, " can such 
 wisdom and virtue as this be really taught at all ? If 
 it were so, would not our statesmen have taught their 
 own children the art by which they became great them- 
 selves, and the mantle of Pericles have descended in 
 a measure upon his sons ? " 
 
 To this Protagoras replies by a parable. Man was 
 overlooked in the original distribution of gifts by 
 Epimetheus among mortal creatures, and was left the 
 only bare and defenceless animal in creation; and 
 though Prometheus strove to remedy his brother's 
 oversight as far as he could, by giving him fire and 
 other means of life, still there was no principle of 
 government, and man kept slaying and plundering his 
 brother man ; till at last Jove took pity on him, and 
 sent Hermes to distribute justice and friendship, not 
 to a favoured few, but to all alike. " For," said Jove, 
 " cities cannot exist, if a few only share in the virtues, 
 as in the arts ; and further, make a law by my order, 
 that he who has no part in reverence and justice shall 
 be put to death as a plague to the state." The very 
 fact that evil-doers are punished, not in retaliation for
 
 32 PL A TO. 
 
 past wrong, but to prevent future wrong, is a proof 
 that certain virtues can be acquired " from study, and 
 exercise, and teaching." In fact, a man's education 
 begins in his cradle. From childhood he is placed 
 under tutors and governors, and stimulated to virtue 
 by admonitions, by threats, or blows. When he arrives 
 at man's estate, the law takes the place of his masters, 
 and compels him to live uprightly. He who rebels 
 against instruction or punishment is either exiled or 
 condemned to death, under the idea that he is in- 
 curable. " Who teaches virtue, say you ? (Protagoras 
 continues) ; you might as well ask who teaches Greek. 
 The fact is, all men are its teachers, parents, guard- 
 ' ians, tutors, the laws, society each and all do their 
 part in forming a man's character." 
 
 Socrates professes himself charmed with the elo- 
 quence of Protagoras ; but there is one little ques- 
 tion further upon which he would like to have his 
 opinion. " Is there one virtue, or are there many ? " 
 Protagoras, who at first argues that the virtues are 
 separate like the different features of a man's face 
 is forced much against his will to admit that holiness 
 is much the same as justice, and so on with the 
 several others. 
 
 Then a line from the poet Simonides is discussed 
 "It is hard to be good ; " and Protagoras, who had 
 been hitherto the chief speaker, is himself put to the 
 question by Socrates, with a reminder that short 
 answers are best for short memories like his own. 
 This discussion is simply a satire on the verbal criti- 
 cism so common in that age, and reduced to a science
 
 GOROIAS. 33 
 
 by the Sophists ; when men in the very exuberance of 
 thought, like the Euphuists in the Elizabethan age, 
 fenced with sharp sayings taking, as here, some well- 
 known text from a poet, illustrating its meaning, and 
 using it to point a moral, like a preacher in a modern 
 pulpit. 
 
 But this criticism is admitted by both sides to be a 
 somewhat commonplace amusement. To quote from 
 the poets, says Socrates, with some sarcasm, especially 
 when they are not present to tell us what they really 
 meant, is a mere waste of time ; it is like listening to 
 a flute-girl after dinner, and betrays a dearth of inven- 
 tion on the part of the company. So the original 
 argument on the plurality of Virtue is resumed ; and 
 it is proved, to the satisfaction at least of one dis- 
 putant, that knowledge is not only a power in itself, 
 but is also the main element in every virtue ; and that 
 even if pleasure were the rule of life which it is not 
 still knowledge would be required to strike the 
 balance between pleasure and pain. 
 
 GOBGIAS. 
 
 Among the professors of the day none was more 
 distinguished than Gorgias of Leontini, who came as 
 an ambassador to Athens to obtain her aid against 
 Syracuse before the great Sicilian war. His doctrines 
 resulted in utter Nihilism. Nothing (he said) exists ; 
 if anything existed, it could not be known ; and, even 
 if it could be known, such knowledge could not be 
 imparted. In this Dialogue he is the guest of Cal- 
 licles, an accomplished Athenian gentleman ; and he is 
 
 A. c. vol. xix. o
 
 34 PL A TO. 
 
 pressed by Socrates to give an account of himself and 
 his art. Ehetoric, replies Gorgias, is his art, and it is 
 used by him and by others for the best of purposes 
 namely, to give political freedom to all men, and 
 political power to a few. Of course, like other arts, 
 it is capable of abuse; but it is not the teacher's 
 fault if his pupils, like a boxer in the mere wan- 
 tonness of strength, use their weapons injuriously or 
 unfairly. 
 
 Socrates (who seems to consider Sophistry quite fair 
 in war against a Sophist) uses a fallacy as gross as 
 any of those which he himself exposes in the " Euthy- 
 demus," and makes Gorgias contradict his previous as- 
 sertion. The Rhetorician is asserted to have learned 
 justice from his teacher granted ; he is therefore, ipso 
 facto, a just man, and his art is equally just. How, 
 then, can he act injuriously ? 
 
 Polus a young pupil of Gorgias who is sitting 
 near, is indignant at what he rightly thinks an inten- 
 tional misuse of words, and plunges into the discussion 
 with all the impetuosity of youth. Socrates, he says, 
 has no right to force such a plain contradiction in 
 terms upon Gorgias nay, it is positive ill-breeding in 
 him to do so. 
 
 " Most excellent Polus," says Socrates, in his po- 
 litest manner, " the chief object of our providing for 
 ourselves friends and children is that when we grow 
 old and begin to fail, a younger generation may be at 
 hand to set us on our legs again in our words and ac- 
 tions ; so now, if I and Gorgias are failing, we have 
 you here, ready to be help to us, as you ought to be ;
 
 GORGIAS. 35 
 
 and I, for my part, promise to .retract any mistake 
 which you may think I have made on one condition." 
 
 And this condition is that his answers must be 
 brief, True, it is hard that Polus should be deprived 
 of his freedom of speech, especially in Athens ; but it 
 is harder still, says Socrates, for his hearers, to have to 
 listen to long-winded arguments. 
 
 Then Socrates gives his views on Rhetoric, which 
 was the question they had started with. It is not, 
 strictly speaking, an art at all, but, like cookery or 
 music, is a mere routine for gratifying the senses, 
 being, in fact, a part of flattery, and the shadow of a 
 part of politics, and bearing the same relation to jus- 
 tice that Sophistry bears to legislation.* 
 
 In the course of his argument with Polus, Socrates 
 makes two statements which sound to his audience 
 like the wildest paradoxes truisms as they may ap- 
 pear from a Christian point of view. It is better (he 
 says) to suffer than to do a wrong ; and the evil-doer, 
 though possessed of infinite wealth and power, must 
 inevitably be miserable. Though all the world should 
 be against him, he will maintain this to be the truth 
 yes, and he will go a step further. The evil-doer who 
 
 * The following table exhibits the respective places which 
 Socrates considers Rhetoric and Sophistry to hold in the edu- 
 cation of his day : 
 
 Training. 
 
 Real. Sham. 
 
 Of Bodv -f Gymnastics, with its sham counterpart, Cosmetics. 
 
 * Medicine, Cookery. 
 
 Ql JJJ D( ] / Law-making, ,, Sophistry. 
 
 Judging, , ,, Rhetoric.
 
 36 PL A TO. 
 
 escapes the law, and lives on in his wickedness, is a 
 more miserable man than he who suffers the reward of 
 his crimes ; and though the tyrant or murderer may 
 avoid his earthly judge, as a sick child avoids the 
 doctor, still he carries about with him an incurable 
 cancer in his soul. For his own part, Socrates would 
 heap coals of fire upon the head of his enemy by let- 
 ting him escape punishment. " If he has stolen a 
 sum of money, let him keep it, and spend it on him 
 and his, regardless of religion and justice ; and if he 
 have done things worthy of death, let him not die, 
 but rather be immortal in his wickedness." 
 
 Callicles the shrewd man of the world is amazed 
 to hear such doctrines, which, if put into practice, 
 would, he thinks, turn society upside down. " Is 
 your master really in earnest, or is he joking?" he 
 asks Chserephon. 
 
 " He speaks in profound earnest," is the reply. 
 
 " Yes," says Socrates ; " and my words are but the 
 echo of the voice of truth speaking within my 
 breast." 
 
 But Callicles is not to be imposed upon by such 
 " brave words." Gorgias was too modest, and Polus 
 too clumsy an opponent to point out an obvious fal- 
 lacy. Socrates has been playing fast and loose with 
 the words Custom and Nature, and has confounded 
 two distinct things. To suffer wrong is better than 
 to do wrong by Custom, but not by Nature. Con- 
 ventional Justice is the refuge of the coward and 
 the slave, and was invented by the weak in self- 
 defence. Naturally, Might is Eight
 
 GORGIAS. 37 
 
 " The good old rule, the simple plan, 
 That they should take who have the power, 
 And they should keep who can." 
 
 Socrates is surely-not too old to learn a little common- 
 sense. Philosophy, as a part of education, is a good 
 thing, no doubt, to start with. But if a man carries it 
 with him into later life, he becomes a useless and ridicu- 
 lous member of society, at the mercy of any chance 
 accuser ; hiding in holes and corners, and whispering 
 to a few chosen youths, instead of standing forth 
 boldly before the world, and making his mark in life. 
 
 Socrates compliments Callicles on a frankness so 
 rarely met with, but presses him as to the exact sense 
 of " natural justice " i.e., the will of the stronger. 
 By "stronger" Callicles explains that he means the 
 wise and stout-hearted politician, who has the ambition 
 and spirit and desires of a king ; and who, moreover, 
 will not scruple to gratify them to the full. " Yes," 
 says Callicles, emphatically, "luxury, intemperance, 
 and licence, if they are duly supported, are happiness 
 and virtue all the rest is a mere bauble, custom con- 
 trary to nature, and nothing worth." 
 
 Socrates, in his own fashion, disproves these monstrous 
 doctrines, and forces Callicles, though much against 
 his will, to admit that pleasure and virtue are not 
 always identical ; that really Virtue is, or should be, 
 the end of all our actions ; that in the long-run the 
 just and temperate man alone is happy ; and that he 
 who leads a robber's life is abhorred by gods and men 
 while upon earth, and goes down to Hades with his 
 soul branded with the scars of his crimes. There must
 
 38 PLATO. 
 
 come a day of judgment and retribution, when each 
 man shall receive the just reward of his deeds. 
 
 Now I (concludes Socrates) am persuaded of the truth of 
 these things, and I consider how I shall present my soul 
 whole and unde filed before the Judge in that day. Re- 
 nouncing the honours at which the world aims, I desire 
 only to know the truth, and to live as well as I can, and, 
 when the time comes, to die. And to the utmost of my 
 power, I exhort all men to do the same. And in return 
 for your exhortation of me, I exhort you also to take part 
 in the great combat, which is the combat of life, and 
 greater than every other earthly conflict. J. 
 
 But in spite of his triumphant defence of Virtue, 
 there is a bitter tone of isolation and loneliness in the 
 last part of this Dialogue. " I, and I only, am left," 
 Socrates seems to say like Elijah upon Cannel 
 among ten thousand who know not the truth. My 
 own generation will not hear me or believe me ; they 
 will not even understand me ; and in the end I shall 
 probably be accused as a physician might be arraigned 
 by a pastry-cook before a jury of children ; and as I 
 cannot refer to any pleasures which I have provided 
 for the people, but can only appeal to my own blame- 
 less life, any one may foresee the verdict. " Not that 
 I fear death " he says, with a noble scorn only the 
 coward and the profligate need fear that. There is 
 something nobler than mere ease and personal safety. 
 "He who is truly a man, ought not to care much 
 how long he lives ; he knows, as women say, that 
 none can escape the day of destiny, and therefore is 
 not too fond of life ; all that he leaves to heaven, and
 
 HIP PI AS. 39 
 
 thinks how he may best spend such term as is allotted 
 him." 
 
 THE "GREATER" AND "LESSER" HIPPIAS. 
 
 Two short Dialogues ascribed to Plato on doubtful 
 grounds have come down to us bearing the name of 
 Hippias, who is the representative of the younger 
 generation of Sophists, clever and accomplished, but, 
 as we shall see, intolerably vain of his personal merits. 
 
 "How is it," asks Socrates on meeting him, "that 
 the wise and handsome Hippias has been so long away 
 from Athens?" 
 
 " Public business has taken up all my time," Hippias 
 replies ; " for I am always singled out by my country- 
 men of Elis on any important occasion, as being the 
 only man who can properly represent their city, and I 
 have just been on an embassy to Sparta." 
 
 "Lucky fellow !" says Socrates, "to combine such 
 dignity and usefulness, and to get large sums from the 
 youth in return for that knowledge which is more 
 precious than any gold. But how was it that the 
 wise men of old took no practical part in politics ? " 
 
 " Because they had not the ability to combine public 
 and private business, as we do now." 
 
 " Ah, well," says Soorates, " I suppose wisdom has 
 progressed, like everything else. Gorgias and Prodicus 
 have, I know, made immense sums from their pupils ; 
 but those old sages were too simple-minded to ask for 
 payment, or make an exhibition of their knowledge. 
 Nowadays, he is wisest who makes most money." 
 
 " You would be astonished," says Hippias, " if you
 
 40 PLA TO. 
 
 knew what a fortune I have made. I got a hundred 
 and fifty minae in Sicily alone, though Protagoras was 
 there at the same time." 
 
 "And where did you make most?" asks So- 
 crates. " I suppose at Sparta, for you have been there 
 oftenest." 
 
 " No," says Hippias; " not a penny could I get from 
 the Spartans, though they have plenty of money. 
 Indeed they care little for Astronomy or Music, or any 
 new sciences ; and as for Mathematics, they can hardly 
 count. The only thing they cared about was Archaeo- 
 logy the genealogies of their gods and heroes, and so 
 forth ; and they were also greatly pleased with a lecture 
 I gave in the form of advice from Nestor to Neoptole- 
 mus on the choice of a profession." 
 
 " By the way," says Socrates, suddenly, " there is 
 one question which I want answered, and I have been 
 waiting till I could find one of you wise men to tell 
 meWhat is the Beautiful?" 
 
 Hippias at first answers that a fair maiden is a beau^ 
 tiful thing ; but Socrates shows that this is merely 
 a relative term, and that compared with a goddess 
 she would be ugly, just as the wisest man is an ape 
 compared with a god. There must be some Form or 
 Essence which makes a maiden or a lyre beautiful. 
 It is not " gold " (as Hippias foolishly suggests), for 
 then Phidias would have made Athene's face of gold 
 instead of ivory : nor is it " the suitable," for that only 
 causes things in their right place to appear beautiful, 
 and does not really make them so. Nor, again, does 
 the glowing description of a prosperous life according
 
 HIP PI AS. 41 
 
 to Greek ideas, which is the next definition volunteered, 
 satisfy Socrates. 
 
 " It is a beautiful thing, when a man has lived in 
 health, wealth, and honour, to reach old age, and having 
 buried his parents handsomely, to be buried splendidly 
 by his descendants." * 
 
 Such vague language tells us nothing. Again, 
 Beauty is not " the useful," nor is it even " power for 
 the production of good," for this would make goodness 
 distinct from beauty. And lastly, Beauty is not 
 simply "that Avhich pleases our sight and hearing." 
 And then by an argument more subtle than the occa- 
 sion seems to require Socrates shows that the plea- 
 sures from the other senses should not be excluded. 
 
 Finally, the question is left unanswered, and Hippias 
 expresses his dissatisfaction at these " shreds and par- 
 ings of argument." A man (he thinks) should take a 
 larger view of debate, and learn to make a telling 
 speech in court, instead of wasting time on this minute 
 criticism, which profits him nothing. 
 
 No doubt, Socrates replies, his own doubts and 
 difficulties, which some strange power compels him to 
 make known, seem small and valueless to a wise man 
 like Hippias. It has always been his unhappy destiny 
 to seek and inquire, and be reviled by the world for 
 doing so ; but this discipline must be endured, if the 
 result is his own improvement. In any case, this 
 discussion has had one advantage, for it has taught him 
 the truth of the old proverb, that " What is beautiful 
 is difficult." 
 
 * Whewell's Platonic Dialogues, ii. 101.
 
 42 PL A TO. 
 
 In the Dialogue known as the " LESSER " HIPPIAS, 
 we again meet that philosopher, who has just deli- 
 vered a lecture on Homer at Athens, and who boasts 
 that he can talk on all subjects and answer all ques- 
 tions that may be asked ; in fact, he is a professor of 
 every science. Upon this, Socrates reminds him that 
 on his last appearance at Olympia he had worn a 
 tunic and embroidered girdle which he had woven 
 himself, and a ring which he had engraved with his 
 own hand ; and had brought with him a quantity 
 of his own writings in verse and prose, and, more 
 wonderful than all, an Art of Memory, which he had 
 himself invented. 
 
 The question on which Socrates wishes now to be 
 enlightened by Hippias is the characters of the two 
 heroes of the Iliad and Odyssey. Hippias maintains 
 that Achilles is nobler than Ulysses, as being straight- 
 forward, and not mendacious. But Socrates objects 
 to this ; the mendacious man is capable, intelligent, 
 and wise : if a man cannot tell a lie on occasion, he 
 shows his ignorance. Those who do wrong wilfully 
 are better than those who do wrong through ignorance 
 or against their will just as to be wilfully ungraceful 
 is better than to be really awkward ; and as a good 
 runner can run fast or slow, and a good archer hit or 
 miss the mark when he chooses. 
 
 Again, Socrates continues, if justice is a mental 
 capacity, the more capable mind is the more just ; and 
 such a mind, being competent to exercise itself in 
 good or evil, will, if it does evil, do it willingly;
 
 EUTHYDEMUS. 43 
 
 and therefore the wilful wrong-doer is the good 
 man. 
 
 And with this gross paradox established by argu- 
 ments as sophistical as any which Socrates has else- 
 where exposed the Dialogue ends. He confesses 
 himself to be puzzled and bewildered by the conclu- 
 sion at which they have arrived ; but (he adds) it is 
 no great wonder that a plain simple man like himself 
 should be puzzled, if the great and wise Hippias is 
 puzzled as well. 
 
 EUTHYDEMUS. 
 
 Nowhere is Plato's humour more sustained than in 
 this Dialogue, portions of which seem to have been 
 written in a spirit of broad farce. The arrogance and 
 self-conceit of the two principal personages, the mock 
 humility of Socrates and the impatience of Ctesippus, 
 form a contrast of character as amusing as a scene in 
 a clever comedy. 
 
 Euthydemus and Dionysodorus are introduced as 
 two brothers, possessed, by their own account, of uni- 
 versal genius able to use their swords and fight in 
 armour masters, also, of legal fence, and professors of 
 " wrangling " generally able and willing, moreover, 
 to give lessons in speaking, pleading, and writing 
 speeches. But all these accomplishments are now, as 
 they frankly tell Socrates, matters of merely secondary 
 consideration. 
 
 " Indeed," I said, " if such occupations are regarded by 
 you as secondary, what must the principal one be ? Tell 
 me, I beseech you, what that noble study is."
 
 44 PL A TO. 
 
 " The teaching of virtue, Socrates," he replied, " is our 
 principal occupation ; and we believe that we can impart 
 it better and quicker than any man." 
 
 " My God ! " I said, " and where did you learn that ? I 
 always thought, as I was saying just now, that your chief 
 accomplishment was the art of fighting in armour ; and 
 this was what I used to say of you, for I remember that 
 this was professed by you when you were here before. But 
 now, if you really have the other knowledge, forgive me : 
 I address you as I would superior beings, and ask you to 
 pardon the impiety of my former expressions. But are 
 you quite sure about this, Dionysodorus and Euthydemus ? 
 the promise is so vast, that a feeling of incredulity will 
 creep in. 
 
 " You may take our word, Socrates, for the fact." 
 
 " Then I think you happier in having such a treasure 
 than the great king is in the possession of his kingdom. 
 And please to tell me whether you intend to exhibit this 
 wisdom, or what you will do." 
 
 " That is why we are come hither, Socrates ; and our 
 purpose is not only to exhibit, but also to teach any one 
 who likes to learn." J. 
 
 A circle is formed, and young Cleinias, a grandson 
 of Alcibiades, is selected as the victim to be improved 
 by their logic, and is questioned accordingly as to his 
 ideas of knowledge and ignorance. The poor youth is 
 puzzled and confounded by their ingenious question- 
 ing and contradicts himself almost immediately ; but 
 Socrates good-naturedly reassures him by telling him 
 that his tormentors are not really in earnest, and that 
 their jests are merely a sort of prelude to graver mys- 
 teries to which he will be presently admitted, as soon 
 as he has learnt the correct use of terms. Then 
 Socrates, with the gracious permission of the two
 
 EUTHYDEMUS. 45 
 
 Sophists, gives an example of his own method, and 
 by a series of easy questions elicits from Cleiiiias the 
 admission that wisdom is the only good, that ignorance 
 is evil, and that to become wise is at present his heart's 
 desire. 
 
 Then Euthydemus begins again. "So you want 
 Cleinias to become wise, and he is not wise yet ? " 
 Socrates admits this. " Then you want the boy to be 
 no longer what he is that is, you want him to be done 
 away with ? A nice set of friends you must all be ! " 
 
 Socrates is amazed at this retort ; and Ctesippus, 
 who is a warm friend of Cleinias, is most indignant, and 
 calls the Sophists a pair of liars in plain language. To 
 this Euthydemus replies that there is no such thing 
 as a lie, and that contradiction is impossible. The 
 dispute is growing warm, when Socrates interposes. 
 There is no use, he says, in quarrelling about words ; 
 if by " doing away with him " the strangers mean that 
 they will make a new man out of Cleinias, by all means 
 let them destroy the youth, and make him wise, and 
 all of us with him. 
 
 But if you young men tlo not like to trust yourselves 
 with them, then, fiat experimentum in corp&re senis ; here 
 I offer my old person to Dionysodorus : he may put me 
 into the pot, like Medea the Colchian, kill me, pickle me, 
 eat me, if he will only make me good. Ctesippus said : 
 " And I, Socrates, am ready to commit myself to the 
 strangers ; they may skin me alive, if they please (and I 
 am pretty well skinned by them already), if only my skin 
 is made at last, not like that of Marsyas, into a leathern 
 bottle, but into a piece of virtue. And here is Dionyso- 
 dorus fancying that I am angry with him, when I am
 
 46 PL A TO. 
 
 really not angry at all. I do but contradict him when he 
 seems to me to be in the wrong ; and you must not con- 
 found abuse and contradiction, O illustrious Dionysodorus; 
 for they are quite different things." 
 
 " Contradiction ! " said Dionysodorus ; " why, there never 
 was such a thing." J. 
 
 And then he proves in his own fashion that false- 
 hood has no existence, and that a man must either say 
 what is true or say nothing at alL 
 
 One absurd paradox follows another ; and the two 
 brothers venture on the most extravagant assertions. 
 According to them, neither error nor ignorance are 
 possible ; and they themselves have known all things 
 from their birth dancing, carpentering, cobbling 
 nay, the very number of the stars and sands ; till even 
 Socrates loses patience, and Ctesippus cannot disguise 
 his disgust at their effrontery. 
 
 Several passages of arms take place, of which the 
 following may serve as an instance : 
 
 " You say," asks Euthydemus of Ctesippus, " that you 
 have a dog ? " 
 
 " Yes, a villain of a one," said Ctesippus. 
 
 " And he has puppies ? " 
 
 " Yes, and they are very like himself." 
 
 "And the dog is the father of them ? " 
 
 " Yes," he said, " certainly." 
 
 " And is he not yours ? " 
 
 " To be sure he is." 
 
 " Then he is a father, and he is yours ; ergo, he is your 
 father, and the puppies are your brothers." 
 
 " Let me ask you one little question more," said Dio- 
 nysodorus, quickly interposing, in order that Ctesippus 
 might not get in his word "you beat this dog?"
 
 EUTHYDEMUS. 47 
 
 Ctesippus said, laughing, " Indeed I do ; and I only wish 
 that I could beat you instead of him." 
 
 " Then you beat your father," he said. 
 
 I should have had more reason to beat yours, said 
 Ctesippus ; " what could he have been thinking of when 
 he begat such wise sons ? Much good has this father of you 
 and other curs got out of your wisdom." J. 
 
 More arguments are advanced, in which, the perver- 
 sion of words is no less gross and palpable than in the 
 passage above quoted even to the most illogical mind. 
 The fallacies, indeed, are generally so transparent as 
 hardly to require serious refutation. The bystanders, 
 however, are represented as being marvellously pleased 
 at the remarkable wit and ingenuity of the two 
 brethren ; and Socrates professes to be overcome by 
 this display of their powers of reasoning. He makes 
 them a speech in which he gravely compliments them 
 on their magnanimous disregard of all opinions besides 
 their own, and their " kind and public-spirited denial 
 of all differences, whether of white or black, good or 
 eviL" 
 
 " But what appears to me to be more than all is, that this 
 art and invention of yours is so admirably contrived that 
 in a very short time it can be imparted to any one. I 
 observe that Ctesippus learned to imitate you in no time. 
 Now this quickness of attainment is an excellent thing ; 
 but at the same time I would advise you not to have any 
 more public entertainments there is a danger that men 
 may undervalue an art which they have so easy an oppor- 
 tunity of learning : the exhibition would be best of all, if 
 the discussion were confined to your two selves ; but if there 
 must be an audience, let him only be present who is will- 
 ing to pay a handsome fee ; you should be careful of this
 
 48 PL A TO. 
 
 and if you are wise, you will also bid your disciples dis- 
 course with no man but you and themselves. For only 
 what is rare is valuable ; and water, which, as Pindar save, 
 is the best of all things, is also the cheapest. And now I 
 have only to request that you will receive Cleinias and me 
 among your pupils." J.
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 SOCRATES AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 SYMPOSIUM PH^EDRUS APOLOGY CRITO PH.3JDO. 
 
 " There neither is, nor shall there ever be, any treatise of Plato. The 
 opinions called by the name of Plato are those of Socrates in the days of 
 his youthful vigour and glory." Plato, Ep. ii. 314 (Grote). 
 
 SOCRATES, in whom, as we have seen, Plato thus merges 
 his own personality, and who is the spokesman in 
 nearly every Dialogue, was the son of a sculptor at 
 Athens, and was born in the year B.C. 468. He left 
 his father's workshop at an early age, and devoted 
 himself to the task of public teaching, being, as he 
 believed, specially commissioned by the gods to ques- 
 tion and cross-examine all he met. Accordingly he 
 might be found, day after day, in the workshops, in 
 the public walks, in the market-place, or in the Palaes- 
 tra, hearing and asking questions ; careless where or 
 when or with whom he talked. His personal ugliness 
 about which he makes a joke himself in the " Theae- 
 tetus " his thick lips, snub nose, and corpulent body, 
 and besides this, his mean dresa and bare feet, made 
 him, perhaps, the most remarkable figure in Athens, 
 especially when contrasted with the rich dresses and 
 A. c. voL xix. D
 
 CO PL A TO. 
 
 classic features of the youths who often followed him. 
 Yet under that Silenus mask (as Alcibiades described 
 it) was concealed the image of a god. None who had 
 ever heard him speak could easily forget the steady 
 gaze, the earnest manner, and, above all, the impas- 
 sioned words which made their hearts burn within 
 them as they listened. Many youths would approach 
 the circle which always formed whenever Socrates 
 talked or argued, from mere curiosity or as a resource 
 to pass away an hour ; and at first they would look 
 with indifference or contempt on the mean and poorly- 
 dressed figure in the centre ; but gradually their inte- 
 rest was aroused, their attention grew fixed, and then 
 their hearts beat faster, their eyes swam with tears, and 
 their very souls were touched and thrilled by the voice 
 of the charmer. They came again and again to listen ; 
 and so by degrees that company of friends was formed, 
 whose devotion and affection to their master is the 
 best testimony to the magic power of his words. 
 
 Among these followers might be found men of every 
 shade of character the reckless and ambitious Critias, 
 the sceptic Pyrrho, the pleasure-seeking Aristippus, 
 "the madman" Apollodorus, and Euclid, who came 
 constantly twenty miles from Megara, although a decree 
 at that time existed that any Megarian found in Athens 
 should be put to death. Above all, Alcibiades was a 
 constant companion of Socrates; and men wondered 
 at the friendship between this strangely-assorted pair 
 literally " Hyperion to a Satyr," the ugly barefooted 
 philosopher, and the graceful youth, the idol of the rising 
 generation, whose brilliant sayings were quoted, whose
 
 THE SYMPOSIUM. 51 
 
 wild escapades were laughed at, whose figure artists 
 loved to model for their statues of Hennes, and whose 
 very lisp became the fashion of the day. Surrounded 
 by flatterers and admirers, Alcibiades found one man 
 who paid him no compliments, who cared nothing for 
 his rank and accomplishments, yet whose words had the 
 effect of exciting all that was noble in his nature. A 
 strong attachment grew up between the two, and they 
 shared the same tent, and messed together in the winter 
 siege of Potidsea. Alcibiades himself tells us, in the 
 Dialogue which follows, how easily Socrates bore the in- 
 tense cold of those northern regions, and how, " with 
 his bare feet on the ice, and in his ordinary dress, he 
 marched better than any of the other soldiers who had 
 their shoes on." His personal courage was also re- 
 markable. On one occasion he saved Alcibiades' life 
 at the risk of his own ; and in the disastrous retreat 
 after the battle of Delium, we are told that, while all 
 around him were hurrying in wild flight, he walked as 
 unmoved " as if he were in the streets of Athens, 
 stalking like a pelican, and rolling his eyes, while he 
 calmly contemplated friends and foes." 
 
 Though Socrates thus discharged his duties as a sol- 
 dier, he only twice, in the course of his long life, took 
 any prominent part in politics. The first occasion was 
 when he opposed the unjust sentence of death passed 
 by the assembly against the generals after the battle of 
 Arginusse; and again when, at the peril of his own 
 life, he refused to obey the order of the Thirty Tyrants, 
 and arrest an innocent man. The " divine voice," of 
 which he speaks so frequently, and which interfered
 
 52 PLA TO. 
 
 and checked him at any important crisis of his life, 
 had forbidden him to take part in the affairs of the 
 state. He was, however, devoted to Athens ; and 
 except on military service, we are told that he never 
 left the city walls. Two Thessalian princes once tried 
 to tempt him, by lavish offers of money, to settle at 
 their courts ; but he replied with noble independence 
 that it did not become him to accept benefits which he 
 could never hope to return, and that his bodily wants 
 were few, for he could buy four measures of meal for 
 an obolus at Athens, and there was excellent spring- 
 water to be got there for nothing. 
 
 One secret of the influence exercised by Socrates lay 
 in his genial humour, and in his entire freedom from 
 conventionality. He was not (he says himself) as 
 other men are. He conversed in the open air with all 
 chance-comers, rich and poor alike, instead of immur- 
 ing himself in a lecture-room. He would take no pay, 
 while the Sophists round him were realising fortunes. 
 Instead of wasting time in the barren field of science, 
 or wearying his hearers with the subtleties of rhetoric, 
 he discussed the great practical questions of life and 
 morality, and, as Cicero said, "brought down philo- 
 sophy from heaven to earth." What is Truth ? What 
 is Virtue] What is Justice? or, as lie put it him- 
 self, "All the good and evil that has befallen a man in 
 his home," such were the subjects of his daily conver- 
 sation. He was the first who openly asserted that 
 
 " The proper study of mankind is man ;" 
 that is, man's nature and happiness, his virtues and
 
 THE SYMPOSIUM. 53 
 
 his vices, his place in creation, and the end and object 
 of his life. 
 
 In the defence which Plato puts into his mouth at 
 his trial, Socrates gives an account of what he con- 
 ceived to be his own mission. His friend Chserephon 
 had asked the priestess of Delphi " if there was any 
 man on earth wiser than Socrates! " and the oracle had 
 replied that there was none. Socrates then resolved 
 himself to test the truth of this reply, and accordingly 
 he had cross-examined statesmen, poets, philosophers, 
 all, in short, who had the reputation of wisdom in 
 their profession, and he had . found that their pre- 
 tended knowledge was only ignorance, that God alone 
 was wise, that human wisdom was worthless., and that 
 among men he was wisest who, like himself, 
 
 " Professed 
 " To know this only, that he nothing knew." * 
 
 This was the great point of contrast between Socra- 
 tes and those professors of universal knowledge, the 
 Sophists. In their presence he always assumed the 
 humble position of a man " intellectually bankrupt," 
 who knows nothing, and who is seeking for informa- 
 tion. He addresses some master of rhetoric or science 
 with a modest and deferential air ; he will take it as 
 an infinite obligation if the great man will condescend 
 to relieve his doubts by answering a few easy questions 
 on some (apparently) obvious question of morality; 
 and, of course, the Sophist, to save his own reputa- 
 tion, has no alternative but to comply. Then Socra- 
 
 * Milton, Par. Reg., iv. 294.
 
 54 PLATO. 
 
 tes, like a skilful barrister, leads his unsuspecting 
 victim on through a series of what seem innocent ques- 
 tions, yet all bearing indirectly on the main point of 
 the argument, till at last his opponent is landed in 
 some gross absurdity or contradiction. This " irony " 
 has been well termed " a logical masked battery," and 
 is more or less a feature in every Dialogue of Plato. 
 
 The humour, the genial temper, and the quiet self- 
 possession of Socrates, must have made him a welcome 
 guest in many houses ; and in the Dialogue called 
 " The Banquet " (SYMPOSIUM), we have a sketch of the 
 philosopher " at home," joking with his friends, and en- 
 tering into the humour of the hour ; and showing that, 
 though he could abstain, he could also, if the occasion 
 required it, drink as hard and as long as any reveller 
 in Athens. A goodly company are assembled at Aga- 
 thon's house. There is the host, a handsome young 
 dilettante poet : there is Phsedrus, another young as- 
 pirant in literature : there is Pausanias the historian, 
 and Aristophanes the comic poet, apparently on the 
 best of terms with the philosopher whom he had ridi- 
 culed so unsparingly in the " Clouds : " there is a 
 doctor, Eryximachus, genial and sociable, but "pro- 
 fessional " throughout : there is Socrates himself, who 
 has put on sandals for the occasion, and who comes 
 late, having fallen into a trance on the way; and 
 lastly, there is his satellite Aristodemus, " the little 
 unshod disciple," who gives the history of this sup- 
 per-party some time after to his friend Apollodorus. 
 
 "When the meal is ended, and the due libations have 
 been poured, and a hymn sung to the gods, Pausanias
 
 THE SYMPOSIUM. 55 
 
 proposes that instead of drinking and listening to the 
 flute-girl's music ("she may play to herself," says 
 the doctor, considerately, " or to the women inside, if 
 she prefers it ") they shall pass a sober evening, and 
 that each of the guests in turn shall make a speech in 
 praise of Love hitherto a much-neglected deity. This 
 prudent proposal is readily accepted by the company, 
 many of whom have hardly recovered from the effects 
 of the last night's carouse. 
 
 Phaedrus accordingly begins, in a high-flown poetic 
 style, and praises Love as being the best and oldest of 
 the gods, and the source of happiness in life and death. 
 It is Love (he says) that inspires such heroism as that 
 of Alcestis, who died to save her husband's life, 
 unlike that " cowardly harper " Orpheus, who went 
 alive to Hades after his wife, and was justly punished 
 afterwards for his impertinence. Love, again 
 passing that of women inspired Achilles, who 
 " foremost fighting fell " to avenge his friend Patro- 
 clus, and was carried after death to the islands of the 
 blest. 
 
 Pausanias follows in the same vein, but distin- 
 guishes between the ignoble and fleeting love of the 
 body and the pure and lasting love of the soul. 
 
 Aristophanes should properly have spoken next, 
 " but either he had eaten too much, or from some other 
 cause he had the hiccough." The doctor recommends 
 him to drink some water, or, if that fails, to " tickle 
 his nose and sneeze ; " meanwhile he delivers his own 
 speech from a medical point of view and shows 
 how Love, like a good and great physician, reconciles
 
 56 PLATO. 
 
 conflicting elements, and produces harmony both in 
 the physical world and in mankind. 
 
 Then Aristophanes (who has used the doctor's 
 remedy) opens, as he says, a new line of argument, 
 and gives a whimsical account of the origin of the sexes, 
 which reads as if Plato meant it as a parody of his 
 own myths. Once upon a time (he says) man had 
 three sexes and a double nature : besides this, he was 
 perfectly round, and had four hands and four feet, 
 one head, with two faces looking opposite ways, set on 
 a single neck. When these creatures pleased, they 
 could walk as men do now, but if they wanted to go 
 faster, they would roll over and over with all their four 
 legs in the air, like a tumbler turning somersaults ; 
 and their pride and strength were such that they made 
 open war upon the gods. Jupiter resented their in- 
 solence, but hardly liked to kill them with thunder- 
 bolts, as the gods would then lose their sacrifices. At 
 last he hit upon a plan. " I will cut them in two," 
 he said, " so that they shall walk on two legs instead 
 of four. They will then be only half as insolent, but 
 twice as numerous, and we shall get twice as many 
 sacrifices." This was done, and the two halves are 
 continually going about looking for one another;* and 
 if we mortals (says Aristophanes, with a comic air of 
 apprehension) are not obedient to the gods, there is 
 
 * " He is the half part of a blessed man, 
 Left to be finished by such a she ; 
 And she a fair divided excellence 
 Whose fulness of perfection lies in him." 
 
 Shakspeare, " King John."
 
 THE SYMPOSIUM. 57 
 
 a danger that we shall "be split up again, and we shall 
 have to go about in basso-relievo, like those figures 
 with only half a nose which you may see sculptured 
 on our columns. 
 
 Agathon, the young tragic poet, then takes up 
 the parable. Love is the best and fairest of the gods, 
 walking in soft places, with a grace that is all his own, 
 and nestling among the flowers of beauty. Again. 
 Love is 
 
 " the wonder of the wise, the amazement of the gods ; desired 
 by those who have no part in him, and precious to those 
 who have the better part in him ; parent of delicacy, 
 luxury, desire, fondness, softness, grace ; careful of the 
 good, uncareful of the evil. In every word, work, wish, 
 fear pilot, helper, defender, saviour ; glory of gods and 
 men." J. 
 
 Lastly, Socrates tells them a story, which he has 
 heard from Diotima, " a wise woman." Love is not 
 in reality a god at all, but a spirit which spans the 
 gulf between, heaven and earth, carrying to the gods 
 the prayers of men, and to men the commands of 
 the gods. He is the child of Plenty and Poverty. 
 Like his mother, he is always poor and in misery, 
 without house or home to cover him ; like his father, 
 " he is a hunter of men, and a bold intriguer, philoso- 
 pher, enchanter, sorcerer, and sophist," hovering be- 
 tween life and death, plenty and want, knowledge and 
 ignorance. Love is something more than the desire of 
 beauty ; it is the instinct of immortality in a mortal 
 creature. Hence parents wish for children, who shall 
 come after them, and take their place and preserve their
 
 58 PL A TO. 
 
 names ; and the poet and the warrior are inspired by 
 the hope of a fame which shall live for ever. And Dio- 
 tima (continues Socrates) unfolded to me greater myster- 
 ies than these. He who has the instinct of true love, and 
 can discern the relations of true beauty in every form, 
 will go on from strength to strength until at last the 
 vision is revealed to him of a single science, and he 
 " will suddenly perceive a nature of wondrous beauty 
 in the likeness of no human face or form, but ab- 
 solute, simple, separate, and everlasting not clogged 
 with the pollutions of mortality, and all the colours 
 and vanities of human life." 
 
 The murmur of applause with which this speech is 
 greeted has hardly died away, when a loud knocking 
 is heard at the outer gate, and the voice of Alcibiades 
 shouting for Agathon. Presently he staggers in, at 
 the head of a troop of revellers, flushed with wine, and 
 crowned with a wreath of ivy-leaves and violets. Though 
 he is drunk already (as he tells the company), he orders 
 one of the slaves to fill a huge wine-cooler " holding 
 more than two quarts," which he drains, and then has 
 it filled again for Socrates, who also empties it. " Why 
 are they so silent and sober ? " Alcibiades asks ; and 
 Agathon explains to him that they have all been 
 making speeches in praise of Love, and that it will be 
 his turn to speak next. 
 
 Alcibiades readily assents; but instead of taking Love 
 as his topic, he gives an account of his intercourse with 
 Socrates. His face (he says) is like those masks of 
 Silenus, which conceal the image of a god : he is as 
 ugly as the satyr Marsyas ; but, like Marsyas, he charms
 
 THE SYMPOSIUM. 59 
 
 the souls of all who hear him with the music of his 
 words. " I myself am conscious" (Alcibiades continues) 
 " that if I did not shut my ears against him, and fly 
 from the voice of the charmer, he would enchain me 
 until I grew old sitting at his feet. For he makes me 
 confess that I ought not to live as I do, neglecting the 
 needs of my own soul, and occupying myself with the 
 affairs of the Athenians ; therefore I stop my ears, and 
 tear myself away from him. - He is the only person who 
 ever made me feel ashamed of myself a feeling which 
 you might think was not in my nature, and there is 
 no one else who has that effect on me. . . . And 
 oftentimes I wish he were dead ; and yet I know that I 
 should he much more sorry than glad, if he were to die." 
 
 Then he goes on to tell some anecdotes of the tem- 
 perance of Socrates, his endurance of fatigue, and his 
 personal courage ; and he assures them, in conclusion, 
 that they will never find any other man who in the 
 least resembles this wonderful being. 
 
 Again the doors are violently opened, and a fresh 
 band of revellers enter. All is now confusion and 
 uproar. Phsedrus, the physician, and some of the 
 more sober spirits, wisely take their departure ; while 
 the few who remain settle down to make a night of it. 
 Aristodemus (who tells the story) falls asleep himself, 
 and is only awakened by the cocks crowing at day- 
 break. All the last night's party have gone, or are 
 asleep on their couches in the room, except Agathon, 
 Aristophanes, and Socrates. These three are still pass- 
 ing a large wine -cup from one to the other; and 
 Socrates is giving the two dramatists a lecture on their
 
 60 PLA TO. 
 
 own art, and proving to his own satisfaction that the 
 genius of Tragedy and Comedy is the same. His 
 hearers are much too sleepy to argue with or contra- 
 dict him ; and at last the wine takes effect on Aris- 
 tophanes, who drops under the table, where Agathon 
 soon follows. Socrates puts them to sleep, and then 
 goes tranquilly on his way takes his bath at the 
 Lyceum, and passes the day as usual. 
 
 The following Dialogue, though its main purpose is 
 an attack upon the popular passion for Rhetoric, is 
 perhaps more interesting as a social picture : 
 
 FII.EDRtJS. 
 
 It is a hot summer afternoon, and Socrates meets 
 young Phsedrus (who was one of the guests at Aga- 
 thon's banquet) walking out for air and exercise be- 
 yond the city walls, for he has been sitting since dawn 
 listening to the famous rhetorician Lysias. Socrates 
 banters him on his admiration for Lysias, and at last 
 extorts from him the confession that he has the actual 
 manuscript of the essay which he had heard read 
 hidden under his cloak ; and, after some assumed 
 reluctance, Phsedrus consents that they shall walk on 
 to some quiet spot where they can read it together. 
 So they turn aside from the highroad, and follow the 
 stream of the Ilissus cooling their feet in the water 
 as they walk until they reach a charming resting- 
 place, shaded by a plane-tree, where the air is laden 
 with the scents and sounds of summer, and the agnns 
 castus, with its purple and white blossoms, is in full
 
 PH&DRUS. 61 
 
 bloom ; while above them the cicalas are chirruping, 
 and at their feet is the soft grass and the cool water, 
 with images of the Nymphs who guard the spot. 
 
 " My dear Phaedrus," says Socrates, " you are an 
 admirable guide." 
 
 " You, Socrates, are such a stay-at-home, that you 
 know nothing outside the city walls, and never take 
 a country walk." 
 
 " Very true," says Socrates ; " trees and fields tell me 
 nothing : men are my teachers ; * but only tempt me 
 with the chance of a discussion, and you may lead me 
 all round Attica. Bead on." And Phaedrus accord- 
 ingly reads the formal and rhetorical essay to which 
 he had been listening in the morning. It is on a 
 somewhat wasted theme the advantages of a sober 
 friendship, which lasts a lifetime, over the jealousies 
 and torments caused by a spasmodic and fleeting love. 
 
 Socrates, with an irony which even Phaedrus sees 
 through, professes to be charmed with the balanced 
 phrases and the harmonious cadence of the essay which 
 has just been read ; but he hints that, if he is allowed 
 to use a few commonplaces, he too might add some- 
 thing to what Lysias has said ; and then, inspired (as 
 he says) by the genius loci, he delivers himself of a 
 speech, denouncing, in a mock heroic style, the selfish 
 infatuation and the wolf -like passion of the lover. 
 But he almost immediately pretends to be alarmed at 
 
 * Socrates would have agreed on this point with Dr Johnson. 
 "Sir, when you have seen one green field, you have seen all 
 green fields. Sir, I like to look upon men. Let us walk down 
 Cheapside."
 
 62 PL A TO. 
 
 his own words ; for the divine monitor within tells him 
 that he has insulted the majesty of Cupid, and forbids 
 him to recross the brook until he has recanted his 
 blasphemy. And so he does. 
 
 He had previously said that the lover was mad ; 
 but this madness is, he explains, really akin to the 
 inspiration of the prophet and Pythian priestess, or 
 the frenzy of the poet, and is, in fact, the greatest 
 blessing which heaven has given to men. And then 
 he weaves his ideas of the origin of Love into a famous 
 myth, which will be found elsewhere.* 
 
 " I can fancy," says Socrates, laughingly, " that our 
 friends the cicalas overhead are listening to our fine 
 talk, and will carry a good report of us to their mis- 
 tresses the Muses. For you must know that these little 
 creatures were once human beings, long before the 
 Muses were heard of; but, when the Muses came, 
 they forgot to eat or drink hi their exceeding love of 
 song, and so died of hunger ; but now they sing on for 
 ever, and hunger and thirst no more. Let us talk, then, 
 instead of idling all the afternoon, or going to sleep 
 like a couple of slaves or sheep at a fountain-side." 
 
 Then follows a severe criticism on the Rhetoric of 
 the day. Truth and accurate definition, says Socrates, 
 are the two first requirements of good speaking ; but 
 neither of these are necessarily found in an essay like 
 that of Lysias : and rhetoric, though it undoubtedly 
 influences the rising generation, has done little in the 
 way of perfecting oratory, which depends rather on the 
 natural genius of the speaker than on any rules of art ; 
 
 See p. 156.
 
 PHJ2DRUS, 63 
 
 indeed, Pericles himself learnt more from Anaxa- 
 goras than from the Ehetoricians. 
 
 Writing, continues Socrates, is far inferior to speech. 
 It is a spurious form of knowledge ; and Thamuz, the 
 old king of Egypt, was right in denouncing letters as 
 likely to spoil men's memories, and produce an unreal 
 and evanescent learning. Letters, like paintings, 
 "preserve a solemn silence, and have not a word to 
 say for themselves ; " and, like hothouse plants, they 
 come quickly to their bloom, and as quickly fade away. 
 " Nobler far," he says, " is the serious pursuit of the 
 dialectician, who finds a congenial soil, and there with 
 knowledge engrafts and sows words which are able to 
 help themselves and him who planted them, and are 
 not unfruitful, but have in them seeds which may bear 
 fruit in other natures nurtured in other ways making 
 the seed everlasting, and the possessors happy to the 
 utmost extent of human happiness." * 
 
 But severe as he is on ordinary Ehetoricians, he 
 makes an exception in favour of Isocrates. Some divine 
 instinct tells him that the temper of this young orator 
 is cast in a finer mould than that of Lysias and his 
 coterie ; and that some day, when he grows older, his 
 genius will surpass all the speakers of his day. 
 
 The heat of the day is now past, and the two 
 friends prepare to depart ; but first Socrates offers a 
 solemn prayer to the deities who guard this charming 
 spot where they have been resting all the afternoon. 
 
 " beloved Pan, and all ye gods whose dwelling is in 
 * Jowett's Plato, i. 614.
 
 64 PLATO. 
 
 this place, grant me to be beautiful in soul, and all that 
 I possess of outward things to be at peace with them 
 within. Teach me to think wisdom the only riches. And 
 give me so much wealth, and so much only, as a good and 
 holy man could manage or enjoy. Phsedrus, want we any- 
 thing more ? For my prayer is finished." 
 
 Phced. " Pray that I may be even as yourself ; for the 
 blessings of friends are common." * 
 
 It was hardly possible that Socrates should be popu- 
 lar puzzling and refuting all he met. " The world 
 cannot make me out " (he says to Thesetetus), " there- 
 fore they only say of me that I am an extremely strange 
 being, who drive men to their wits' end." His passion 
 for conversation in itself would annoy many ; and they 
 probably regarded him as a garrulous and impertinent 
 pedant, whom it was wise to avoid. "I hate this 
 beggar who is eternally talking" (says Eupolis, the 
 comedy-writer), "and who has debated every subject 
 upon earth, except where to get his dinner." And often 
 this vague feeling of dislike would grow into a strong 
 personal hatred. For no man likes to be defeated on his 
 own ground, or to be forced to confess himself ignorant 
 of his favourite subject or theory, still less to be stulti- 
 fied and made ridiculous before a crowd of bystanders. 
 There were numbers who had suffered this humiliation 
 from the unsparing " irony " of Socrates, and their col- 
 lective enmity grew daily more formidable. Again, 
 few who had seen the " Clouds " of Aristophanes acted 
 some twenty years previously, had forgotten Socrates, 
 as he appeared on the stage, dangling in a basket be- 
 tween heaven and earth, the master of " the think- 
 
 * Sewell's Dialogues of Plato, 199.
 
 APOLOGY. 65 
 
 ing-shop," who was ready to make, " for a considera- 
 tion," the worse appear the better reason. And some 
 probability had been given to this picture by the recent 
 career of two of his friends probably at that time the 
 most detested names in Athens Alcibiades, the selfish 
 renegade, and Critias, the worst of the Thirty Tyrants. 
 But after all, the great offence of Socrates (as Mr Grote 
 points out *) was one which no society, ancient or mo- 
 dern, ever forgives his disdain of conventionality, and 
 his disregard of the sovereign poAver of Custom. As we 
 shall see in the ' Dialogues of Search,' he questions 
 and criticises, and often destroys, the orthodox com- 
 monplaces of morality, handed down from father to 
 son, and consecrated in the eyes of the Athenians by 
 tradition, and by those mighty household goddesses, 
 " Use and Wont " 
 
 " Grey nurses, loving nothing new." 
 
 In short, Socrates is a " dissenter," who will maintain 
 his right of private judgment, and will speak what his 
 conscience tells him to be right though it be his own 
 opinion against the world. Hence there grew up a 
 widespread antipathy against this man who continually 
 set at defiance the creed sanctioned by custom and 
 society. This at length found its vent in the tablet of 
 indictment, which was hung up one morning in the 
 portico where such notices were displayed " Socrates 
 is guilty of crime ; first, for not worshipping the gods, 
 whom the city worships, but introducing new divini- 
 
 * Tlato, i. 250. 
 A. c. vol. xix. E
 
 65 PLA TO. 
 
 ties of his own ; secondly, for corrupting the youth. 
 The penalty due is Death." 
 
 His three accusers were Anytus, a wealthy trades- 
 man ; Meletus, an obscure poet ; and Lycon, a rhetori- 
 cian. Socrates himself seems to have been little moved 
 by the danger of his position, and to have hardly 
 wished for an acquittal. He felt that he had done his 
 work, and that " it was no wonder that the gods should 
 deem it better for him to die now than to live longer." * 
 Certainly the tone of his Defence, as we have it from 
 Plato, is more like a defiance than an apology ; and the 
 speaker seems, as Cicero said, not so much a suppliant 
 or an accused person, as the lord and master of his 
 judges, t 
 
 He begins by disclaiming any resemblance to that 
 Socrates whom they had seen on the stage the star- 
 gazer and arch-Sophist for he knows nothing of 
 science, and had never taken a fee for teaching. His 
 life has been passed in trying to find a wiser man than 
 himself, and in exposing self-conceit and pretentious 
 ignorance. To this mission he has devoted himself, in 
 spite of poverty and ill-repute. 
 
 Next he turns upon Meletus, his accuser, and cross- 
 examines him in open court. " How can you," he 
 asks, " call me the corrupter of the youth, when their 
 fathers and brothers would bear witness that it is not 
 so 1 How can you call me the worshipper of strange 
 gods, when the heresies of Anaxagoras are declaimed 
 on the stage, and sold in our streets ? " 
 
 * Xen. Mom., IV. viii. 4. t Cic. de Orat, i. 54.
 
 APOLOGY. 67 
 
 Then he turns to the judges again. As for death, is 
 it likely that one who has never shunned danger on 
 the battle-field who dared to record his solitary vote 
 at the trial of the generals, in defence of the innocent 
 and in defiance of the popular clamour who had 
 braved the anger of the Thirty Tyrants, is it likely 
 that he would desert the post of duty now ? 
 
 " Athenians ! " he says solemnly, " I both love and 
 honour you ; but as long as I live and have the power, 
 I shall never cease to seek the truth, and exhort you to 
 follow it. For I seem to have been sent by God to rouse 
 you from your lethargy, as you may see a gadfly stinging 
 a strong and sluggish horse. Perhaps you will be angry 
 at being thus awakened from your sleep. Shake me off, 
 then, and take your rest, and sleep on for ever. I shall 
 not try (as others have done) to move your pity by tears 
 and prayers, or by the sight of my weeping children for 
 Socrates is not as other men are ; and if," he concludes, 
 " men of Athens, by force of persuasion or entreaty I 
 could overpower your oaths, then I should indeed be teach- 
 ing you to believe that there are no gods, and convict myself, 
 in my own defence, of not believing in them. But that is 
 not the case, for I do believe that there are gods, and in a 
 far higher sense than that in which any of my accusers 
 believe in them. And to you and to God I commit my 
 cause, to be determined by you as is best, both for you and 
 for me " J. 
 
 It was not likely that any jury would be convinced 
 by such a speech as this marked throughout by a 
 " contempt of court " unparalleled in Athenian history ; 
 and accordingly Socrates was found guilty on both counts 
 of the indictment though by a majority of only five
 
 G8 PLATO, 
 
 votes out of some 550. It now remained for himself 
 to propose (as was the custom in such trials at Athens) 
 some counter-penalty in place of death. 
 
 But now that he is a condemned criminal, his tone 
 becomes even more lofty than before. Of right, he 
 says, they should have honoured him as a public bene- 
 factor, and have maintained him, like an Olympic 
 victor, at the expense of the nation. For his own part, 
 he would not even trouble himself to propose an alter- 
 native penalty ; but as his friends wish it, and will 
 raise the sum (for ho is too poor himself), then a fine 
 of thirty minae is what he will offer as the price of 
 life. 
 
 Such a sum (120) was plainly an utterly inade- 
 quate fine from an Athenian point of view, consider- 
 ing the gravity of the crimes of which he was accused, 
 and that the utmost penalty of the law was the alter- 
 native. The question is again put to the vote, and 
 Socrates is condemned to death the majority this 
 time being far larger than before. 
 
 Then he makes his farewell address to his judges. 
 They have condemned him because he would not con- 
 descend to tears or entreaties ; and perhaps if he had 
 done so he might have escaped. But on such terms 
 he prefers death to life, and indeed it is good for him 
 to die ; for death is either annihilation, where sense 
 and feeling are not, or it is a passage of the soul from 
 this world to another. In either case, he will be at 
 rest. He will sleep for ever without a dream ; or he 
 will find in Hades better men, and a juster judgment, 
 and truer judges, than he has found on earth; and
 
 APOLOGY. (59 
 
 there he will converse with Homer and Orpheus, and 
 the great men of old ; questioning the heroic spirits 
 whom he meets there, as has been his wont to ques- 
 tion living men, and rinding out who are wise and who 
 are foolish below the earth. 
 
 " What infinite delight," he concludes, " there would be 
 in conversing with them and asking them questions ! For 
 in that world they do not put a man to death for this, 
 certainly not. For besides being happier in that world 
 than this, they will be immortal, if what is said is true. 
 
 " Wherefore, O ye judges, be of good cheer about death, 
 and know this of a truth that no evil can happen to a 
 good man, either in life or after death. He and his are not 
 neglected by the gods ; nor has my own approaching end 
 happened by mere chance. But I see clearly that to die 
 and be released was better for me ; and therefore the oracle 
 gave no sign. For which reason also I am not angry with 
 my accusers or condemners ; they have done me no harm, 
 though neither of them meant to do me any good ; and for 
 this I may gently blame them. . . . 
 
 " The hour of departure has arrived, and we go our ways 
 I to die, and you to live. Which is better, God only 
 knows." J. 
 
 So ends this famous defence which Plato has put into 
 his master's mouth ; and whether the substance of it 
 was actually delivered or not, assuredly " few persons 
 will be found to wish that Socrates should have de- 
 fended himself otherwise." The account of his subse- 
 quent imprisonment and death is given us in the two 
 following Dialogues.
 
 70 PL A TO. 
 
 ORITO. 
 
 Thirty days elapsed before the sentence passed on 
 Socrates could be carried into effect. Every year the 
 Athenians sent a vessel on a pilgrimage to Delos, in 
 memory of the preservation of their city in the days 
 of Theseus ; and from the moment that the priest of 
 Apollo crowned the vessel before it left the harbour, to 
 the hour of its return, there intervened a holy season, 
 during which the city might be polluted by no exe- 
 cutions. Now it happened that the vessel sailed on 
 the day that Socrates was condemned, and his exe- 
 cution was accordingly deferred for a month. 
 
 His friends daily assembled in his prison, and the 
 long hours were passed in conversation on the usual 
 subjects. One morning Crito comes earlier than usual 
 when it is hardly light and finds Socrates calmly 
 sleeping. "Why have you come at this unusual time?" 
 asks Socrates on waking. " I bring sad news," is the 
 reply ; " the sacred vessel has been seen off Cape 
 Sunium on its way home, and will reach Athens by 
 to-morrow." But Socrates is prepared for this. He 
 has seen in a vision of the night " the likeness of a 
 woman, fair and comely, clothed in white raiment, who 
 called to him and said " O Socrates, the third day 
 hence to Pthia thou shalt go." He is inclined to be- 
 lieve that the dream will prove true, and that on the 
 third day he will be dead. 
 
 Then Crito earnestly implores him to use the little 
 time that is left in making his escape. Neither friends 
 nor money will be wanting : the jailer can be bribed,
 
 CRITO. 71 
 
 and the mouths of the Informers stopped with gold. 
 He will find a home ready for him in Thessaly, where 
 he will be loved and honoured. " It would be sheer 
 folly," Crito continues, "to play into the hands of 
 his enemies, and to leave his children outcasts on the 
 world. If the sentence of death is carried out, it will 
 be an absurd and miserable end of a trial which ought 
 to have been brought to another issue." 
 
 But Socrates has only one answer to these arguments, 
 which might have persuaded any but himself. Would 
 it be right or lawful for him to eseape now ? Shall he 
 who for half a century has been preaching obedience 
 to the law, noAV, in the hour of trial, stultify the precepts 
 of a lifetime 1 For all those years he has been enjoy- 
 ing the privileges of citizenship and the blessings of a 
 free state, and shall he now be tempted by the fear of 
 death to break his tacit covenant with the laws, and 
 turn his back upon his city " like a miserable slave " ? 
 
 He can fancy the spirit of the laws themselves up- 
 braiding him : 
 
 " Listen, then, Socrates, to us who have brought you up. 
 Think not of life and children first, and of justice after- 
 wards, but of justice first, that you may be justified before 
 the princes of the world below. For neither will you nor 
 any that belong to you be happier or holier or juster in this 
 life, or happier in another, if you do as Crito bids. Now, 
 you depart in innocence, a sufferer and not a doer of evil ; 
 a victim not of laws but of men. But if you go forth 
 returning evil for evil and injury for injury, breaking the 
 covenants and agreements which you have made with us, 
 nnd wronging those whom you ought least to wrong that 
 is to say, yourself, your friends, your country, and us we
 
 72 PL A TO. 
 
 shall be angry with you while you live, and our brethren, 
 the laws in the world below, will receive you as an enemy, 
 for they will know that you have done your best to destroy 
 us. Listen, then, to us, and not to Crito." 
 
 This is the voice which I seem to hear murmuring in my 
 ears, like the sound of the flute in the ears of the mystic ; 
 that voice, I say, is humming in my ears, and prevents me 
 from hearing any other. And I know that anything more 
 which you may say will be vain. Yet speak, if you have 
 anything to say. 
 
 Cr. I have nothing to say, Socrates. 
 
 Soc. Then let me follow the intimations of the will of 
 God. J. 
 
 Two days after this, his friends assemble at the 
 prison-doors for the last time, somewhat earlier than 
 usual. There is a short delay, for the sheriffs have 
 come to take the chains off the prisoner preparatory to 
 his death. 
 
 The jailer soon admits them, and " on entering " (says 
 Phsedo, who had been present himself) " we found Socrates 
 just released from chains, and Xanthippe sitting by him 
 holding his child in her arms. When she saw us, she 
 uttered a- cry and said, as women will, ' Socrates, this 
 is the last time that either you will converse with your 
 friends, or they with you !' Socrates turned to Crito and 
 said, ' Crito, let some one take her home.' Some of Crito's 
 people accordingly led her away, crying out and beating 
 herself." J. 
 
 Socrates then proceeds to talk in his usual easy 
 manner. He has several times been told in dreams 
 " to make music ; " and he has accordingly been turn-
 
 73 
 
 ing some fables of JEsop into verse. " Tell Evenus 
 this," he says, " and bid him be of good cheer ; say 
 that I would have him come after me, if he be a wise 
 man, and not tarry ; and that to-day I am likely to be 
 going, for the Athenians say I must." Then he con- 
 siders the question " Why, in a case where death is 
 better than life, a man should not hasten his own 
 end ] " He finds the answer to be, Because man is a 
 prisoner, and has no right to release himself, being, in 
 fact, a sort of possession of the gods, who will summon 
 him at their pleasure.* 
 
 " Then," says Cebes, one of the party, " the wise 
 man will sorrow and the fool rejoice at leaving his 
 masters the gods, and passing out of life." 
 
 " Not so," is the reply; " for I am persuaded that I 
 am going to other gods, who are wise and good, and 
 also (I trust) to men departed, who are better than those 
 I leave behind ; therefore I do not grieve, as otherwise 
 I might, for I have good hope that there is yet some- 
 thing awaiting the dead, and, as has been said of old, 
 some far better lot for the good than for the wicked." 
 
 He then explains the grounds on which he builds 
 this hope of immortality. Death, he says, is the 
 happy release of the soul from the body. In this life 
 our highest and purest thoughts are distracted by cares 
 and lusts, and diseases inherent in the flesh. He is 
 wisest who keeps himself pure till the hour Avhen the 
 Deity Himself is pleased to release him. " Then shall 
 
 * "We may compare the argument used by Despnir, and the 
 answer of the Red Cross Knight, in Spenser (Fairy Queen, I. 
 ix. 40, 41).
 
 74 PL A TO. 
 
 the foolishness of the flesh, "be purged away, nnd 
 we shall be pure, and hold converse with other pure 
 souls, and recognise the pure light everywhere, which 
 is none other than the light of truth." Hence the wise 
 man leaves with joy a world where his higher and 
 ethereal sense is trammelled by evil and impurity; and 
 his whole life is but a preparation for death, or rather 
 an initiation into the mysteries of the unseen world. 
 Many, as they say, join the procession in such mys- 
 teries ; but few are really chosen for initiation. 
 
 No fear that our souls will vanish like smoke, or 
 that the dead sleep on for ever, like Endymion. Our 
 souls are born again ; and as life passes into death, so, 
 in the circle of nature, the dead must pass into life ; 
 for if this were not so, all things must at last be 
 swallowed up in death. 
 
 Again, we have in our minds latent powers of 
 thought ideas of beauty and equality which are 
 not given us at our birth, and which Ave cannot have 
 learnt from experience. Such knowledge is but the 
 soul's recollection of a previous state of existence. 
 
 " Blank misgivings of a creature 
 Moving about in worlds not realised."* 
 
 It is only the mortal part of us (Socrates continues) 
 that dies when earth returns to earth. The pure soul, 
 herself invisible, departs to the invisible world to 
 the divine, the immortal, and the rational ; where she 
 dwells in bliss, in company with the gods, released 
 from the errors and follies of men, their fears, their 
 
 * Wordsworth's Ode on Immortality,
 
 PHjEDO. 75 
 
 unruly passiojis, and all other evils of humanity. But 
 the impure soul fears to go down to Hades, and haunts 
 the earth for a time like a restless ghost.* 
 
 Then, by a further train of reasoning, Socrates con- 
 cludes that the soul is beyond all doubt immortal and 
 imperishable. This being so, a graver question fol- 
 lows " What manner of persons ought we ourselves 
 to be?" "If death had been the end of all things, 
 then the wicked Avould gain by dying ; for they would 
 have been happily rid not of their bodies only, but of 
 their own wickedness, together with their souls. But 
 now, as the soul plainly appears to be immortal, no 
 release or salvation from evil can be found except in 
 the attainment of the highest virtue and wisdom. For 
 the soul, on her journey to the world below, carries no- 
 tliing with her but her nurture and education." After 
 death comes the judgment ; the guardian angel of 
 each soul conducts her through the road with many 
 windings that leads to the place where all are tried. 
 After this the impure soul wanders without a guide in 
 helpless misery, until a certain period is accomplished, 
 and then she is borne away to her own place. But 
 the pure soul, " arrayed in her proper jewels tem- 
 perance, and justice, and courage, and nobility, and 
 truth " dwells for ever in the glorious mansions re- 
 served for the elect. 
 
 * " Such are those thick and gloomy shadows damp, 
 Oft seen in charnel-vaults and sepulchres, 
 Lingering, and sitting by a new-made grave, 
 Aa loth to leave the body that it loved." 
 
 Milton, "Comus,"470.
 
 76 PL A TO. 
 
 Thus Socrates ends his noble profession of faith in 
 a future life with him half instinct, half conviction. 
 His " Non omnis moriar" has a triumphant ring about 
 it ; and, like the swans to whom he compares himself, 
 " who sing more joyously on the day of their death 
 than they ever did before," ho rejoices in the thought 
 of his speedy release from life, and looks confidently 
 beyond the grave. 
 
 The evening is fast drawing on, and the shadows 
 are lengthening on the Attic hills, when Crito asks 
 him if he has any last directions to give about his 
 children or about his burial. " Bury me in any way 
 you like," says Socrates, with a touch of his old humour; 
 " but be sure that you get hold of me, and that I don't 
 run away from you." Then he turns to the others 
 and says with a smile, " I cannot make Crito believe 
 that I am the same Socrates who have been talking 
 and conducting the argument. He fancies that I am 
 the other Socrates whom he will soon see a dead 
 body and he asks, ' How he shall bury me ? ' You 
 must all be my sureties to Crito, that I shall go away, 
 and then he will sorrow less at my death, and not be 
 grieved when he sees my body burned or buried." 
 
 Then he takes his bath, and bids farewell to his wife 
 and children ; and by this time the sun is low in the 
 heavens, and the jailer comes in to tell him that his 
 hour is come weeping himself as he utters the words. 
 
 Soon the poison is brought. Socrates takes the cup, 
 and 
 
 "in the gentlest and easiest manner, without the least 
 fear or change of colour or feature, looking at the man with
 
 PH&DO. 77 
 
 all his eyes, Echecrates, as his manner was, took the cup 
 and said, ' What do you say about making a libation out 
 of this cup to any god ? May I, or not ? ' The man 
 answered, '"We only prepare, Socrates, just so much as 
 we deem enough.' ' I understand/ he said, ' yet I may 
 and must pray to the gods to prosper my journey from 
 this to the other world : may this, then, which is my 
 prayer, be granted to me.' Then, holding the cup to his 
 lips, quite readily and cheerfully he drank off the poison. 
 And hitherto most of us had been able to control our 
 sorrow ; but now when we saw him drinking, and saw too 
 that he had finished the draught, we could no longer for- 
 bear, and in spite of myself my own tears were flowing fast ; 
 so that I covered my face and wept over myself, for cer- 
 tainly I was not weeping over him, but in the thought of 
 my own calamity in having lost such a companion. Nor 
 was I the first ; for Crito, when he found himself unable to 
 restrain his tears, had got up and moved away, and I fol- 
 lowed ; and at that moment, Apollodoms, who had been 
 weeping all the time, broke out into a loud cry which made 
 cowards of us all. Socrates alone retained his calmness. 
 ' What is this strange outcry ? ' he said. ' I sent away the 
 women mainly in order that they might not offend in this 
 way, for I have heard that a man should die in peace. Be 
 quiet, then, and have patience.' When we heard that we 
 were ashamed, and refrained our tears ; and he walked 
 about until, as he said, his legs began to fail, and then ho 
 lay on his back, according to the directions, and the man 
 who gave him the poison now and then looked at his feet 
 and legs ; and after a while he pressed his foot hard, and 
 asked him if he could feel, and he said ' No ; ' and then 
 his leg, and so upwards and upwards, and showed us that 
 he was cold and stiff. And he felt them himself, and said, 
 ' When the poison reaches the heart, that will be the end.' 
 He was beginning to feel cold about the proin, when he 
 uncovered his face, for he had covered himself up, and said
 
 78 PL A TO. 
 
 (they were his last words), * Crito, I owe a cock to Asclep- 
 ius ; will you remember to pay the debt ? ' ' The debt 
 shall be paid/ said Crito ; ' is there anything else ? ' There 
 was no answer to this question ; but in a minute or two a 
 movement was heard, and the attendants uncovered him ; 
 his eyes were set, and Crito closed his eyes and mouth. 
 Such was the end, Echecrates, of our friend, whom I may 
 truly call the wisest and justest and best of all the men 
 whom I have ever known." J. 
 
 So ends the " Phsedo ; " and as we close the volume, 
 we feel as though we too had lost a friend, so simply 
 and yet so touchingly has every detail of that last 
 scene in the prison been painted for us by a master- 
 hand. Even across the lapse of centuries the picture 
 rises before us distinct and lifelike, as it was to the 
 mind of the writer who described it, the passionate 
 grief of Apollodorus, the despair of Crito, the silent 
 tears of Phsedo even the jailer weeping, and turning 
 away his face and the composure meanwhile of the 
 central figure of the group, talking cheerfully, and 
 playing with Phsedo's hair, who is sitting next him. 
 We can well understand the mingled feelings of the 
 spectators of the scene. "I could hardly believe" 
 (says Phredo, telling the story to Echecrates) " that I 
 was present at the death of a friend, and therefore I 
 did not pity him ; his mien and his language were so 
 noble and fearless in the. hour of death, that to me he 
 appeared blessed. I thought that, in going to the 
 other world, he could not be without a divine call, 
 and that he would be happy, if any man ever was, 
 when he arrived there ; and therefore I did not pity 
 him, as might seem natural at such a time. But
 
 PH^EDO. 79 
 
 neither could I feel the pleasure which I usually felt 
 in philosophical discourse. I was pleased, and I was 
 also pained, because I knew that he was soon to die ; 
 and this strange mixture of feeling was shared by us 
 all : we were laughing and weeping by turns, espe- 
 cially the excitable Apollodorus." 
 
 Cicero (who was by no means tender-hearted) de- 
 clared that he could never read the " Pheedo " without 
 tears ; and we all know the story of " the fair pupil 
 of Ascharn, who, while the horns were sounding and 
 dogs in full cry, sat in the lonely oriel with eyes rivet- 
 ed to that immortal page which tells how meekly and 
 bravely the first martyr of intellectual liberty took the 
 cup from his weeping jailer." * 
 
 * Macaulay's Essay on Lord Bacou.
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 DIALOGUES OF SEARCH. 
 
 LACHES CHAKMIDES LYSIS MENO EUTHYPHRO 
 CKATYLTJS THEJETETUS. 
 
 " Socrates used to ask questions, but did not answer them, for he pro- 
 fessed not to know." Aristotle. 
 
 IN the Dialogues which follow, we have the negative 
 side of the teaching of Socrates strongly brought out. 
 Both sides of the questions raised are fully argued by 
 him, but no definite conclusion is arrived at. He never, 
 indeed, assumes any attitude of authority. He is a 
 searcher for truth, like the young men with whom he 
 talks ; the only difference being that his search is more 
 zealous and systematic than theirs. " We shall " (he 
 says in the Thesetetus) " either find what we are 
 looking for, or we shall get rid of the idea that we 
 know what we really do not know. And we philo- 
 sophers have plenty of leisure for our inquiries, for we 
 are not tied down to time, like a barrister pleading 
 in the law-courts, whose speech is measured by the 
 clock." Socrates had begun, as he tells us, by cate- 
 chising artisans and mechanics as to their arts and 
 occupations (hence the constant allusions in the Dia-
 
 DIALOGUES OF SEARCH. 81 
 
 logues to mechanical employments shoemaking, 
 swordmaking, and the like), and from them he had 
 got clear and satisfactory answers. But he found that 
 if he asked a man what was his real work or object in 
 life, or what was the meaning of the moral terms so 
 frequently in his mouth, he got only vague answers or 
 contradictions. Hence the questions which he exam- 
 ines in these ' Dialogues of Search' relate to the most 
 familiar and ohvious terms that meet us on the thresh- 
 old of morality Holiness, Courage, Temperance, and 
 other cardinal virtues qualities which many might 
 possess themselves and easily recognise in others, "but 
 which they could not explain with any logical pre- 
 cision. 
 
 It is true that custom and tradition had given to 
 these set phrases of morality a certain value and signi- 
 ficance in the minds of those who used them ; but few 
 had learned to define or analyse their full meaning, 
 and Socrates was the first who brought them under a 
 logical scrutiny examining their various uses, fixing 
 their strict sense, and referring the individuals to their 
 proper class, or, in the words of Aristotle, rallying the 
 stragglers to the main body of the regiment. 
 
 In his arguments with the Sophists, as we have 
 seen, Socrates shows his opponents no law. He proves 
 himself a bitter and determined antagonist turning 
 where he can their own weapons against themselves, 
 and leaving them to find out the fallacies in his state- 
 ments ; nor will he listen to any long defence from them, 
 for, as he tells Protagoras, he has a short memory, and 
 expects definite categorical answers. But when talk- 
 
 A. c. vol. xix. F
 
 82 PL A TO. 
 
 ing, as in these ' Dialogues of Search,' with some young 
 noble of the rising generation, whose character is hardly 
 formed and whose heart is still fresh and pure, the 
 manner of Socrates entirely changes, and his voice 
 softens ; he lays aside that terrible " irony " of his ; 
 he adapts his questions to the youth's comprehen- 
 sion, encourages and sympathises with his attempts 
 to answer, and uses the easiest language and the 
 homeliest illustrations to explain his meaning. 
 
 "VVe may take first the Dialogue entitled LACHES, in 
 which Courage the instinct of a child and the habit 
 of a man is discussed. The speakers bear historical 
 names. There is Lysimachus, the son of Aristides, 
 and Melesios, son of Thucydides (not the historian, but 
 a statesman contemporary with Themistocles); but the 
 genius of the fathers has not in this case been inherited 
 by their sons, who are plain respectable citizens of 
 Athens, and nothing more. They are conscious, how- 
 ever, of their own degeneracy, and complain that their 
 education had been neglected, and that their fathers 
 had been so much engrossed in affairs of state as to 
 have neither time nor inclination to act as tutors to 
 their own children. " Both of us," says Lysimachus, 
 " often talk to our boys about the many noble deeds 
 which our fathers did in war and peace but neither 
 of us has any deeds of his own which he can show. 
 !N"ow we are somewhat ashamed of this contrast being 
 seen by them, and we blame our fathers for letting us 
 be spoiled in the days of our youth when they were oc- 
 cupied with the concerns of others ; and this we point 
 out to the lads, and tell them that they will not grow
 
 LA CHES. 83 
 
 up to honour, if they are rebellious and take no pains 
 about themselves ; but that if they take pains they 
 may become worthy perhaps of the names they bear." 
 (The two youths, as was often the case, had been 
 named after their grandfathers, Aristides and Thucy- 
 dides.) 
 
 In their doubt as to the best means of carrying out 
 these good intentions, the two fathers come to Laches 
 and Nicias both distinguished generals and statesmen 
 and ask their advice in the matter ; more especi- 
 ally as to whether the lessons of a certain swordsman, 
 who has just been going through a trial of arms, are 
 likely to be of use. The veterans discuss the merits of 
 this new style of fencing, just as two officers now 
 might criticise the last improved rifle. Nicias is much 
 in favour of the youths learning it, as it will usefully 
 occupy their spare time, will be of real service in war, 
 and will set them up and give them a military air and 
 carriage. But Laches has no opinion of this new- 
 fangled invention, and thinks that if it had been 
 worth anything, the Spartans, the first military power 
 in Greece, would have adopted it. He had indeed him- 
 self once been witness of a ridiculous scene in which 
 this very swordsman had left his last invention a 
 spear with a billhook at the end of it sticking fast 
 in the rigging of the enemy's vessel, and was laughed 
 at by friends and foes. " No," says Laches, " let us 
 have simplicity in all things in war as well as music : 
 but these young men must learn something ; so let us 
 appeal to Socrates, my old comrade in the battle-field, 
 who has much experience of youth."
 
 84 PL A TO. 
 
 Socrates, thus appealed to, joins in the discussion. 
 His opinion is that they should find some wise teacher, 
 not so much with a view to lessons in arms, as to a 
 general education of the mind. For no trifling ques- 
 tion, he says, is at issue. They are risking the most 
 precious of earthly possessions their children, upon 
 whose turning out well or ill depends the welfare of 
 the house. For his own part, he knows nothing of the 
 matter. He is neither professor nor inventor himself, 
 and is too poor to pay fees to the Sophists. Nicias 
 and Laches are wealthier and wiser men than he ; and 
 he will gladly abide by their decision. But why do 
 ilieir opinions differ? 
 
 Nicias thinks they will be drawn into a Socratic 
 argument, as usual, but is very willing to go through 
 an examination \ and Laches, though not fond of 
 arguing as a rule, is very ready to listen when the 
 man is in harmony with his words, and willing there- 
 fore to be taught by Socrates, whom he knows as not 
 merely a talker, but a doer of brave deeds. 
 
 Socrates thinks it will be better to consider, not 
 so much the question of who are the teachers, as what 
 they profess to teach, namely, Virtue, or more espe- 
 cially that part of it which most concerns them at 
 present Courage. Then, by a series of questions, 
 he limits the vague definition first given by Laches, 
 and proves to him that there may be other forms of 
 courage as noble as that of the soldier who stands his 
 ground in battle such as the endurance of pain, 
 or poverty, or reproach ; and it generally seems to be 
 a certain wise strength of mind, the intelligent and
 
 CHARMIDES. 85 
 
 reasonable fortitude of a man who foresees coming 
 evil and can calculate the consequences of his acts, 
 and is very different from the fearless courage of a 
 child, or the insensate fury of a wild beast. But then 
 the man who has this knowledge of good and evil, im- 
 plied in the possession of real courage, must have also 
 temperance and justice, and in fact all the virtues ; 
 and this would contradict the starting-point of their 
 discussion, in which they agreed that courage was 
 only a part of virtue. 
 
 " No," Socrates concludes ; "we shall have to leave 
 off where we began, and courage must still be to us 
 an unknown quantity. We must go to school again 
 ourselves, and make the education of these boys our 
 own education." 
 
 The introduction to the CHARMIDES is another speci- 
 men of that dramatic description in which Plato 
 excelled. " Yesterday evening," says Socrates, " I 
 came back from the camp at Potidsea ; and having 
 been a good while away, I thought I would go and 
 look in at my old haunts. So I went into the Palaestra 
 of Taureas, and there I found a number of persons, 
 most of whom I knew, though not all. My visit was 
 unexpected, and as soon as they saw me coming in 
 they hailed me at once from all sides ; and Chserephon 
 (who is a kind of lunatic, you know) jumped up and 
 rushed to me, seizing my hand and exclaiming, " How 
 did you escape, Socrates?" (I must explain that a 
 battle had taken place at Potidaea not long before we 
 left, the news of which had only just reached Athens.)
 
 86 PL A TO. 
 
 " You see," I replied, " that here I am." 
 " The report was," said he, " that the fighting was very 
 severe, and that several of our acquaintance had fallen." 
 " That was too nearly the truth," replied I. 
 " I suppose you were there ? " said he. 
 " I was." 
 " Then sit down and tell us the whole story." J. 
 
 So Socrates sits down between Chserephon and 
 Critias, and answers their eager inquiries after absent 
 friends. Then there enters a group of youths, laugh- 
 ing and talking noisily, and among them is Channides, 
 a cousin of Critias, tall and handsome, and (so say his 
 friends) "as fair and good within as he is without." 
 He comes and sits near Socrates, who professes to 
 know a charm that will cure a headache of which he 
 has been complaining. This charm is a talisman given 
 to Socrates (as he tells Charmides) by Zamolxis, phy- 
 sician to the king of Thrace ; but which he is only 
 allowed to use on the condition of his never attempt- 
 ing to cure the body without first curing the soul, and 
 then temperance in the one will produce health in the 
 other. But the question is, " What is Temperance 1 " 
 It is not always what Charmides understands by it, the 
 quietness of a gentleman who is never flurried and never 
 noisy; nor is it exactly modesty, though very like it ; 
 nor is it (as Critias defines it) " doing one's own busi- 
 ness," even though our work as men be nobly and 
 usefully done. Nor, again, is it true that the golden 
 characters on the gates of Delphi, " Know thyself," 
 simply meant, " Be temperate ; " nor is it a " science of 
 sciences," as Critias again explains it or rather, the 
 knowledge of what a man knows and does not know.
 
 CIIARMIDES. 87 
 
 All knowledge is relative, and must have some object- 
 matter ; and such a universal knowledge as Critias 
 would imply by temperance would in no way conduce 
 to our happiness. 
 
 Finally, Socrates confesses himself puzzled and 
 baffled. They are no nearer the truth than at start- 
 ing ; and the argument, so to speak, " turns round 
 and laughs in their faces." He is sorry that Char- 
 mides has learnt so little from him ; " and still more," 
 he concludes 
 
 "am I grieved about the charm which I learned with 
 so much pain and to so little profit from the Thracian, for 
 the sake of a thing which is nothing worth. I think, 
 indeed, that there is a mistake, and that I must be a bad 
 inquirer ; for I am persuaded that wisdom or temperance 
 is really a great good; and happy are you if you possess 
 that good. And therefore examine yourself, and see 
 whether you have this gift, and can do without the charm ; 
 for if you can, I would rather advise you to regard me 
 simply as a fool who is never able to reason out anything ; 
 and to rest assured that the more wise and temperate you 
 are, the happier you will be." 
 
 Charmides said : " I am sure T do not know, Socrates, 
 whether I have or have not this gift of wisdom and tem- 
 perance ; for how can I know whether I have that, the 
 very nature of which even you and Critias, as you say, are 
 unable to discover ? (not that I believe you.) And further, 
 I am sure, Socrates, that I do need the charm ; and, so far 
 as I am concerned, I shall be willing to be charmed by you 
 daily, until you say I have had enough." 
 
 " Very good, Charmides," said Critias ; " if you do this I 
 shall have a proof of your temperance that is, if you allow 
 yourself to be charmed by Socrates, and never desert him 
 at all."
 
 88 PL A TO. 
 
 "You may depend on my following and not deserting 
 him," said Charmides. " If you who are my guardian 
 command me, I should be very wrong not to obey you." 
 
 " "Well, I do command you," he said. 
 
 " Then I will do as you say, and begin this very day." 
 
 In the LYSIS, the scene is again a Palaestra, near a 
 school kept by Micon, a friend of Socrates. It is a 
 half-holiday (like a saint's day in some of our public 
 schools) in honour of the god Hermes ; and the boys 
 are scattered round the courtyard, some wrestling, 
 some playing at dice, and others looking on. Among 
 these last is Lysis, of noble birth and of high promise, 
 with his friend Menexenus. Socrates professes him- 
 self charmed at the attachment of the two boys, and 
 calls them very fortunate. All people, he says, have 
 their different objects of ambition horses, dogs, money, 
 honour, as the case may be ; but for his own part he 
 would rather have a good friend than all these put 
 together. It is what he has longed for all his life, 
 and here is Lysis already supplied. " But," he asks, 
 " what is Friendship, and who is a friend ? " 
 
 Is it sympathy is it, as the poets say, that " the 
 gods draw like to like " by some mysterious affinity 
 of souls ? In that case, the bad man can be no one's 
 friend ; for he is not always even like himself much 
 less like any one else ; while the good man is self- 
 sufficing, and therefore has no need of friends. Is not 
 Difference rather the principle ? Are not unlike char- 
 acters attracted by a sense of dependence, and do not 
 the weak thus love the strong, and the poor the rich ?
 
 LYSIS. 89 
 
 But this cannot be so always, for then by this very 
 law of contraries the good would love the bad, and the 
 just the unjust. No there must be a stage of in- 
 difference, between these two ; when one whose char- 
 acter is hardly formed who is neither good nor bad 
 courts the society of the good, from some vague desire 
 of improvement. 
 
 But Socrates is not satisfied yet. He thinks there 
 must be some final principle or first cause of friend- 
 ship which they have not discovered : "and here," he 
 says, 
 
 " I was going to invite the opinion of some older person, 
 when suddenly we were interrupted by the tutors of Lysis 
 and Menexenus, who came upon us like an evil apparition 
 with their brothers, and bade them go home, as it was 
 getting late. At first we and the bystanders drove them 
 off, but afterwards, as they would not mind, and only went 
 on shouting in their barbarous dialect, and got angry, and 
 kept calling the boys (they appeared to us to have been 
 drinking rather too much at the Hermaea, which made 
 them difficult to manage), we fairly gave way, and broke 
 up the company. I said, however, a few words to the boys 
 at parting. O Menexenus and Lysis, will not the bystand- 
 ers go away and say, ' Here is a jest : you two boys, and I, 
 an old boy, who would fain be one of you, imagine ourselves 
 to be friends, and we have not as yet been able to discover 
 what is a friend !'" J. 
 
 Aristotle devotes two boots of his " Ethics " to tins 
 much-debated question of Friendship always roman- 
 tic and interesting from a Greek point of view. He 
 looks upon it in a political light, as filling up the void 
 left by Justice in the state ; and he traces its appear-
 
 90 PLATO. 
 
 ance in different forms in different governments. It is 
 an extension of " Self-Love " very different from 
 Selfishness, for a good man (he says) will give up 
 honour and life and lands for his friend's sake, and 
 yet reserve to himself something still more excellent 
 the glory of a noble deed.* But Aristotle can, no 
 more than Plato, give the precise grounds for any 
 friendship, except that it should not be based on 
 pleasure or utility ; and we are told of his saying 
 more than once to his pupils, " my friends, there is 
 no friend ! " Perhaps, after all, Montaigne was right 
 friendship is inexplicable ; arid the only reason that 
 can be given for liking such a person is the one given 
 by him, " Because it was he, because it was I." 
 
 The MENO of Plato, introduced in the. Dialogue 
 which bears his name, is a very different character 
 from the Meno of history a traitor who did his best 
 to embarrass the retreat of the Ten Thousand Greeks. 
 Plato represents him as a " Thessalian Alcibiades " a 
 rich young noble, the devoted pupil of the Sophists. 
 He meets Socrates, and abruptly asks him the old 
 question, whether Virtue can be taught ; and Socrates, 
 as usual, professes ignorance. He is not a Gorgias, that 
 lie can answer such a question offhand " in the grand 
 style." He does not even know what Virtue is, much 
 less who are its teachers : and he adds, with mock 
 humility, that there is a singular dearth of wisdom at 
 Athens just now, for the rhetoricians have carried it 
 all away with them to Thrace. Perhaps Meno will 
 
 * Ethics, viii. ix.
 
 ME NO. 91 
 
 kindly enlighten him with the opinions of Gorgias on 
 this difficult question ? 
 
 Yes, Meno will tell him. Every age and condition 
 of life has its special virtue. A man's virtue is states- 
 manship, in which he will guard his own and his 
 country's interests ; while " a woman's virtue is to 
 order her house and keep what is within doors, and 
 obey her husband ;" a stay-at-home view of her duties 
 which would find little favour with the modern advo- 
 cates of female suffrage. 
 
 But surely, objects Socrates, justice and temperance 
 are needed by all ages and professions. Must there 
 not be some one common element pervading these 
 separate virtues, which are merely individuals of a 
 class, like colours and figures'? Virtue, like health, 
 must be a common quality, though it may take various 
 forms. 
 
 Meno then comes to understand that a definition is 
 what is wanted, and accordingly quotes one from the 
 poets. " Virtue is the desire of the honourable, and 
 the power of getting it." 
 
 But Socrates is not satisfied with this. You must, 
 he says, get what is honourable with justice (or it 
 would not be virtuous); and justice is a part of virtue. 
 
 Meno is puzzled by this, and complains that Socrates 
 is a wizard, and has bewitched him. His arguments 
 are like the shock of the torpedo they benumb and 
 stupefy. But Socrates declares that he is just as much 
 perplexed himself; he is ready, indeed, to search for 
 the truth, but he knows no more what the truth is 
 than Meno does.
 
 92 PL A TO. 
 
 " How then " (says Meno, acutely) " can you search 
 for that of which you know nothing ; and how, even 
 if you find it, can you be sure that you have got it ? " 
 
 This difficulty Socrates explains by that famous 
 doctrine of Eeminiscence, which is so important a 
 principle in the Platonic philosophy. The soul (as 
 the poets say) is immortal, and is continually dying 
 and being born again passing from one body to 
 another. During these stages of existence, in Hades 
 and in the upper world, it has seen and learnt all 
 things, but has forgotten the greater part of its know- 
 ledge. It is capable, however, of reviving by asso- 
 ciation all that it has learnt for all nature is akin, 
 and all knowledge and learning is only reminiscence. 
 Socrates then proves his theory by cross-examining a 
 boy one of Meno's slaves who gives the successive 
 stages of a problem in geometry ; and this implies that 
 the knowledge was already latent in his mind. 
 
 Then Socrates goes on to show that knowledge is 
 the distinctive element of virtue, without which all 
 good gifts, such as health, or beauty, or strength, are 
 unprofitable because not rightly used; and if virtue 
 be knowledge, it cannot come by nature, but must 
 be taught. 
 
 " But who are its teachers 1 " he asks, appealing to 
 one of the company, Anytus, afterwards his own 
 accuser: for he has failed, hitherto, to find them. 
 " Shall Meno go to the Sophists the professed 
 teachers of all Greece ? " 
 
 " Heaven forbid ! " answers Anytus ; " the Sophists 
 are the corrupters of our nation. The real teachers are
 
 EUTHYPHRO. 93 
 
 the good old Athenian, gentlemen, and the statesmen 
 of a past age." 
 
 But this Socrates -will not allow. These great 
 statesmen never imparted their own wisdom to their 
 sons, and yet they surely would have done so had it 
 been possible. 
 
 Anytus is indignant that his heroes should be so 
 lightly spoken of, and angrily bids Socrates be careful 
 of his words, and remember that it is easier to do men 
 harm in Athens than to do them good. 
 
 Still the original question has not been answered, 
 " Is Virtue teachable 1 " and Socrates inclines to think 
 it " a gift from heaven," and that it may be directed 
 by another faculty, practically as useful as knowledge, 
 namely, " right opinion ; " and this is a sort of divine 
 instinct possessed by statesmen, but which they cannofe 
 impart to others. The higher form of virtue the 
 ideal knowlege is possessed by none ; and if a man 
 could be found both possessing it and able to impart 
 it, he would be like Tiresias, as Ulysses saw him in 
 Hades, who alone had understanding in the midst of 
 a world of shadows. 
 
 EUTHYPHIIO. 
 
 This Dialogue carries us back to the days when the 
 trial of Socrates was still impending. One morning 
 the philosopher meets the augur Euthyphro at the 
 entrance of the law-courts. 
 
 "What are you doing here? " asks the augur. " I 
 am defendant," Socrates answers, " in a suit which a
 
 94 PL A TO. 
 
 young man named Meletus has brought against me on 
 a charge of corrupting the youth ; and you? " 
 
 " I am prosecuting my father for murder," is the 
 startling reply of Euthyphro ; and then he proceeds 
 to tell the story. A man employed on his father's 
 estate, in the island of Naxos, had killed a fellow- 
 slave in a drunken quarrel ; and his father had bound 
 the offender hand and foot, and thrown him into a 
 ditch, while he sent to inquire of a diviner at Athens 
 what he should do with him. But long before the mes- 
 senger could return, the unfortunate slave had died of 
 cold and hunger ; and Euthyphro had felt it his duty 
 to prosecute his father for murder. " My friends," 
 says he, " call me impious and a madman for so doing ; 
 but I know better than they do in what true filial 
 piety consists." 
 
 " And what is Piety 1 " asks Socrates ; " the know- 
 ledge may be of use to me in my approaching 
 trial." 
 
 " Doing as I am doing now," replies the other, in 
 the true spirit of a Pharisee " bringing a murderer to 
 justice without respect of persons, and following the 
 example set by the gods themselves." 
 
 But (asks Socrates again) what is the specific 
 character of piety 1 for there must be other pious 
 acts besides prosecuting one's father, and the gods may 
 disagree as to questions of right and wrong. Even 
 suppose they all agree in loving a certain act, the fact 
 of their loving it would not make it pious. 
 
 Then Euthyphro defines piety to be that branch 
 of justice which chiefly concerns the gods; and that
 
 EUTHYPIIRO. 95 
 
 man, he says, is most pious who knows best how to 
 propitiate their favour by prayer and sacrifice. Thus 
 piety becomes a sort of business transaction, on the 
 mutual benefit system, between gods and men ; where 
 worldly prosperity is bestowed on one side, and honour 
 and gratitude are rendered on the other. 
 
 But Socrates is not satisfied. They have, he says, 
 been arguing in a circle, and have got back to the de- 
 finition they before rejected that piety is " what is 
 dear to the gods : " for the honour we thus pay to 
 them by prayer and sacrifice is most dear to them. So 
 they must again seek for the true answer ; and Euthy- 
 phro must tell him, for if any man knows the nature 
 of piety, it is evidently he. But Euthyphro is in a 
 hurry, and cannot stay. 
 
 " If Socrates had thought like Euthyphro, he might 
 have died in his bed." Such is the moral M. Cousin * 
 draws from this Dialogue ; and undoubtedly the sub- 
 sequent impeachment of the philosopher might bo 
 attributed in part to the enmity of the Athenian 
 priesthood always jealous and intolerant of any new 
 form of faith. Here the contrast is (as Plato probably 
 meant it to be) a striking one between the augur 
 Euthyphro perfect in the letter of the law, but 
 whose consistent "piety" is impelling him to be a 
 parricide and Socrates, even now about to be indicted 
 for worshipping strange gods, yet proving a self-de- 
 voted martyr who refuses to save his life by tamper- 
 ing with his conscience, and who dies rather than 
 
 * Fragm. de Philos. Anc., 117.
 
 96 PLATO. 
 
 break the law by attempting to escape, when escape 
 was easy. 
 
 CRATYLUS. 
 
 Tliis Dialogue turns entirely upon etymology, and 
 hence it is extremely difficult to reproduce it in a 
 modern form, as continual reference is made to Greek 
 nouns and names. The humour is so extravagant and 
 sustained, and the derivations, which Socrates gravely 
 propounds, are often so fanciful and far-fetched, that 
 Mr Jowett thinks Plato intended the Cratylus as a 
 satire upon the false and specious philology of the 
 day ; but that the meaning of his satire (as is often 
 the case) has " slept in the ear of posterity." 
 
 Cratylus, an admirer of Heraclitus, has been arguing 
 about names with Hermogenes a younger brother of 
 the rich Callias, whom we have met before as the 
 hospitable entertainer of Protagoras and his brother 
 Sophists. Hermogenes maintains that names are 
 merely conventional signs, which can be given or taken 
 away at pleasure ; and that any name which you 
 choose to give anything is correct until you change it : 
 while Cratylus holds that names are real and natural 
 expressions of thought, or else they would be mere 
 inarticulate sounds ; and that all truth comes from 
 language. They invite Socrates, who has just joined 
 them, to give his opinion. " Alas ! " says Socrates, 
 regretfully, " if I could only have afforded to attend 
 that fifty-drachma course of lectures given by the great 
 Prodicus, who advertised them as a complete education 
 in grammar and language, I could have told you all
 
 CRATTLUS. 97 
 
 about it ; but I \vas only able to attend the single- 
 drachma course, and know as little of this difficult 
 question as you. Still, I should like a free discussion 
 on the subject." 
 
 We cannot (he goes on) accept Hermogenes' prin- 
 ciple, that each man has a private right of nomencla- 
 ture : for if anybody might name anything, and give 
 it as many names as he liked, all meaning and distinc- 
 tion of terms would soon perish there being as much 
 truth and falsehood implied in words as in sentences. 
 No, speaking and naming, like any other art, should 
 be done in the right way, with the right instrument, and 
 by the right man in the right place. " This giving of 
 names," he continues, " is no such light matter as you 
 fancy, or the work of chance persons; and Cratylus 
 is right in saying that things have names by nature, 
 and that not every man is an artificer of names, but 
 he only who looks to the thing which each name by 
 nature has, and is, will be able to express the ideal 
 forms of things in letters and syllables." It is the 
 law that gives names through the legislator, who is 
 advised in his work by the Dialectician, who alone 
 knows the right use of names, and who can ask and 
 answer questions properly. 
 
 The Sophists profess to teach you the correctness 
 of names ; but if you think lightly of them, turn to 
 the poets. In Homer you will find that the same 
 thing is called differently by gods and men for 
 instance, the river which the gods call Xanthus, men 
 call Scamander ; and there is a solemn and mysterious 
 truth in this, for of course the gods must be right. 
 
 A. c. voL xix. o
 
 98 PL A TO. 
 
 And so with the two names that Hector's son went 
 by Astyanax and Scamandrius which did Homer 
 think correct ? Clearly, the name given by the men, 
 who are always wiser than the women. This is another 
 great truth ; and besides, in this case, there is a curious 
 coincidence, for the names of the father and son 
 though having only one letter (t) the same mean the 
 same thing Hector being "holder," and Astyanax 
 " defender," of the city. The mere difference of sylla- 
 bles matters nothing, if the same sense is retained.* 
 
 All these old heroic names, continues Socrates, carry 
 their history with them ; and, if you analyse them 
 properly, you learn the character of the men or gods 
 who bore them. Atreus is " the stubborn " or " de- 
 structive;" Orestes, the wild "mountain ranger;" 
 Zeus himself, the lord of " life " and so on with the 
 other personages in Hesiod's genealogy. 
 
 Hermogenes is startled by these derivations, and 
 thinks Socrates must be inspired his language is so 
 oracular. 
 
 " Yes," says Socrates, " and I caught this inspira- 
 tion from the great Euthyphro, with whom I have 
 been since daybreak, listening while he declaimed ; 
 his divine wisdom has so filled my ears and possessed 
 my soul, that to-day I will give myself up to this mys- 
 terious influence, and examine fully the history of 
 names ; to-morrow I will go to some priest or sophist, 
 and be purified of this strange bewitchment." 
 
 Sometimes, he continues, we must change and shift 
 the letters to get at the real form of the word : thus 
 
 * So says Fluellen ; they " are all one reckonings, save the 
 phrase is a little variations." Henry V., act iv. sc. 7.
 
 CRA TYL US. 99 
 
 soma, " body," is the same as sema, " tomb " mean- 
 ing the grave in which our soul is buried, or perhaps 
 kept safe, as in a prison, till the last penalty is paid. 
 So also Pluto is the same as Plutus, and means the 
 giver of riches, for all wealth comes from the world 
 below, where he is king. It is true that we use his 
 name as a euphemism for Hades, but we do so wrongly, 
 for there is really nothing terrible connected with that 
 word. It does not mean the awful " unseen " world, 
 as people think ; but Pluto is called Hades because he 
 knows (eidenai) all goodness and beauty, and thus 
 binds all who come to him by the strongest chains 
 stronger than those of Father Time himself. And 
 so these other awful names, such as Persephatta and 
 Apollo, have really nothing terrible about them, if you 
 examine their derivation. But Socrates will have no 
 more discussion about the gods he is " afraid of 
 them." 
 
 " Only one more god," pleads Hermogenes. " I should 
 like to know about Hermes, of whom I am said not to be 
 a true son. Let us make him out, and then I shall know 
 if there is anything in what Cratylus says." 
 
 " I should imagine," says Socrates, " that the name 
 Hermes has to do with speech, and signifies that he is the 
 interpreter, or messenger, or thief, or liar, or bargainer ; 
 language has a great deal to say to all that sort of thing ; 
 and, as I was telling you, the word eirein is expressive of 
 the use of speech, and we have improved eiremes into 
 Hermes." 
 
 " Then I am very sure," says Hennogenes, in a tone of 
 conviction, " that Cratylus was quite right in saying that I 
 was no true son of Hermes, for I am not a good hand at 
 speeches." J.
 
 100 PLATO. 
 
 Then Socrates examines the names of the various 
 elements, virtues, and moral qualities, most of which 
 he derives in a manner that would shock a modern 
 philologist. Some of them, he says truly, have a 
 foreign origin, inasmuch as the Greek borrowed many 
 Avords from the Barbarians ; " for the Barbarians are 
 older than we are, and the original form of words may 
 have been lost in the lapse of ages." The word 
 dikaion " justice " says Socrates, has greatly puzzled 
 him. Some one had told him, as a great mystery, 
 that the word was the same as diaion the subtle and 
 penetrating power that enters into everything in crea- 
 tion ; and when he inquired further, he was told that 
 Justice was the Sun, the piercing or burning element 
 in nature. But when he quotes this beautiful notion 
 with great glee to a friend, he is met by the satirical 
 answer " What ! is there then no justice in the world 
 when the sun goes down?" And when Socrates begs his 
 friend to tell him his own honest opinion, he says, "Fire 
 in the abstract;" which is not very intelligible. Another 
 says, " No, not fire in the abstract, but the abstrac- 
 tion of heat in fire." A third professes to laugh at 
 this, and says, with Anaxagoras, that Justice is Mind; 
 for Mind, they say, has absolute power, and mixes 
 with nothing, and governs all things, and permeates 
 all things. At last, he says, he found himself in 
 greater perplexity as to the nature of Justice than 
 when he began his inquiry. 
 
 Then follow other derivations, more extravagant 
 than any which we have noticed ; but Socrates con- 
 cludes with a long passage of serious etymology. We
 
 THE^ETETUS. 101 
 
 should get at primary names (he says), and separate 
 the letters, which have all a distinct meaning thus I 
 expresses " smoothness," r " motion," a " size," and e 
 " length." When we have fixed their meaning, we 
 can form them into syllables and words ; and add and 
 subtract until we get a good and true image of the 
 idea we intend to express. Of course there are degrees 
 of accuracy in this process, where nature is helped out 
 by custom ; and a name, like a picture, may be a more 
 or less perfect likeness of a person or thought. Great 
 truths may be learned through names ; but there are 
 higher forms of knowledge, which can only be learnt 
 from the ideas themselves, of which our words are but 
 faint impressions ; and " no man of sense will put 
 himself or his education in the power of names," or 
 believe that the world is in a perpetual flux and tran- 
 sition, " like a leaky vessel." And with this parting 
 blow at Heraclitus, the Dialogue, with its mixture of 
 truth and fiction, of jest and earnest, comes to an end. 
 But, wild and fanciful as many of the derivations un- 
 doubtedly are, it must still be admitted that " the 
 guesses of Plato are better than all the other theories 
 of the ancients respecting language put together." * 
 
 THE.ETETUS. 
 
 Euclid (not the mathematician, but the philosopher 
 of that name) meets his friend Terpsion at the door of 
 his own house in Megara ; and their conversation hap- 
 pens to turn upon Theaetetus, whom Euclid has just 
 seen carried up towards Athens, almost dead of dysen- 
 
 * Jowett's Plato, i. 620
 
 102 PL A TO. 
 
 tery, and of the wounds he had received in the battle 
 of Corinth. " What a gallant fellow he was, and what 
 a loss he will be ! " says Terpsion ; and then Euclid 
 remembers how Socrates had prophesied great things 
 of him in his youth, and had proved as he always 
 did a true prophet ; for Theaetetus had more than ful- 
 filled the promise of his early years. Euclid had 
 taken careful notes of a discussion between Socrates 
 and the young Theaetetus in days gone by, and this 
 paper is now read by a servant for the benefit of 
 Terpsion. 
 
 As Socrates said, Theaetetus was " a reflection of his 
 own ugly self," both in person and character. Snub- 
 nosed, and with projecting eyes, brave and patient, 
 slow and sure in the pursuit of knowledge, " full of 
 gentleness, and always making progress, like a noiseless 
 river of oil." His answers in the Dialogue bear out 
 this character : they are invariably shrewd and to the 
 point, and would have done credit (says his examiner) 
 to "many bearded men." Socrates is still the same 
 earnest disputant, professing to know nothing himself, 
 but willing to assist others in bringing their thoughts 
 to the birth ; for so far, he tells Theaetetus, he has in- 
 herited the art of his mother Phaenarete, the midwife. 
 Hence those youths resort to him who are tortured by 
 the pangs of perplexity and doubt, and yearn to be 
 delivered of the conceptions which are struggling for 
 release within their breasts. If these children of their 
 souls are likely to prove a true and noble offspring, 
 they are suffered to see the light ; but if, as is often 
 the case, his divine inward monitor warns Socrates
 
 THEJETETUS. 103 
 
 that they are but lies or shadows of the truth, they are 
 stifled in the birth. 
 
 The question discussed is Knowledge ; and the first 
 definition of it proposed is " sensible perception." This 
 Socrates connects with the old saying of Protagoras, 
 " Man is the measure of all things ; " and this he again 
 links on to the still older doctrine of Heraclitus, " All 
 things are becoming." " These ancient philosophers " 
 (he says) "the great Parmenides excepted agreed 
 that since we live in the midst of perpetual change 
 and transition, our knowledge of all things must be 
 relative. There is no such thing, they will tell you, 
 as real existence. You should not say, 'this is 
 white or black,' but, 'it is my (or your) impres- 
 sion that it is so.' And thus each man can only 
 know what he perceives ; and so far his judgment 
 is true." 
 
 " Of course " (continues Socrates), " we might object 
 that our senses may deceive us ; that in cases where a 
 man is mad or dreaming who knows, indeed, whether 
 we are not dreaming at this very moment 1 he must 
 get false impressions : or, again, that our tastes may 
 become perverted ; and as wine is distasteful to a sick 
 man, so what is really good or true does not appear so 
 to us. But Protagoras would reply that the sick man's 
 dreams are real to him, that my impressions of wine 
 are certainly different in health and sickness ; but then 
 / am different, and my impressions in either case are 
 true." 
 
 " I wonder (says Socrates, ironically) that Protagoras did 
 not begin his great work on Truth with a declaration that a
 
 104 PLA TO. 
 
 pig or a dog-faced baboon, or some other strange monster 
 which, has sensation, is the measure of all things ; then, 
 when we were 'reverencing him as a god, he might have 
 condescended to inform us that he was no wiser than a tad- 
 pole, and did not even aspire to be a man would not this 
 have produced an overpowering effect ? For if truth is 
 only sensation, and one man's discernment is as good as 
 another's, and no man has any superior right to determine 
 whether the opinion of any other is true or false, but each 
 man, as we have several times repeated, is to himself the 
 sole judge, and everything that he judges is true and right, 
 why should Protagoras be preferred to the place of wisdom 
 and instruction, and deserve to be well paid, and we poor 
 ignoramuses have to go to him, if each one is the measure 
 of his own wisdom ? " J. 
 
 Then Socrates takes upon himself to defend Pro- 
 tagoras, who is made to qualify his original statement : 
 "Man is the measure of all things, but one man's 
 knowledge may be superior in proportion as his im- 
 pressions are better ; still, every impression is true and 
 real, and a false opinion is impossible." 
 
 Common - sense, replies Socrates, is against this 
 theory, which would reduce all minds to the same 
 level. Practically, men are always passing judgment 
 on the impressions of others, pronouncing them to be 
 true or false, and acting accordingly ; they recognise 
 superior minds, and submit to teachers and rulers : 
 thus Protagoras himself made a large fortune on the 
 reputation of having better judgment than his neigh- 
 bours. And if one man's judgment is as good as 
 another's, who is to decide? Is the question to be 
 settled by a plurality of votes, or what shall be the 
 last court of appeal? Protagoras may think this or
 
 THE^ETEIUS. 105 
 
 that, but there are probably ten thousand who will 
 think the opposite ; and, by his own rule, their judg- 
 ments are as good as his. 
 
 But even Socrates feels some compunction in thus 
 attacking the theories of a dead philosopher who can- 
 not defend himself. 
 
 " If he could only " (he says) " get his head out of the 
 world below, he would give both of us a sound drubbing 
 me for quibbling, and you for accepting my qvu'bbles 
 and be off and underground again in a twinkling." J. 
 
 Then comes a break in the main argument, and 
 Socrates wanders off into a digression, in which he 
 draws a striking contrast between the characters of 
 the lawyer and philosopher the former always in a 
 hurry, with the water-clock urging him on busy and 
 preoccupied, the slave of his clients, keen and shrewd, 
 but narrow-minded, and from his early years versed 
 in the crooked paths of deceit : while the philoso- 
 pher is a gentleman at large, master of his own time, 
 abstracted and absorbed in thought, seeing nothing at 
 his feet, and knowing nothing of the scandals of the 
 clubs or the gossip of the town hardly even ac- 
 quainted with his next-door neighbour by sight shy, 
 awkward, and too simple-minded to re tab" ate an insult, 
 or understand the merits of a long pedigree.* 
 
 * The Philosopher here argues that a long line of ancestors 
 does not necessarily make a gentleman ; ibr any one, if ho 
 chooses, may reckon back to the first Parent, just as Tennyson 
 reminds Lady Clara that 
 
 " The grand old Gardener and his wife 
 Smile at the claims of long descent."
 
 106 PL A TO. 
 
 "Knowledge, then," continues Socrates, resuming 
 the argument, " cannot be perception ; for, after all, 
 it is the soul which perceives, and the senses are 
 merely organs of the body springing from a common 
 centre of life. In fact, we see and hear rather through 
 them than with them. Furthermore, there are certain 
 abstractions which we (that is, the trained and intel- 
 ligent few) perceive with the eye of reason alone." 
 
 Then Thesetetus suggests that knowledge may be de- 
 fined as " true opinion ;" but then, says Socrates, the old 
 objection would be raised, that false opinion is impos- 
 sible ; for we must either know or not know, and in 
 either case we know what we know. The reply is, that 
 mistakes are always possible ; you may think one thing 
 to be another. Our souls, continues Socrates, using a 
 metaphor which has since passed into a commonplace, 
 are like waxen tablets some broad and deep, where 
 the impressions made by sight or hearing are clear and 
 indelible ; others cramped and narrow, where the im- 
 pressions from the senses are confused and crowded 
 together; and sometimes the wax itself is soft, or 
 shallow, or impure, and so the impression is soon 
 effaced. Often, too, we put, so to speak, the shoe on 
 the wrong foot, or stamp with the wrong seal ; and 
 from these wrong and hasty impressions come false 
 opinions. There can be no mistake when perception 
 and knowledge correspond; but we often have one 
 without the other. I may see an inscription, but not 
 know its meaning ; or I may hear a foreigner talk, but 
 not understand a word he says. 
 
 But stay, says Socrates we have been rashly using
 
 THE&TETUS. 107 
 
 these words " know " and " understand," while all the 
 time we are ignorant of what " knowledge " is. We 
 must try again to define the term ; and first, to have 
 is quite different from to possess knowledge. Our soul 
 is like an aviary full of wild birds, flying all about the 
 place, singly or in groups. You may possess them, 
 but you have none in hand; and until you collect, 
 comprehend, and grasp your winged thoughts, you 
 cannot be said to have them either. When you have 
 once caught your bird (or your thought), you cannot 
 mistake it ; but while they are flying about, you may 
 mistake the ring-dove for the pigeon, and so you may 
 mistake the various numbers and forms of knowledge. 
 
 " Perhaps," says Theaetetus, sharply, " there may be 
 sham birds in the aviary ; and you may put forth your 
 hand intending to grasp Knowledge, but catch Ignor- 
 ance instead. How then ? " 
 
 " No," says Socrates ; " it is a clever suggestion, 
 but if you once know the form of knowledge, you will 
 never mistake it for ignorance. Perhaps, however, 
 there may be higher forms of knowledge in other 
 aviaries, which help you to tell the wrong from the 
 right thought ; but on this supposition we might go 
 on imagining forms to infinity." 
 
 A third and last definition of knowledge is now pro- 
 posed" True opinion plus definition or explanation." 
 But what is explanation? is it the expression of a 
 man's thoughts 1 But every one who is not deaf and 
 dumb can express his thoughts. Or is it the enumera- 
 tion of the elements of which anything is composed ? 
 But you may know the syllables of a name without
 
 108 PL A TO. 
 
 being able to explain the letters. Or, lastly, is expla- 
 nation " the perception of difference " ? For instance 
 (says Socrates, somewhat rudely), I know and recog- 
 nise Thesetetus by his having a peculiar snub nose, 
 different from mine and all other snub noses in the 
 world. But is my perception of this difference 
 opinion or knowledge? If the first, I have only 
 opinion ; if the second, I am assuming the very term 
 which we are trying to define. 
 
 And thus, in the true " Socratic manner," abrupt 
 and unsatisfactory as it seems to us, the Dialogue ends ; 
 and " knowledge " remains the same unknown quantity 
 as before. And yet (Socrates thinks) the discussion 
 has not been altogether fruitless ; for he has shown 
 Thesetetus that the offspring of his brain were not 
 worth the bringing up. 
 
 " If," concludes the philosopher, " you are likely to have 
 any more embryo thoughts, such offspring will be all the 
 better for our present investigation ; and if you should 
 prove barren, you will be less overbearing and gentler to 
 your friends, and modest enough not to fancy you know 
 what you do not know. So far only can my art go, and 
 no further ; for I know none of the secrets of your famous 
 teachers, past or present." J.
 
 CHAPTEE V. 
 
 PLATO'S IDEAL STATES. 
 
 "II font bien reflechir sur la Politique d'Aristote et sur les deux Re- 
 publiques de Platon, si Von veut avoir une juste idee des lois et des mceurs 
 des anciens Grecs." Montesquieu. 
 
 THE BEPtTBLIC. 
 
 IN this, the grandest and most complete of all his 
 works, Plato blends all the stores of past thought on 
 religion, politics, and art, into one great constructive 
 effort ; systematising, and, as far as might be, reconcil- 
 ing the conflicting theories and the various systems 
 which had preceded him. Thus he first passes in 
 review the prudential morality of an earlier age, built 
 on texts from the poets and on aphorisms which had 
 come down from the seven sages ; he then puts to the 
 proof the rash self-assertion of the Sophists, and the 
 ingenious scepticism of the rising generation. But both 
 these stages of thought, when tried, are found wanting, 
 and the object of his search seems as far off as ever ; 
 for perfect justice and wisdom (so Plato thinks) can- 
 not be found in any kingdom of this world. The 
 result is that he frames a State of his own, ideal in one
 
 110 PLATO. 
 
 sense, but purely Greek in another, which was to com- 
 bine the iron discipline of Sparta with the many-sided 
 culture of Athens a city where, as her own historian 
 said, men might unite elegance with simplicity, and 
 might be learned without being effeminate.* And 
 then, like some painter who copies a divine original, 
 to use his own comparison,t Plato first cleanses the 
 moral canvas of his visionary state, then sketches the 
 outline of the constitution, fills it in with the ideal 
 forms of virtue, and gives it a human complexion in 
 the godlike colouring of Homer ; and the result is a 
 glorious picture, as the world would acknowledge, he 
 thinks, if they could be brought to see the truth ; and 
 a picture which might be realised in history, could a 
 single king, or son of a king, become a philosopher. 
 
 Ethics and politics were so closely blended in 
 Plato's view, that he regards the virtues of the Man 
 as identical with those of the State, and thus exagger- 
 ates, says Mr Grote, " the unity of the one and the 
 partibility of the other." But we must remember that 
 as the ancient state was smaller, so the public spirit 
 pervading it was more intense ; each man was, as we 
 might say, citizen, soldier, and member of Parliament ; 
 and unlike modern society, which has been defined as 
 " anarchy plus the policeman," where tolerance is car- 
 ried to its furthest limits, and where state interference 
 is restricted to the security of life and property, 
 the Greek theory was to secure as far as possible an 
 absolute uniformity of sentiment and character, and 
 
 * Thucyd., ii. 40. t Rep., vi. 501.
 
 THE REPUBLIC. Ill 
 
 to crush anything like heresy or dissent among the 
 members of the social body. The state, if it existed 
 at all, must be at one with itself; and they would 
 point to Sparta as a triumphant proof that a rational 
 character might be created by the all-powerful hand of 
 a legislator like Lycurgus. Pericles indeed might 
 boast that at Athens there were no sour looks at a 
 neighbour's eccentricities, and that it was emphatically 
 " A land, where, girt by friends and foes, 
 A man might say the thing he would : " 
 
 but, as we have seen in the case of Socrates, Athenian 
 tolerance might be tried too far, and theories which 
 tended in their view to outrage religion and morality, 
 could not be endured with the same equanimity as in 
 our sceptical and so-called enlightened age. 
 
 The opening scene in the "Republic" is such an ex- 
 cellent specimen of Plato's powers of description, that 
 it is well worth giving in full. It is Socrates who 
 speaks : 
 
 I went down yesterday to the Piraeus with Glaucon the 
 son of Ariston, to offer up prayer to the goddess, and 
 also from a wish to see how the festival, then to be held 
 for the first time, would be celebrated. I was very much 
 pleased with the native Athenian procession, though that 
 of the Thracians appeared to be no less brilliant. We had 
 finished our prayers, and satisfied our curiosity, and were 
 returning to the city, when Polemarchus, the son of Cepha- 
 lus, caught sight of us at a distance as we were on our way 
 towards home, and told his servant to run and bid us wait 
 for him. The servant came behind me, took hold of my 
 cloak, and said, " Polemarchus bids you wait." I turned 
 round, and asked him where his master was. " There he 
 is," he replied, " coming on behind : pray wait for him."
 
 112 PLATO. 
 
 "We will wait," answered Glaucon. Soon afterwards 
 Polemarchus came up, with Adeimantus the brother of 
 Glaucon, and Niceratus the son of Nicias, and a few other 
 persons, apparently coming away from the procession. 
 Polemarchus instantly began : " Socrates, if I am not de- 
 ceived, you are taking your departure for the city." 
 
 " You are not wrong in your conjecture," I replied. 
 
 " Well, do you see what a large body we are 1 " 
 
 " Certainly I do." 
 
 "Then either prove yourselves the stronger party, or 
 else stay where you are." 
 
 " No," I replied ; " there is still an alternative : suppose 
 we persuade you that you ought to let us go." 
 
 "Could you possibly persuade us, if we refused to 
 listen?" 
 
 " Certainly not," replied Glaucon. 
 
 "Make up your minds, then, that we shall refuse to 
 listen." 
 
 Here Adeimantus interposed, and said : " Are you not 
 aware that towards evening there will be a torch-race on 
 horseback in honour of the goddess ? " 
 
 " On horseback ! " I exclaimed ; " that is a novelty. Will 
 they carry torches, and pass them on to one another, while 
 the horses are racing ? or how do you mean ? " 
 
 " As you say," replied Polemarchus ; " besides, there will 
 be a night festival, which it will be worth while to look at. 
 We will rise after dinner, and go out to see this festival ; 
 and there we shall meet with many of our young men, 
 with whom we can converse. Therefore stay, and do not 
 refuse us." D. 
 
 And so they are persuaded to return with Polemar- 
 chus to his home, where they find his father, the aged 
 Cephalus, surrounded by his sons and friends. 
 
 " You should come to see me oftener," says Cephalus 
 to Socrates, " now that I cannot come to you. I find
 
 THE REPUBLIC. 113 
 
 that the older one grows, the fonder one becomes of 
 conversation." 
 
 "And what think you of old age itself?" asks 
 Socrates. " Is the road to the grave rough or smooth 1 " 
 
 " Smooth and peaceful enough," answers Cephalus 
 " that is, to one of easy temper like myself; though 
 some old men, I know, complain bitterly of the mis- 
 eries of age, and mourn over the faded pleasures of 
 their youth." 
 
 " Yes," says Socrates ; " but the world would say 
 that your riches make old age an easy burden." 
 
 "There is something in that; but I should say 
 myself that a good man could not be happy in poverty 
 and old age, nor again would all the wealth of Croesus 
 make a bad man happy." 
 
 " What do you think, then, to be the chief advan- 
 tage of riches *? " asks Socrates. 
 
 " If I mention it," he replied, " I shall perhaps get few 
 persons to agree with me. Be assured, Socrates, that when 
 a man is nearly persuaded that he is going to die, he feels 
 alarmed and concerned about things which never affected 
 him before. Till then, he has laughed at those stories about 
 the departed, which tell us that he who has done wrong 
 here must suffer for it in the other world ; but now his 
 mind is tormented with a fear that these stories may possi- 
 bly be true. And either owing to the infirmity of old age, 
 or because he is now nearer to the confines of the future 
 state, he has a clearer insight into those mysteries. How- 
 ever that may be, he becomes full of misgiving and appre- 
 hension, andsetshimself to the task of calculating and reflect- 
 ing whether he has done any wrong to any one. Hereupon, 
 if he finds his life full of unjust deeds, he is apt to start out 
 of sleep in terror, as children do, and he lives haunted by 
 
 A. c. vol. xix. H
 
 114 PLATO. 
 
 gloomy anticipations. But if his conscience reproaches 
 him with, no injustice, he enjoys the abiding presence of 
 sweet Hope, that ' kind nurse of old age,' as Pindar calls 
 it. ... And it is this consideration, as I hold, that makes 
 riches chiefly valuable, I do not say to everybody, but at 
 any rate to the good. For they contribute greatly to our 
 preservation from even unintentional deceit or falsehood, 
 and from that alarm which would attend our departure to 
 the other world, if we owed any sacrifices to a god, or any 
 money to a man. They have also many other uses. But 
 after weighing them all separately, Socrates, I am inclined 
 to consider this service as anything but the least important 
 which riches can render to a wise and sensible man." D. 
 
 " So, then, this is the meaning of Justice," says 
 Socrates, seizing on the word Injustice " to tell the 
 truth and pay your debts ? " 
 
 " Certainly, if we are to believe the poet Simon- 
 ides," says Polemarchus (for Cephalus gives up the 
 discussion, and quits the company) ; " his words are 
 to pay back what you owe to each is just." 
 
 " But you surely would never give back to a mad 
 friend a sword which he had lent you ? " 
 
 " No," says Polemarchus; " for Simonides says again, 
 you should give back what is proper to each man 
 that is, good to your friends and evil to your foes ; 
 and if you ask how, by making alliance with one and 
 going to war with the other : and in peace, Justice is of 
 use in ordinary dealings between man and man espe- 
 cially when you wish your money to be safely kept." 
 
 " That is," says Socrates, " when your money is idle 
 and useless then only Justice is useful ! Again, since 
 the doctor can poison as well as heal, and the general
 
 f THE REPUBLIC. 115 
 
 can overreach, the enemy as well as protect himself, 
 Justice, if it can guard, must also steal; and the just 
 man is a sort of thief, like Homer's Autolycus 
 
 " Who best could steal, and swear he never stole." * 
 
 Your poets have brought Justice to a pretty pass ! 
 And may not men make mistakes, and injure their real 
 friends ] " 
 
 " Yes," says Polemarchus ; " hut by a friend I mean 
 one who both seems and really is one ; and it is just 
 to injure one's enemy if he is bad, and to help one's 
 friend if he is good." 
 
 " But hurting a man is the same as making him 
 worse with respect to virtue, and such moral injury 
 belongs not to good, but to its contrary, evil ; just as 
 it is not heat that chills, but its contrary, cold. So it 
 can never be just to injure either friend or foe; and this 
 definition must have been invented not by Simonides 
 but by Periander, or some other potentate, who thought 
 his power irresistible." 
 
 Then Thrasymachus, who had been growing more 
 and more impatient, takes advantage of a pause, and, 
 " like a wild beast gathering itself up for a spring," 
 bursts in upon the argument. 
 
 " No more of this foolish complaisance, Socrates ; 
 answer yourself, instead of asking what justice is ; and 
 don't tell me that it is ' the due," or ' the profitable,' 
 or 'the expedient,' or ' the lucrative,' or any nonsense 
 of that sort. And let us have none of your usual 
 affectation of ignorance, if you please." 
 
 * Horn. Odyss., xix. 395.
 
 116 PLATO. 
 
 Socrates, who at first assumes to have been terror- 
 struck at this sudden attack, tries to soothe Thrasy- 
 roachus. "A clever man like you," he says, "should 
 pity us in our perplexity, instead of treating us harshly ; 
 we are searching for what is more precious than any 
 gold, and want all the assistance we can get." 
 
 Thrasymachus is somewhat pacified by this flattery, 
 and gives his own theory, which is substantially the 
 same as that we have already seen advocated by Cal- 
 licles in the "Gorgias," that Justice is "the Interest 
 of the Stronger." Eulers always legislate with a view 
 to their own interests ; and as a shepherd fattens his 
 sheep for his own advantage, so do the "shepherds of 
 the people" regard their subjects as mere sheep, and 
 look only to the possible profit they may get from them. 
 Justice is thus the gain of the strong and the loss of 
 the weak ; for the just man's honesty is ruinous to 
 himself, whilo the unjust man, especially if he can 
 plunder wholesale like the tyrant, is happy and pros- 
 perous, and well spoken of; and thus Injustice itself is 
 a stronger and lordlier thing than Justice. 
 
 To this barefaced sophistry Socrates replies that the 
 unjust man may go too far ; in overreaching his neigh- 
 bours just and unjust alike he breaks all the rules 
 of art, and proves himself an unskilful and ignorant 
 workman, who has no fixed standard in life to act by. 
 And in an unjust state, where every man is thus trying 
 to get the better of his neighbour, there will be endless 
 discord and divisions, making all united action impos- 
 sible; it will be like a house divided against itself. 
 And as it is with the unjust state, so will it be with
 
 THE REPUBLIC. 117 
 
 the unjust man. He will be ever at war with him- 
 self, and so unable to act decisively. Lastly, the soul 
 (like the ear or eye) has a work of its own to do, 
 and a virtue which enables it to do that work well. 
 Justice is a work of the soul, and the just man lives 
 well and is happy ; and as happiness is more profit- 
 able than misery, so is Justice more profitable than 
 Injustice. 
 
 Thrasymachus is now in a good temper again, and 
 readily acquiesces in all that Socrates has said ; but 
 Glaucon, shrewd and combative, takes upon himself 
 the office of " devil's advocate " (for he admits that his 
 own convictions are the other way), and revives the 
 defence of Injustice from a Sophist's point of view. 
 
 " Naturally," he says, " to do injustice is a good, 
 and to suffer it an evil : but as men found that the 
 evil was greater than the good, they made a compact 
 of mutual abstinence, and so justice is simply a useful 
 compromise under certain circumstances. If you were 
 to furnish the just and unjust man each with a ring 
 such as Gyges wore of old, making the wearer invisible 
 to all eyes, you would find them both following the 
 same lawless path; for no man would be so steeled 
 against temptation as to remain virtuous, if he were in- 
 visible. As things are, he finds honesty the best policy. 
 
 " Again, let us assume both characters the just and 
 unjust to be perfect in their parts, so that we may 
 decide which is the happier of the two. Our ideal 
 villain will reduce crime to a science he will have 
 wealth, and money, and honour, and influence all 
 that this world esteems precious ; he will have a high
 
 118 PLATO. 
 
 reputation for justice (for this is the crowning exploit 
 of injustice) ; lie will accomplish all his ends by force 
 or fraud, and the gods, whose favour he will win by 
 costly offerings, will sanctify the means. While the 
 pei'fectly simple and noble man, clothed only in his 
 justice, will suffer the worst consequences of a lifelong 
 reputation for seeming to be that which he really is 
 not unjust. He will be put in chains, scourged, 
 tortured, and at last put to death. Which think you 
 the happier of these two ? " 
 
 Then Adeimantus takes up the parable, for brother, 
 he says, should help brother. " Men too commonly 
 make the mistake of dwelling, not upon the beauty of 
 Justice in itself, but on the worldly advantages, the 
 honours, and the high reputation which attend a just 
 life. It is in this spirit that parents advise their chil- 
 dren, and that Homer and Hesiod recount the blessings 
 which the gods bestow upon the pious 
 
 " ' Like to a blameless king, who, godlike in virtue and 
 
 wisdom, 
 Justice ever maintains ; whose rich land fruitfully yields 
 
 him 
 Harvests of barley and wheat ; and his orchards are heavy 
 
 with fruitage. 
 Strong are the young of his flocks, an<^ the sea gives him 
 
 fish in abundance.' * 
 
 And other poets describe the glories of a sensual para- 
 dise, where their heroes feast on couches, crowned with 
 flowers, and make the fairest reward of virtue to be 
 
 * Horn. Odyss., xix. 109 (Davies and Vaughan).
 
 THE REPUBLIC. 119 
 
 ' immortal drunkenness ; ' while they doom the unjust 
 to fill sieves and languish in a swamp through all 
 eternity. 
 
 " Others, again, strike out a different line, and will 
 tell you how narrow and difficult is the way of virtue, 
 and how broad and pleasant is the path of vice ; 
 and they affirm, too, that the gods bestow prosperity 
 on the wicked and adversity on the good. And lastly, 
 there is a doctrine of indulgences preached by mendi- 
 cant prophets, who profess to have power to absolve 
 the rich man from his sins, in this world and the next, 
 by spells and mystic rites ; and they quote the poets 
 to prove that vice and atonement are equally easy. 
 
 "What is a young man to do amidst all this conflict- 
 ing advice ? Shall he make Justice ' his strong tower 
 of defence,' as Pindar says ; or shall lie fence his charac- 
 ter with the appearance of virtue, and so by fair means 
 or foul obtain that happiness which is the end of life ? 
 The gods if at least there are gods, and if they care 
 for men's affairs can easily be wrought upon by 
 prayer and sacrifice ; and we need have no fear of 
 Hades so long as we perform the mystic rites. And 
 so, if he combines injustice Avith the semblance of 
 justice, he will reap all the advantages of both, and 
 will fare well in both worlds. 
 
 " The blame of all this evil rests with our poets and 
 teachers, who have always dwelt on the glories and 
 rewards following on a just life, but have never ade- 
 quately discussed what Justice and Injustice really are. 
 Could we see them as they are, we should choose the 
 one as the greatest good, and shun the other as the
 
 120 PLATO. 
 
 greatest evil. It rests with Socrates," concludes Ade- 
 imantus, "to show how Justice is itself a blessing, 
 and Injustice a curse, to the possessor ; and to leave 
 to others the task of describing the reputation and 
 rewards which indirectly follow from either." 
 
 Socrates agrees to this j but he pleads that, as he 
 has weak eyes, he must be allowed to read the larger 
 writing first that is, to look for Justice in the 
 State, which is, after all, only the individual "writ 
 
 " The State springs," he says, " from the mutual 
 needs of men, whose simplest outfit will require 
 food, shelter, and clothing, so that the least possible 
 city must consist of four or five men ; and as they 
 will have different natures, and one man can do one 
 thing better than many, there will be a natural divi- 
 sion of labour. Soon, however, fresh wants will arise. 
 Smiths, carpenters, and shepherds will be found neces- 
 sary, and thus a population will soon spring up. Then 
 comes the necessity of importing and exporting, and 
 this will produce merchants and sailors ; and by 
 degrees the exchange of productions will give rise to a 
 market and a currency. Life in such a city will be 
 simple and frugal. Men will build, and plant, and till 
 the soil. Their food will be coarse but wholesome ; 
 and on holidays, 
 
 " spreading these excellent cakes and loaves upon mats of 
 straw or on clean leaves, and themselves reclining on rude 
 beds of yew or myrtle boughs, they will make merry, 
 themselves and their children, drinking their Avine, wearing 
 garlands, and singing the praises of the gods, enjoying one
 
 TEE REPUBLIC. 121 
 
 another's society, and not begetting children beyond their 
 means, through a prudent fear of poverty or war." D. 
 
 Glaucon objects that if Socrates had been founding 
 " a city of pigs," he could hardly have given them less; 
 and suggests that he should add the refinements of 
 modern life. 
 
 I see, continues Socrates, that we shall have to 
 enlarge and decorate our State with the fine arts, and 
 all the " fair humanities " of life ; gold and ivory, 
 paintings and embroidery will be found there ; and a 
 host of ornamental trades will soon spring up danc- 
 ers, cooks, barbers, musicians, and confectioners. So 
 largely, in fact, will our population then increase, that 
 the land will not be able to support it. Hence fresh 
 territory must be acquired, and we must go to war to 
 get it. "We shall thus want a camp and a standing 
 army. 
 
 jtfow the art of war, more than any other, must be 
 a separate craft ; and the soldier's profession requires 
 not only a natural aptitude, but the study of a life- 
 time. How shall we choose those who are to be 
 our Guardians? Clearly, they should have all the 
 qualities of well-bred dogs quick to see, swift to 
 follow, and strong to fight brave and spirited, gentle 
 to friends, but fierce against their foes. Their natures 
 must be harmonised by philosophy ; and philosophy 
 involves education. 
 
 In our education we will follow the old routine : 
 first, Music that is, all training by words and sounds. 
 But we will have a strict censorship of the press, and
 
 122 PLATO. 
 
 banish from our State all those lying fables of our 
 mythology, as well as the terrific descriptions of the 
 lower world. We will lay down, instead, types to 
 which all tales told to children must conform. Our 
 music, too, shall be simple and spirited strains after 
 the " Dorian mood ; " and in sculpture and in art we 
 will encourage the same pure taste. Thus, with fair 
 and graceful forms everywhere around them, our youth 
 will drink into their souls, "like gales blowing from 
 healthy lands," all inspirations of truth and beauty. 
 
 In their bodily training, we will encourage a plain 
 and healthy diet, and there shall be no sauces or made 
 dishes. Thus we shall want few lawyers and few phy- 
 sicians : no sleepy judges, or doctors whose skill only 
 teaches them how to prolong worthless lives. Our 
 citizens will have no time to be invalids ; with us it 
 must be either " kill or cure," and the evil body must 
 be left to die, and the evil soul must be put to death. 
 
 Our Rulers must be chosen from our Guardians 
 the best and oldest of the number ; and they must be 
 tested as gold is tried in the furnace by pleasure 
 and fear ; and if they come forth unstained and un- 
 scathed from this trial, they shall be honoured both in 
 life and death. And in order that we may secure a 
 proper esprit de corps among them, we will invent and 
 impress upon them a " noble falsehood." " Ye are 
 children of earth (we will tell them), all brethren from 
 the same great mother, whom you are in duty bound 
 to protect. Your creator mingled gold in the nature 
 of your chiefs ; silver in that of the soldiers ; bronze 
 and iron went to form the artisans and labourers. It
 
 THE REPUBLIC. 123 
 
 is your business, Guardians, to keep intact this purity 
 of breed. No child of gold must remain among the 
 artisans ; no child of iron among the rulers : for the 
 State shall surely perish (so saith an oracle) when 
 ruled by brass or iron." And this story must be 
 handed down from father to son, as a sacred form of 
 faith in our State. 
 
 !Now our Guardians must have neither houses, nor 
 lands, nor dwellings, nor storehouses of their own ; 
 but only fixed pay, and a soldier's lodging, and a com- 
 mon mess-table. 
 
 Adeimantus objects that the life of the Guardians can 
 scarcely be happy on these terms with no money to 
 spend on themselves or their friends, kept on " board- 
 wages," and always on duty. 
 
 It is not our business (answers Socrates) to insure 
 the happiness of a class. But our Guardians will be 
 happy that is, if they do their duty, preserve the 
 unity of the State, maintain the golden mean between 
 wealth and poverty, and be ever on the watch against 
 the spirit of innovation dangerous even in music, 
 doubly so in education and leave the highest and 
 most sacred legislation to our ancestral god of Delphi. 
 
 But (he interrupts himself suddenly) we are forget- 
 ting Justice all this time. "We must light a candle and 
 search our city diligently, now that we have founded 
 one, till we find it. Clearly our State, if it be perfect, 
 will contain the four cardinal virtues ; and, if we can 
 first discover three out of the four, the unknown re- 
 mainder must be Justice. 
 
 Wisdom will be the science of protection, possessed
 
 124 PLATO. 
 
 by our Guardians ; and true Courage will be engrained 
 in the hearts of our soldiers by law and education ; 
 and Temperance will be that social harmony pervading 
 the State, and making all the citizens to be of one 
 mind, like strings attempered to one scale. But where 
 is Justice ? Here at our feet, after all, for it can be 
 nothing else than our original principle of division of 
 labour : for a man is just when he does his own busi- 
 ness, and does not meddle with his neighbour's. 
 
 And, returning to Man, we shall also find three parts 
 in his soul corresponding to the three classes in our 
 State. Reason, which should rule ; Desire, which 
 should obey ; and Passion,* which is properly the ally 
 of reason, and is restrained by it as a dog is restrained 
 by a shepherd. "Wo shall also find the same cardinal 
 virtues in the man as in the State. 
 
 The just man will live uprightly, and will reduce all 
 the elements of his soul to unison and harmony ; and 
 as to the original question " whether injustice, if un- 
 detected, pays in this life ? " we may answer that it is 
 a moral disease and that, as in the body, so in the 
 soul, if the constitution is ruined, life will not be worth 
 having. 
 
 Then Socrates lays down the details of the system 
 of Communism which he proposes to carry out in his 
 State. " Following further our comparison of sheep- 
 
 * There is no English equivalent for the Greek word thumos 
 which combines the several meanings which we express in 
 the words spirit, passion, honour, anger, all in one
 
 THE REPUBLIC. 125 
 
 dogs, men and women are to have the same employ- 
 ment (for there is no real difference between the sexes), 
 and will go out to war together. Marriages must be 
 strictly regulated ; and, as in the case of dogs or game- 
 fowl, we must keep up the purity of breed. The best 
 must marry the best, and the worst the worst ; and 
 the children of the former must be carefully reared, 
 while any offspring from the latter must be exposed. 
 There must be a public nursery, and no mother must 
 know her own child. Thus, where all have common sym- 
 pathies and interests, and there are no jealousies arising 
 from separate families or properties, the State will be 
 most thoroughly at unity with itself. 
 
 "These children of the State shall be present in 
 the battle-field but at safe distance to stimulate the 
 courage of our warriors, and accustom our young to the 
 scene of their future duties. And in war, the runaway 
 and coward shall be degraded : but the brave shall be 
 crowned and shall wed the fair ; he shall be honoured 
 at the sacrifice and banquet, and if he falls, we shall 
 proclaim that he sprang from the race of gold, and now 
 haunts the earth in the form of a holy and powerful 
 spirit. 
 
 "War between Greek and Greek is an unnatural 
 feud, and therefore we will not despoil the bodies of 
 the dead for there is a meanness in injuring a body 
 whence the soul has fled ; nor will we enslave a free 
 Greek, nor lay waste Greek land, or burn houses, as 
 heretofore." 
 
 Glaucon is willing to admit that this ideal State will 
 have a thousand advantages over any at present in
 
 126 PLATO. 
 
 existence, if only it could be realised. How is this to 
 be brought about 1 
 
 Our State might be realised, Socrates replies, on one 
 condition preposterous as it will seem to the world 
 " philosophers must be kings ; " or, failing this, the 
 princes of this world must be imbued with the true 
 philosophic spirit. 
 
 And what, then, is a philosopher ] He is a rare and 
 perfect being, who takes all knowledge and virtue as 
 his portion ; he is " the spectator of all time and all 
 existence," for he knows the absolute and real ideas of 
 beauty, truth, and justice far removed from the uncer- 
 tain twilight of opinion. He is free from the mean- 
 ness or injustice of petty natures ; lie is lordly in his 
 conceptions, gracious in manner, with a quick mem- 
 ory, and a well-adjusted mind. It is no argument, 
 continues Socrates, to say that among the so-called 
 philosophers of the present day you will find many 
 rogues and fools. It is so ; but the fault rests not with 
 philosophy itself, but with the ignorant multitude, and 
 with the pretentious teachers of our youth ; for rare 
 talents may be perverted by bad training, and strong 
 but ill-regulated minds will produce the greatest evils. 
 A young and noble character has indeed little chance 
 of withstanding the corruptions of the age. The ful- 
 some compliments of friends and advisers, the sense- 
 less clamour of the law-court or the Assembly, combine 
 to ruin him ; and, worse than all, the influence of the 
 Sophists, who act as keepers to this many-headed monster 
 of a people, understanding its habits and humouring 
 its caprices, calling what it fancies good and what it
 
 THE REPUBLIC. 127 
 
 dislikes eviL And thus Philosophy herself is left deso- 
 late, and a crowd of vulgar interlopers leave their 
 proper trades and rush in like escaped prisoners into a 
 sanctuary, and profane the Temple of Truth. There 
 can be hut one result to such a debasing alliance as 
 this a host of spurious sophisms. Few and rare indeed 
 are the cases where men of nobler stamp have remained 
 uncorrupted ; whom some favourable accident, such as 
 exile, or indifference, or ill health or it may be (So- 
 crates adds), as in my own peculiar case, an inward 
 sign from heaven has saved from such entanglements. 
 
 Clearly, then, the real philosopher, who is to stand 
 aloof from that wild beast's den which we call public 
 life, has no place or lot among us as things are now. 
 He is like some rare exotic, which, if transplanted to 
 a foreign soil, would soon fade and wither ; for he re- 
 quires a perfect State to fulfil the perfection of his own 
 nature a State such as may perhaps have once existed 
 in the countless ages that are passed, or even exists 
 now " in some foreign clime far beyond the limits of 
 our own horizon." * 
 
 And in this State, of which we are giving the glo- 
 rious outlines, philosophers must rule, in spite of their 
 personal reluctance ; for they owe us nurture - wages 
 for their training, and must for a time forego their 
 higher life of contemplation. They will be nobly 
 fitted for their office, for their intellectual training will 
 
 * Here, at the end of the Sixth and the beginning of the 
 Seventh Book in the original, comes a description of the higher 
 education which these philosophers must undergo, and of which 
 a sketch in given in chap. viL
 
 128 PLATO. 
 
 have taken them step by step through the higher 
 branches of knowledge Arithmetic, Geometry, and 
 Astronomy all studied with a view to deeper and ideal 
 truths. By a strict and repeated process of selection, 
 all except those of a resolute and noble nature will be 
 excluded from the number of these " saviours of the 
 State ; " again and again these will be tested and ex- 
 amined, and a select list made, till at last the studies 
 of the chosen few will culminate in Dialectic, the cop- 
 ing-stone of all the Sciences. Their souls will then 
 have mounted from gloom to daylight ; they will com- 
 prehend first principles, and they will be privileged to 
 know and define in its real nature the Idea of Good. 
 At the age of fifty they shall be tested for their final 
 work, and if they come out unscathed from the trial, 
 the remainder of their life shall be passed partly in 
 philosophy, partly in practical politics till death shall 
 remove them to the Islands of the Blest, and a grate- 
 ful city shall honour them with monuments and 
 sacrifices. 
 
 Such is our State, continues Socrates in the Eighth 
 Book, perfect, so long as its various parts shall act in 
 harmony ; but, like other mortal productions, it is fated 
 to change and decay at a certain period, determined by 
 a mystic number. So also there is a cycle which con- 
 trols all human births for good or evil ; and, in the 
 lapse of years, it must be that our Guardians will miss 
 the propitious time; a degenerate offspring will thus 
 come into being, Education will languish, and there 
 will be a gradual decline in the Constitution,
 
 THE REPUBLIC. 129 
 
 The first stage in this " decline and fall" will be a 
 Timocracy, marked by a spirit of ambition and love of 
 gain ; in which the art of war will preponderate, and 
 our Guardians will think lightly of philosophy and 
 much of political power. 
 
 Then comes an Oligarchy, where gold is all-power- 
 ful and virtue is depreciated ; and the State becomes 
 divided into two hostile classes one enormously rich, 
 the other miserably poor ; and in it paupers and crim- 
 inals multiply, and education deteriorates. 
 
 There is a change, says our theorist, in the character 
 of the individual citizen corresponding to each of these 
 changes in the form of government ; but it must be 
 confessed that the minute analysis of the causes of 
 this change, and the result of certain characteristics 
 in each parent, would strike a modern reader as some- 
 thing more than fanciful. 
 
 The intemperate desire of riches, and the licence and 
 extravagance thus encouraged, do their own work in 
 the State, until you find everywhere grasping misers 
 and ruined spendthrifts. Meanwhile the lower orders 
 grow turbulent and conscious of their power. Their 
 insubordination soon brings matters to a crisis : there 
 is a revolution, and a Democracy is the result. This 
 may be defined as " a pleasant and lawless and motley 
 constitution, giving equal rights to unequal persons ; " 
 and it is pervaded by a marvellous freedom in speech 
 and action, and a strange diversity of character. Each 
 man does what he liki s in his own eyes, with a mag- 
 nanimous disregard of the law : he obeys or disobeys 
 at his own pleasure ; and if some criminal be sentences 
 
 A. c. vol. xix. i
 
 130 PLATO. 
 
 to death or exile, you will probably meet him the next 
 Jay, come to life again, and parading the streets like a 
 hero. There is something splendid, concludes Socrates 
 comically, in the forbearance of such a commonwealth, 
 and in its entire superiority to all petty considerations. 
 
 Again, the democrat is like the democracy. Brought 
 up in a miserly and ignorant way by his father, the 
 oligarch, the young man is soon corrupted by bad com- 
 pany, and a swarm of passions and wild and presump- 
 tuous theories seize the citadel of his reason, whence 
 temperance and modesty are expelled. Even if not 
 thoroughly reprobate, he is at the mercy of each fleet- 
 ing caprice, and gives way to the humour of the hour, 
 now revelling with wine and music, now fasting on 
 bread and water now an idler, and now a student ; by 
 turns politician, general, or trader.* 
 
 In a thoroughgoing democracy we have liberty and 
 equality everywhere in fact, there is soon a uni- 
 versal anarchy. Respect for rank and age soon dies 
 out. Father and son, teacher and scholar, master and 
 servant, are all on the same dead level. The very 
 animals (says the speaker, with an amusing touch of 
 satire) become gorged with freedom, and will run at 
 you if you get in their way. 
 
 * Professor Jowett quotes Dryden's well-known description 
 of the Duke of Buckingham 
 
 " A man so various that he seemed to be 
 Not one but all mankind's epitome." 
 
 He thinks that Alcibiades is referred to ; but the lines would 
 apply equally well toCritias, Plato's uncle (Curtius, Hist. Greece, 
 Hi. 542).
 
 THE REPUBLIC. 131 
 
 But extremes in politics produce a reaction ; and the 
 result of excessive freedom is excessive slavery. From 
 a Democracy to a Tyranny is an easy stage. Some 
 demagogue, who has shown unusual talent in extort- 
 ing money from the richer class to feed those " sting- 
 ing and stingless drones" of whom we spoke, is 
 adopted by the people as their champion, and gradually 
 strengthens his influence. It is always the same story 
 he banishes, confiscates, murders, and then his own 
 life is threatened, and he obtains a body-guard. "Woe 
 to the rich man then, if he does not fly at once, for it 
 will be arrest and death if he lingers. 
 
 At first the Tyrant will be all smiles and promises ; 
 but, once firmly seated, he will change his tactics. He 
 will employ his citizens in incessant war to weaken 
 their strength, and rid the state of bold and powerful 
 spirits ; he will increase his guards, he will plunder 
 the rich and humble the strong, and thus free men will 
 pass under the yoke of slavery. 
 
 The man who answers to the Tyrant in private life 
 will have his soul under the dominion of monstrous 
 lusts and appetites, squandering and plundering, and 
 passing on from sin to sin. 
 
 Thus a Tyranny is the worst and most miserable 
 State of all. Not only are the citizens in it reduced 
 to slavery, and distracted by fear and grief, but the 
 Tyrant himself, with all his power and splendour, 
 never knows the blessings of peace and friendship. 
 Like some great slave-master in a desert, he lives 
 alone in a crowd : shunned and detested by those 
 about him, tortured by remorse, and haunted by a
 
 132 PLATO. 
 
 lifelong terror, he is himself the most pitiable slave 
 of all 
 
 The only pleasure that such a man ever knows is 
 mere sensual enjoyment in itself worthless and fleet- 
 ing. The attractions of gold or of glory are of a no- 
 bler stamp ; but the best and purest of all pleasures 
 that a man can feel, and the ineffable sweetness of 
 which the world can never realise, is that which the 
 philosopher alone finds in the study and contemplation 
 of existence. For he prunes close the hydra-headed 
 passions by which the many are enslaved, and sub- 
 jects the lion to the man, by making reason rule his 
 soul. Thus none can measure his happiness ; but it 
 cannot be possessed by any in perfection, save in our 
 own ideal state " which does not, indeed, at present 
 exist in this world, but has, perhaps, its pattern laid 
 up in heaven for him who is willing to see it, and, 
 seeing it, rules his life on earth accordingly." * 
 
 Such is the Platonic State, with its strange medley 
 of noble aspirations and impracticable details. How 
 far Plato himself believed it to be ideal, or how far, if he 
 had been Alexander's tutor, he would have tried to 
 carry it out in history, we have no means of telling. 
 But it is easy to understand his feeling, and the point 
 of view from which he wrote. He is weary of the pre- 
 tensions, the falsehood, and the low morality around 
 him (" it is dreadful to think," he says, " that half the 
 people we meet have perjured themselves in one of the 
 numerous law-courts ") and so he turns away with a 
 
 * Rep. ix. ad fin.
 
 TUE REPUBLIC. 133 
 
 sort of despair from the sad realities of Athenian life ; 
 and instead of writing a "bitter satire, as a Eoman might 
 have done, or waging war against the society he de- 
 spises in " latter-day pamphlets," he throws himself as 
 far as he can out of the present, with all its degrading 
 associations, and builds for himself (as we have seen) 
 a new State after a divine and perfect pattern in 
 a world a thousand leagues from his own. 
 
 Those " three waves " of the " Eepublic " (as Socrates 
 terms them) the community of families and that of 
 property, and the assumption that philosophers must 
 be kings which threaten to swamp the argument even 
 with such friendly criticism as Glaucon and Adeimantus 
 venture to offer, prove with less partial opponents insur- 
 mountable obstacles to the realisation of the Platonic 
 State. Aristotle heads the list of objectors, and disap- 
 proves both of the end and the means to be pursued. 
 So far from promoting the unity of the State, he argues 
 that Plato's system of Communism will create an end- 
 less division of interests and sympathies ; will tend to 
 destroy the security of life and property ; and, among 
 other evils, will do away with the virtues of charity 
 and liberality, by allowing no room for their exercise. 
 Modern critics generally touch upon the repression of 
 all individual energy, the cramping of all free thought 
 and action, and the necessary abolition of any sense of 
 mutual rights and obligations which are necessary parts 
 of Plato's system ; and De Quincey has denounced in 
 an eloquent passage the social immorality encouraged by 
 Plato's marriage regulations, and his " sensual bounty 
 on infanticide " " cutting adrift the little boat to go
 
 134 PLATO. 
 
 down the Niagara of violent death, in the very next 
 night after its launching on its unknown river of life." * 
 Plato's " Eepublic " is the first of a long series of ideal 
 States ;t and we find the original thought "Romanised " 
 by Cicero, " Christianised " by St Augustine in his 
 ' City of God,' and in more modern times reappearing 
 in Sir Thomas More's < Utopia,' and in Lord Bacon's 
 ' New Atlantis,' with its wonderful anticipations of 
 modern science. We have in our own day seen speci- 
 mens of the same class of literature in works like 
 'Erewhon' and 'The Coming Race.' 
 
 THE LAWS. 
 
 This Dialogue is the last and the longest that Plato 
 wrote, and bears traces of the hand of old age. The 
 fire and spirit of his earlier works seems gone, while 
 Plato himself is changed ; he is not only older, but 
 more conservative, more dogmatic, and we must also 
 say more intolerant and narrower-minded than was 
 his wont. Much had happened since he wrote the 
 " Republic " to disenchant him of visionary politics. 
 His mission to Syracuse had proved, as we have seen, 
 a miserable failure, and his grand schemes of reform 
 had sadly ended in the violent death of his friend 
 Dion. And so the tone of the " Laws " is grave, prosaic, 
 and even commonplace in its trivial details. The 
 high aspirations of the " Republic " have sobered down 
 into a tedious and minute legislation. The king- 
 
 * De Quincey, viii. 
 
 f An interesting account of these States may be found in Sir 
 G. C. Lewis's Methods of Seasoning in Politics, II. ch. xxii.
 
 THE LAWS. 135 
 
 philosophers, with their golden pedigree and elaborate 
 training, are here superseded by a council of elderly 
 citizens elected by vote. The celestial world of " Ideas " 
 and the sublime heights of Dialectic have passed from 
 viewj the study of science is curtailed; and it is 
 even hinted that a young man may possibly have 
 too much of education. But Plato seems to have 
 grown even more impressed than before with the be- 
 lief that the State should mould the characters and 
 keep the consciences of its citizens : he is imbued, 
 says Mr Grote, "with the persecuting spirit of mediae- 
 val Catholicism;" there is a strict "Act of Uniformity," 
 and all dissenters from it are branded as criminals ; 
 while religion, poetry, music, and education generally 
 are placed under State surveillance. 
 
 The first four books of the " Laws " form a kind 
 of desultory preface to the detailed legislation which 
 occupies the remaining eight The scene of the Dia- 
 logue is laid in the island of Crete, and the speakers 
 are three old men an Athenian, a Spartan, and a 
 Cretan who meet on the road to the temple of 
 Jupiter at Gnossus, and discuss, as they walk, the form 
 of government in their respective States. Sparta and 
 Crete were then standing instances of the perfection to 
 which military training might be brought, and a war- 
 like ideal realised. Both cities resembled permanent 
 camps, with severe discipline, continual drill, a public 
 mess, and barrack life taking the place of family 
 life and affections. But the Athenian, though not 
 denying the superiority of Spartan troops, finds much 
 to criticise in the principle of the Spartan system. It
 
 136 PLATO. 
 
 has only developed courage, which is, after all, but a 
 fourth-rate virtue ; and it has proceeded on the mis- 
 taken notion that man's natural state is war. Other 
 virtues such as wisdom and temperance are thus 
 made of little account ; and Sparta has banished 
 pleasure, which is really as effectual a test of self- 
 control as pain. Wine, too, is forbidden there 
 though it is a most useful medium for discovering a 
 man's strength or weakness ; indeed, at the festival of 
 Bacchus there ought, the Athenian thinks, to be a 
 drinking tournament with a sober president and all 
 honour should be paid to the youth who could drink 
 hardest and longest. For it is clear that the man with 
 the strongest head at the banquet will be the coolest 
 and most imperturbable on the battle-field. Again, 
 wine softens and humanises the character; it cures 
 the sourness of old age, and under its influence wo 
 renew our youth and forget our sorrows. And if you 
 want to try a friend's honour and integrity in vino 
 veritas ; ply him with wine, and you will read all the 
 vsecrets of his heart. But with all this, there should be 
 a stringent " Licensing Act." The times and seasons 
 when wine may be drunk should be strictly defined by 
 law ; and no soldier on active service, no slave, no 
 judge or magistrate during his year of office, no pilot 
 on duty, should be allowed to drink wine at all ; and, 
 if these precautions are carried out, a city will not 
 need many vineyards. 
 
 The use of wine as a means of training opens the 
 general question of Education, which is examined again 
 at greater length in the Seventh Book of the treatise ;
 
 THE LAWS. 137 
 
 and then Plato passes on to the origin of society. - In 
 the " Republic," the State is made to spring from the 
 mutual needs of men ; but here it is developed from 
 the House in fact, we find in this treatise the 
 "patriarchal" theory. 
 
 In the illimitable past, says Plato, there must have 
 been thousands and thousands of cities which rose and 
 nourished for a time, and then were swept away ; for 
 at certain fixed periods a deluge comes, which covers 
 the whole earth and destroys all existing civilisation, 
 leaving only a vast expanse of desert, and a few sur- 
 vivors on the mountain-tops. This remnant clings 
 together with the instinct of self-preservation. Each 
 little family, under the strict rule of the " house 
 father," lives in a primitive and simple manner on the 
 produce of its flocks and herds, like the Homeric 
 Cyclops : 
 
 " Unsown, untended, corn and wine and oil 
 Spring to their hand ; but they no councils know, 
 Nor justice, but for ever lawless go. 
 Housed in the hills, they neither buy nor sell, 
 No kindly offices demand or show ; 
 Each in the hollow cave where he doth dwell 
 Gives law to wife and children, as he thinketh well."* 
 
 Gradually several of these isolated units coalesced, 
 and thus the family developed into the tribe, and 
 several tribes uniting made the State. Then came a 
 government, and a code of laws. 
 
 * Homer, Oil. ix., Worslcy's transl. There is an interest- 
 ing account of this patriarchal age in Maine's Ancient Law, 
 chap. v.
 
 138 PLATO. 
 
 Plato next passes in review the ancient legends of 
 his own country the Trojan War, the Return of the 
 Heraclidse, the Dorian settlement in the Peloponnese ; 
 and he traces in the history of those times seven 
 distinct and recognised titles to obedience namely, 
 the authority of parents over children, of nobles over 
 inferiors, of elder over younger, of master over slave, 
 the natural principle that the strong should rule the 
 weak, and the no less natural principle that the wise 
 should have dominion over the fool ; and lastly, there 
 is the power conferred by the casting of the lot in 
 which Plato recognises, as distinctly as the Hebrew 
 legislator, the hand of Heaven. 
 
 A great lesson, he continues, may be learned from 
 these ancient States for they all perished from inter- 
 nal discords that limited power among the rulers, and 
 harmony and obedience to the laws among the subjects, 
 are the safeguards of every community. Thus Provi- 
 dence wisely tempered the kingly power in Sparta 
 with Ephors and a Senate, and so produced a healthy 
 balance in the constitution; while Persia fell from her 
 high place among the nations from the excess of 
 despotic power, and the want of goodwill between 
 the despot and his people. The great Cyrus and 
 Darius both received a warrior's training, and won 
 their own way to the throne ; while Cambyses and 
 Xerxes, born in the purple and bred in the harem, 
 proved weak and degenerate princes, and their ruin 
 was the result of their evil bringing up. Athens, again, 
 went wrong in the other extreme ; for with us, says the 
 Athenian, it is always excess of freedom that does the
 
 THE LA WS. 139 
 
 mischief. Of old, law was supreme in every part of the 
 State especially in music, with its four primitive and 
 simple divisions. Beverence, and the fear " which the 
 coward never feels," prevailed j all classes were united, 
 and fought for their common hearths and sepulchres ; 
 and the grand result was Marathon and Salamis. 
 But gradually a change has come' over our national 
 character. There has been a growing lawlessness, be- 
 ginning in the Music, and spreading thence through- 
 out the community. We no longer any of us listen in 
 respectful silence to the judgment of superior interests, 
 but are one and all become accomplished critics, and 
 every one knows everything. Awe and reverence have 
 gone for ever ; and there is a shameless disregard for 
 authority, whether of parents, or elders, or rulers. 
 Even the majesty of the gods is slighted, and the 
 oaths sworn by them are made of no account. 
 
 Here, with the Third Book, ends " the prelude " to 
 the " Laws." By a happy coincidence (says the Cretan 
 in the Dialogue), his countrymen are just going to 
 found a colony, and he is one of the ten commis- 
 sioners appointed to give laws to the colonists. "Will 
 the Athenian give him some hints on the subject 1 
 
 It is clear (replies the Athenian) that all legislation 
 should aim at carrying out three principles namely, 
 freedom, unity, and wisdom ; and that State will be 
 best where the law is best administered by the rulers 
 who are its servants, and where the happiness of the 
 community is the solo object of their legislation.
 
 HO PLATO 
 
 " The difficulty is to find the divine love of temperate 
 and just institutions existing in any powerful forms of 
 government, whether in a monarchy or oligarchy of wealth 
 or of birth. You might as well hope to reproduce the 
 character of Nestor, who is said to have excelled all men 
 in the power of speech, and yet more in his temperance. 
 This, however, according to the tradition, was in the times 
 of Troy : in our own days there is nothing of the sort. 
 But if such an one either has or ever shall come into being, 
 or is now among us, blessed is he, and blessed are they 
 who hear the wise words that flow from his lips. And 
 this may be said of power in general : when the supreme 
 power in man coincides with the greatest wisdom and 
 temperance, then the best laws are by nature framed, and 
 the best constitution ; but in no other way will they ever 
 come into being." J. 
 
 If you could find a despot, young, noble, and en- 
 thusiastic fortunate, moreover, in being advised by 
 some great legislator you will have your city founded 
 at once ; for the change from a despotism to a perfect 
 government is the easiest of all.* 
 
 In our legislation we will head each enactment with 
 a prelude or preamble, to show the nature of the case 
 and the spirit of the law, appealing thus to the reason 
 of our citizens, that they be rather persuaded than forced 
 to obey ; more especially as there are many cases which 
 the law can never reach, and where we can only declare 
 the solemn utterances of Heaven, speaking through tho 
 law to all who are willing to hear and understand. 
 
 * Plato's opinion of the " Tyrant" is greatly modified, since 
 he declared in the "Republic" that "tyranny" was 729 degrees 
 removed from perfection ; but here he is probably thinking of 
 the younger Dionysius (see p. 8).
 
 THE LAWS. 141 
 
 Our city, then, shall be built nine miles from the 
 sea, in a country which has more hill than plain. 
 There will be little timber for shipbuilding ; but this 
 is of no importance, as we shall not aim at naval 
 power, nor will war be our normal state. The colon- 
 ists should, if possible, be all of the same country 
 like a swarm of bees as they will be then more 'united; 
 though perhaps a mixed multitude would be more 
 tractable. 
 
 The number of citizens shall be originally fixed, and 
 as far as possible kept, at 5040,* and to each citizen 
 shall be awarded land sufficient to maintain his family 
 (for community of property cannot be carried out) ; 
 but son shall succeed father, and none shall sell or 
 divide his lot, on pain of being cursed by the priests 
 as an offender against heaven and the law. There 
 shall be a State currency ; but no usury or accumula- 
 tion of private fortune shall be allowed, so that ex- 
 tremes of wealth and poverty may be equally avoided. 
 
 The State is to be governed in somewhat complicated 
 fashion. There are to be thirty-seven guardians of the 
 laws, and a council of 360 elected from the whole body 
 of citizens. Each department of public business is to 
 have its own officers. There are to be " country war- 
 dens," who would seem to combine the duties of modern 
 county court judges and rural police. For municipal 
 duties there are wardens of the city and market, all 
 
 * Plato gives as his reason for fixing on this number, that it 
 is easily divisible. He remarks also that it is not too large to 
 admit of their all knowing one another, though that would 
 involve a somewhat large circle of acquaintance.
 
 142 PLATO. 
 
 with magisterial powers. There are to be law-courts 
 and judges though arbitration is recommended where 
 it is possible and there is a high court of appeal 
 
 Marriages are to be strictly regulated, since their ob- 
 ject is to produce a noble and healthy offspring. Slaves 
 should be treated with more perfect justice than we 
 show to equals, and all levity and cruelty towards 
 them should be avoided. 
 
 Then follow some desultory remarks on education, 
 which should (Plato thinks) be compulsory since chil- 
 dren belong more to the State than to their parents 
 and should be directed by a competent minister of pub- 
 lic instruction. Infants should be reared with great 
 care soothed with song, "for they roar continually 
 the first three years of their life " and carried about in 
 their nurses' arms, " as you see our young nobles carry 
 their fighting-cocks." At the age of six, boys are to 
 be separated from girls, and are to learn riding and 
 the use of weapons. Their amusements are to be 
 carefully watched, as any change in them may breed 
 revolution in the State. They are to learn dancing 
 to give them stately and graceful movement, and 
 wrestling to give them quickness and agility, and 
 music to humanise their souls. But both music and 
 song are to be strictly regulated; there is to be a 
 censorship of the press, and all objectionable poetry 
 is to be expunged. (Plato hints that the " homilies " 
 with which his laws are prefaced would be admirable 
 exercises to be committed to memory.) Till the age 
 of thirteen they are to learn their grammar and 
 letters; afterwards the use of the lyre, and grave and
 
 THE LA WS. , 143 
 
 simple melodies ; and their education is to conclude 
 with the rudiments of science, which should, if pos- 
 sible, be taught in an interesting manner. 
 
 There must be a religious festival (continues the 
 Athenian) on every day in the year, and a monthly 
 meeting of all the citizens to practise warlike exer- 
 cises, when there should be public races for the youths 
 and maidens. 
 
 In the Ninth Book, we have the somewhat weari- 
 some details of a criminal code, in which Plato justi- 
 fies the title given to him by Numenius of "the 
 Closes who wrote in Attic Greek." Certainly some 
 of the regulations are much in the spirit of the writer 
 of Leviticus such as, that no man shall remove his 
 neighbour's landmark, or cut off his supply of water ; 
 that the traveller may pluck the grapes at the time of 
 vintage; and we have also, as in the law of Moses, 
 the " avenger of blood " and purification by the priest. 
 
 Plato here, as elsewhere, attributes crime in a great 
 measure to ignorance a sort of moral blindness. "We 
 should (he says), if possible, heal the distemper of the 
 criminal soul, or, if he be incurable, he must be put 
 to death. There are certain unpardonable offenders 
 the profaner of temples, the would-be tyrant, the 
 traitor or conspirator, and the wilful shedder of inno- 
 cent blood, these must all suffer the extreme penalty. 
 He distinguishes between the various kinds of homi- 
 cide, in some cases a fine, in others exile, is sufficient 
 punishment ; but for the parricide he reserves a more 
 awful doom he shall be slain by the judges, and his 
 body exposed where three ways meet, and then cast
 
 144 PLATO. 
 
 beyond the borders ; while the criminal " who has 
 taken the life that ought to be dearer to him than all 
 others his own" shall be buried alone in a deso- 
 late place, without tomb or monument to show his 
 grave. 
 
 The deep-seated aversion and contempt with which 
 every Greek regarded trade and traders is shown in 
 Plato's regulations as to commerce and the market. 
 Among his 5040 citizens there was not to be found a 
 single retail trader. Such a degrading occupation was 
 to be left entirely to the resident foreigners, if any 
 chose to engage in it. If some great personage (" the 
 very idea is absurd," he says) were to open a shop, and 
 thus set a precedent, things might be different. As 
 it is, trade carries with it the stamp of dishonour. 
 And then follow other restrictions, the necessity for 
 which serves to show us that Greek shopkeepers prac- 
 tised much the same imposition on their customers 
 as our own. There was to be no adulteration, no 
 tricks of sale, and all contracts were to be rigorously 
 adhered to. 
 
 The last two books are taken up with a number of 
 miscellaneous regulations respecting civil rights and 
 duties. The law is to take the power of will-making 
 into its own hands, and regulate the succession of 
 property "without listening to the outcry of dying 
 persons." Orphans "the most sacred of all deposits" 
 are to be protected by the State. A husband and 
 wife with " incompatible tempers ; ' should be divorced. 
 Witchcraft is to be punished with death. No beggar 
 is to be allowed in the land. No man under forty
 
 THE LAWS. 145 
 
 years of age may travel abroad. Bodies are to be 
 exposed for three days before burial, to see if they are 
 really dead. Magistrates shall give a yearly account 
 of their office before certain public " Examiners," who 
 must be carefully selected, and, if found worthy, shall 
 have special honours paid to them during life, and at 
 their death a solemn public burial, not with sorrow 
 or lamentation; but the corpse shall be clad in 
 robes of white, and choruses of youths and men shall 
 chant their praises, and yearly contests iu music and 
 gymnastics be celebrated at their tomb. 
 
 Lastly, there is to be a supreme council of twenty 
 members ten of the oldest citizens, and ten younger 
 men afterwards added to their number who shall 
 hold their meetings before daybreak. This council, 
 like a " central Conservative organ," * is to be the 
 anchor of the constitution carrying out in every 
 detail the original intention of the founder, making 
 his laws irreversible as the threads of fate, and secur- 
 ing that uniformity of faith among the citizens, and 
 that belief in the unity of Virtue, which can be the 
 only safeguard of the " City of the Magnetes " the 
 new colony which they are about to found. 
 
 * Grote, iii. 447. 
 
 A. c. vol. xix.
 
 CHAPTEE VI. 
 
 THE MYTHS OF PLATO. 
 
 " The light that never was on sea or land, 
 The consecration, and the poet's dream." 
 
 Wordsworth. 
 
 " As Being is to Becoming," says Plato, " so Truth 
 is to Faith." Where a man cannot prove, he must be 
 content to believe; and the myths which the philos- 
 opher introduces here and there are guesses after this 
 Truth which he believes and feels, but cannot pre- 
 cisely define. He is conscious that there are more 
 things in heaven and earth than are " dreamed of in 
 his philosophy," and that there are some unseen reali- 
 ties transcending all mortal experience ; and so he 
 builds up his doctrine of ideas, embodies them in cir- 
 cumstances, gives them " a local habitation and a 
 name," and describes in detail the mysteries of the 
 unknown future and the unrecorded past. These 
 descriptions are not intended, he says, to be exactly 
 true. " No man of sense ought to affirm that." All 
 that he claims for them is verisimilitude. " We may 
 venture to think without impropriety that something 
 of the kind is true." Nor, again, is it desirable that
 
 THE CREATION OF MAX. 147 
 
 these myths should be strictly interpreted ; so to in- 
 terpret them would, he thinks, " be the task and not 
 a very enviable one of some person who had plenty 
 of time on his hands."* 
 
 We have no means of telling how far these Myths 
 are the creation of Plato's own prolific fancy, or how 
 far they are compiled from the ancient Mysteries of 
 his own country, from Pythagoraean tradition, or from 
 oriental legends. But whatever their source may be, 
 his genius has given them a character and beauty of 
 their own ; nowhere is his style so grand and impres- 
 sive as in these fictions, on which he lavishes, as on 
 some " rich strand," all the treasures of his mind. 
 
 THE CllEATION OF MAN. 
 
 (From the "Timseus.") 
 
 The world we live in, says the astronomer Timseus, 
 being visible, tangible, and perishable unlike the 
 world of eternal Ideas must have been created, and if 
 created, must have been the work of some great First 
 Cause or Architect, who fashioned it after an eternal 
 pattern ; " for the work is the fairest of creations, and 
 he is the best of causes." Of this indeed we can have 
 no certain knowledge, but only belief or conjecture, 
 since after all we are but mortal men. 
 
 The Creator, being goodness himself, wished that 
 his work should also be good like him ; and thus he 
 brought order out of Chaos, and " put intelligence in 
 soul and soul in body, and framed the universe to be 
 
 * Phsedras, 229.
 
 148 PLATO. 
 
 the best and fairest work in nature. And therefore, 
 using the language of probability, we may say that the 
 world became a living soul, and truly rational, through 
 the providence of God." It was created of four entire 
 elements, blended together in geometrical proportion ; 
 and its form was a perfect and solid sphere, smooth 
 and complete, and moving in a circle. In the centre 
 was the soul (also compounded according to a scale of 
 harmony), and circulating all impressions from the 
 ideal essence through every part of this vast and 
 visible animal, which included in itself all visible 
 creation. 
 
 " When the Father and Creator saw the image that he 
 had made of the eternal gods moving and living, he was 
 delighted, and in his joy determined to make his work still 
 more like the pattern ; and as the pattern was an eternal 
 creature, he sought to make the universe the same as far as 
 it might be. Now the nature of the intelligible being is 
 eternal, and to bestow eternity on the creature was wholly 
 impossible. But he resolved to make a moving image of 
 eternity, and as he set in order the heaven, he made this 
 eternal image having a motion according to number, while 
 eternity rested in unity; and this is what we call time. 
 For there were no days and nights, and months and years, 
 before the heaven was created, but when he created the 
 heaven he created them also. All these are the parts of 
 time, and the past and future are created species of time, 
 which we unconsciously but wrongly transfer to the eternal 
 essence : for we say indeed that he was, he is, he will be ; 
 but the truth is that ' he is' alone truly expresses him, and 
 that 'was' and 'will be' are only to be spoken in the gen- 
 eration in time, for they are motions ; but that which is 
 immovably the same cannot become older or younger by
 
 THE CREATION OF MAN. 149 
 
 time, nor ever did or has become, or hereafter will be, 
 older, nor is subject at all to any of those states of genera- 
 tion which attach to the movements of sensible things. 
 These are the forms of time when imitating eternity and 
 moving in a circle measured by number." J. 
 
 Time was u nus created with the heavens, in order that 
 if one was destroyed the other might likewise perish. 
 Then the Deity created the moon and stars to move 
 in their appointed orbits some fixed, some wandering, 
 but all were bodies with living souls imitating the 
 eternal nature ; and he " lighted a fire which we now 
 call the sun," that men might have light, and learn 
 from the regular succession of day and night the use 
 of numbers. " And the month was created when the 
 moon had completed her orbit and overtaken the sun, 
 and the year when the sun had completed his own 
 orbit." Of all these stars, which are really gods, 
 the earth, our nurse, was the first and oldest, and was 
 made to revolve on her own axis in the centre of the 
 spheres.* 
 
 Then the Creator commanded the other gods, of 
 whose generation we know nothing except from tradi- 
 tion, to finish his good work by weaving together 
 mortal and immortal elements, and forming living 
 creatures. To these he distributed souls equal in num- 
 ber to the stars, assigning to each star a soul ; and he 
 showed to each the nature of the universe, and his own 
 decrees of destiny : declaring that whosoever lived a 
 
 * The various revolutions and eclipses of the heavenly bodies, 
 according to this Platonic myth, are much too perplexing to 
 be dealt with here.
 
 150 PLA TO. 
 
 righteous life upon earth " should return again to the 
 habitation of his star, and there have a blessed exist- 
 ence ; " but if he lived unrighteously, he should de- 
 scend lower and lower in the scale of creation from a 
 man to a woman, and from a woman to some animal, 
 imtil at last the spirit should triumph over the flesh, 
 and his reason, which had never become extinct, should 
 restore him to his first and higher self. 
 
 And in the head of man the gods put an immortal 
 soul, to be master of the body ; and they gave to the 
 body itself its proper limbs and powers of movement 
 and sensation, and in the eyes they placed a pure and 
 gentle fire, which burns not, but streams forth and 
 mingles with the light of day. And they gave man 
 sight, that he might discern the unerring and intelli- 
 gent motion of the stars, and order his own mind with 
 like exactness ; and they gave him voice and hearing, 
 that music might harmonise his soul. 
 
 Besides the invisible and imperishable forms of the 
 elements, and the visible images of these Forms 
 namely, the elements themselves there is a third 
 kind of being, a formless space or chaos, where these 
 images are stored up, and which is the source and 
 nurse of all generation. From this chaos the great 
 Architect brought forth the four elements, and shook 
 them together " in the vessel of space," and sifted and 
 divided them " as grain is sifted by the winnowing 
 fan," and fashioned them according to certain com- 
 binations of form and number. Thus the earth was 
 formed like a cube, the most perfect and solid of all 
 figures ; while fire took the shape of a pyramid, and
 
 THE CREATION OF MAN. 151 
 
 so with air and water. All these elements were 
 formed according to continuous geometrical propor- 
 tion. 
 
 [Then follows a curious but fanciful description of 
 the various phenomena of light, sound, and colour, 
 which, however, the reader may be spared.] 
 
 The gods (continues Timseus) gave to man a triple 
 soul : firstly, an immortal soul, dwelling in the head, 
 with the heart acting as its guard-house, and carrying 
 out its commands by means of a fiery network of 
 veins through every part of the body : secondly, a 
 mortal soul, which is again divided the nobler part 
 dwelling in the breast, and, though itself moved by fear 
 and anger, taking the side of reason against desire ; 
 while the lower part, made up of unruly passions and 
 carnal appetites, is chained like a wild beast in the 
 belly, far from the council-chamber of reason, which 
 it would otherwise disturb. Now the gods knew that 
 this lowest soul would never listen to reason, and they 
 therefore ruled it by means of images reflected on the 
 smooth and brilliant surface of the liver the seat of 
 prophetic inspiration sometimes fair and sweet, some- 
 times dark and discoloured by passion. 
 
 The marrow, which binds together soul and body, is 
 the seed-plot of mortal life, and, like the world, was 
 originally formed from triangles. These are sharpest 
 and freshest in our childhood, but they grow blunted 
 and gradually wear out in old age, till at last their 
 fastenings are loosened, and " they unfix also the 
 bonds of the soul, and she being released in the order 
 of nature joyfully flies away."
 
 152 PLA TO. 
 
 Diseases spring from the disturbance of the original 
 elements of which our bodies are composed ; and the 
 soul also suffers from two mental distempers madness 
 and ignorance. As far as possible, nature should be 
 left to herself; but since there is a strong sympathy 
 between soul and body, the conditions of health in 
 both must be observed ; the limbs should be trained 
 by exercise, and the mind should be educated by 
 music and philosophy. For no man can prolong his 
 life beyond a certain time ; and medicines ignorantly 
 administered multiply diseases and destroy the con- 
 stitution. 
 
 Man should exercise in due proportion the three souls 
 implanted in him, more especially that highest and 
 divinest element in our heads, which makes us look 
 upward like plants, and draws our thoughts from earth 
 to heaven. If he seeks wisdom and truth, then he 
 " must of necessity, so far as human nature is capable 
 of attaining immortality, become all immortal, as he is 
 ever serving the divine power, and having the genius 
 that dwells in him in the most perfect order, his hap- 
 piness will be complete." But if he gratifies ambition 
 and desire, he will degenerate into a merely mortal 
 being, and after this life will lose his high place in 
 creation, first passing into the form of a woman, and 
 then into the still lower form of an animal ; for ani- 
 mals are only deteriorated humanity the birds being 
 "innocent and light-minded men," who thought in 
 their simplicity that sight alone was needed to know 
 the truths of celestial regions; and the quadrupeds 
 and wild animals being all more or less brutal and
 
 THE ISLAND OF ATLANTIS. 153 
 
 stolid, till at last the lowest stage of all is reached in 
 the fishes. 
 
 "These were made out of the most entirely ignorant and 
 senseless beings, whom the transformers did not think any 
 longer worthy of pure respiration, because they possessed 
 a soul which was made impure by all sorts of transgression ; 
 and instead of allowing them to respire the subtle and pure 
 element of air, they thrust them into the water, and gave 
 them a deep and muddy medium of respiration ; and 
 hence arose the race of fishes and oysters, and other aqua- 
 tic animals, which have received the most remote habita- 
 tions as a punishment of their extreme ignorance. These 
 are the laws by which animals pass into one another, both 
 now and ever changing as they lose or gain wisdom and 
 folly." J. 
 
 Thus we may call the world " a visible animal com- 
 prehending the visible itself a visible and sensible 
 God, the image of Him who is intelligible, the greatest, 
 best, fairest, and one most perfect Universe." 
 
 THE ISLAND OF ATLANTIS.* 
 
 The day after the long discussion of the " Eepublie," 
 Socrates meets three of his friends who had been 
 present Hermocrates, a rising statesman, Timseus, 
 a distinguished astronomer of Locris (who gives his 
 name to the Dialogue just noticed), and Critias, a 
 young Athenian whose accomplishments made him 
 seem " all mankind's epitome " being politician, 
 
 * Only two fragments of this "Epic" have come down to 
 ns the prologue anil the catastrophe, found in two Dialogues 
 (the " Tiniaeus" and the " Critias"), the latter of which is broken 
 off abrnptly.
 
 154 PLATO. 
 
 sophist, poet, musician, all in one. At their request 
 Socrates sums up his theories of the previous day, 
 but professes himself to be hardly satisfied with his 
 ideal sketch. Like one who has seen animals in a 
 painting or at rest, and who would like to see them 
 in active movement, so, he tells them, he would like to 
 see how his imaginary State would really act in some 
 great crisis, and how his citizens would bear them- 
 selves when they went forth to war ; and he appeals 
 to his friends to help him to exhibit his republic play- 
 ing a noble part in history. And then Critias tells 
 " an old-world story," handed down in his family from 
 his great-grandfather Dropidas, who had heard it from 
 Solon, and Solon had himself heard it in this wise. 
 
 Near the mouths of the Nile in Egypt stands the 
 ancient city called Sais, where Amasis the king was 
 born, founded by a goddess whom the Egyptians 
 call Keith and the Greeks Athene. Thither Solon 
 came in his travels, and was received with great 
 honour ; and he asked many questions of the priests 
 about the times of old, and told them many ancient 
 legends, as he thought them, of his own land. But 
 one of the priests, being himself of a great age, said : 
 " Solon, you Greeks are always children, and there 
 is not an old man among you all. You have no tradi- 
 tions that are really grey with time, and your stories 
 of Deucalion and Phaeton are only the partial history 
 of one out of many destructions by flood and fire which 
 have come at certain periods upon mankind, sweeping 
 away states, and with them letters and all knowledge. 
 The Nile has preserved our land from such calami-
 
 THE ISLAND OF ATLANTIS. 155 
 
 ties ; and therefore we have faithful records of past 
 ages preserved in our temples, while you are ever 
 beginning your history afresh, and know nothing of 
 what formerly came to pass in your own land or in any 
 other ; all your so-called genealogies are but children's 
 tales. You do not even know that your own city, 9000 
 years ago, before the great Deluge, was foremost of all 
 in war and peace, and is said to have done the greatest 
 deeds, and to have possessed the fairest constitution of 
 any city under heaven. And the same great goddess 
 who founded our city founded yours also ; for she and 
 Jier brother Hephaestus obtained the land of Athens as 
 their lot, and they planted there a race of brave men, 
 and gave them a fair and fertile soil, and rich pastures, 
 and a healthy climate. And these ancient Athenians 
 (so Critias tells Socrates) realised in actual life the strict 
 division of classes laid down in your ' Republic ; ' and 
 their guardian soldiers both men and women were 
 trained and went out to battle together like yours ; and 
 none among them had house or family or gold that he 
 could call his own, but they had all things in common. 
 And the number of these guardians neither increased 
 nor decreased, but was always twenty thousand. And 
 their most famous victory was over the vast army sent 
 forth from the island of Atlantis. 
 
 " Now, this island was of a great size larger than all 
 Asia and Libya together and was situated over against 
 the straits now called the Pillars of Hercules. It was 
 founded by the god Neptune, who divided the land 
 among the ten sons that were born to him by a mortal 
 woman. And the eldest, who was called Atlas, he
 
 156 PLATO. 
 
 made king of all the island ; and lie made his brethren 
 princes under him, and gave them rule over many men 
 and wide provinces. And the descendants of Atlas 
 multiplied, and he had wealth and power such as no 
 other king ever had before or since. And the soil 
 and climate of this island were so good, that the fruits 
 of the earth ripened twice a-year; and there was 
 abundance of both minerals and metals, and many 
 elephants and other tame and wild animals of various 
 kinds. And the city on the mountain in the centre 
 of the island was a wondrous sight to behold ; for 
 bridges Avere built across the 'zones of sea' which 
 Neptune had made, and a canal was dug from the city 
 to the sea, and a fortress was built having stone walls 
 plated with tin and brass and the red 'mountain 
 bronze,' and in the midst was the king's palace and 
 the vast temple of Neptune, covered with silver, and 
 having pinnacles of gold and a roof of ivory. And 
 within was a golden statue of the god himself riding 
 in a chariot drawn by six winged horses so huge 
 that he touched the roof; and around were a hundred 
 Nereids riding upon dolphins, and outside the temple 
 were golden statues of the ten kings and their wives. 
 Besides all these things there were many baths and 
 fountains, and public gardens and exercise grounds, 
 and dockyards and harbours full of merchant vessels 
 and ships of war. 
 
 " And the plain around the city was sheltered by; 
 mountains, and guarded by a vast ditch 100 feet deep, 
 and 600 feet broad, and more than 3000 miles long. 
 And the ten kings who ruled the island held council
 
 THE CHARIOT OF THE SOUL. ' 157 
 
 and offered sacrifice together, and were sworn to assist 
 one another in peace and war. And they had 10,000 
 chariots and a fleet of 1200 ships. 
 
 "And for many generations the people of the island 
 were obedient to the laws, and their kings ruled them 
 wisely and uprightly, setting no value on their riches, 
 nor caring for aught save for virtue only. But as 
 time went on, the divine part of their souls grew faint, 
 and they waxed insolent, and thus in the very pleni- 
 tude of their power they provoked the jealousy of the 
 gods, who determined to destroy them. 
 
 " It was then, or soon after, that the armies of 
 Atlantis Avere sent to conquer Athens, as they had 
 already conquered Libya and Tyrrhenia. But of the 
 war which followed we know nothing, save that 
 Athens stood alone in the struggle, and won a great 
 battle over these barbarians, and that in the space of 
 one day and night the victors and the vanquished dis- 
 appeared together for there was an earthquake and a 
 deluge, and the earth opened and swallowed up all the 
 warriors of Athens, while the great island of Atlantis 
 sank beneath the sea. And to this day the sea which 
 covers this island is shallow and impassable, and there 
 is nothing in the Atlantic Ocean save mud and sand- 
 banks." 
 
 THE CHARIOT OF THE SOUL. 
 
 (From the "Phsedrus.") 
 
 Our soul, which has a triple nature, is as a chariot- 
 eer riding in a chariot drawn by two winged steeds 
 one of a mortal and the other of an immortal nature. 
 Their wings are the divine element, which, if it
 
 158 PLATO. 
 
 be perfect and fully nourished on the pastures of truth 
 and beauty, lifts the soul heavenwards to the dwelling 
 of the gods. There, on a certain day, gods and demi- 
 gods ascend the heaven of heavens Zeus leading 
 the 'way in a winged chariot to hold high festival, 
 and all who can may follow. The gods and the im- 
 mortal souls, whose steeds have full-grown wings, arc 
 carried by a revolution of the spheres into a celestial 
 world beyond, where all space is filled by a sea of 
 intangible essence which the mind " lord of the soul " 
 alone can contemplate : and here are the absolute 
 ideas of Truth and Beauty and Justice. And in these 
 divine pastures of pure knowledge the soul feeds during 
 the time that the spheres revolve, and rests in perfect 
 happiness, and then returns to the heavens whence it 
 came, where the steeds feast in their stalls on nectar 
 and ambrosia. 
 
 But only to a few souls out of many is it granted to 
 see these celestial visions. The rest are carried into 
 the gulfs of space by the plunging of the unruly 
 horses, or lamed by unskilful driving ; and often the 
 wings droop or are broken, and the soul fails to seo 
 the light, and sinks to earth " beneath the double load 
 of forgetfulness or vice." And then she takes the form 
 of a man, and becomes a mortal creature ; and, accord- 
 ing to the degree in which she has attained to celestial 
 truth, she is implanted in one of nine classes, the 
 highest being that of the philosophers, artists, poets, or 
 lovers and the lowest stage of all, the tyrant. Ten 
 thousand years must be passed by the soul in this 
 state of probation, before she can return to the place
 
 [ THE CHARIOT OF THE SOUL. 159 
 
 whence she came, and renew her wings of immortality. 
 And at the end of each life is a day of judgment, fol- 
 lowed by a period of retribution, either for good or for 
 evil, lasting a thousand years ; and after that each soul 
 is free to cast lots and choose another life. Then 
 the soul of the man may pass into the life of a beast, 
 or from a beast again into that of a man. But the 
 soul of him who has never seen the truth will not pass 
 again into the human form. 
 
 But from the souls of those who have once gazed on 
 celestial truth or beauty the remembrance can never 
 be effaced. Like some divine inspiration, the glories 
 of this other world possess and haunt them ; and it is 
 because their souls are ever struggling upwards, and 
 fluttering like a bird that longs to soar heavenwards, and 
 because they are rapt in contemplation and careless of 
 earthly matters, that the world calls the philosopher, 
 the lover, and the poet " mad." For the earthly 
 copies of justice or temperance, or any of the higher 
 qualities, are seen but through a glass dimly, and few 
 are they who can discern the reality by looking at the 
 shadow. 
 
 And thus the sight of any earthly beauty in face or 
 form thrills the genuine lover with unutterable awe 
 and amazement, because it recalls the memory of the 
 celestial beauty seen by him once in the sphere of 
 eternal being. The divine wings of his soul are 
 warmed and glow with desire, and he lives in a sort of 
 ecstasy, and shudders " with the misgiving of a former 
 world." Often, indeed, a furious struggle takes place 
 between the charioteer and the dark and vicious horse
 
 160 PLATO. 
 
 that wishes to draw the chariot of the soul on to un- 
 lawful deeds, and can only be curbed by bit and bridle. 
 Happy are they who, with the help of the white im- 
 mortal steed, can win the victory in this struggle, and 
 end their lives in a peaceful and genuine friendship. 
 
 THE OTHER WORLD. 
 
 (From the "Gorgias" and "Pluedo.") 
 
 "We mortals, says Socrates, know nothing of the real 
 world, for we live along the shores of the Mediter- 
 ranean like frogs around a swamp ; and we think we 
 are on the surface, when we are really only in one of 
 those hollow places of which our earth is full. But if 
 a man could take wings and fly upwards, he would see 
 the true world, which is a thousand leagues above our 
 own ; and there all things are brilliant with colour, 
 and sparkle with gold and purple, and a purer white 
 than any earthly snow. And there are trees and 
 flowers and fruits, and jewels on all the hills, more 
 precious than the sardonyx or emerald. And there are 
 living beings there, both men and animals, dwelling 
 around the air ; for our air is like their sea, and their 
 air is purest ether. And they know neither pain nor 
 disease ; and they live longer lives than we creatures 
 of a day ; and all their senses are keener and more 
 perfect ; and they have temples in which their gods 
 really dwell, and they see them face to face, and hear 
 their voices, and call them by their names. Moreover, 
 they know the sun and moon and stars in their proper 
 nature.
 
 THE OTHER WORLD. 161 
 
 the largest of all the chasms in our earth is 
 that which Homer calls Tartarus ; and through it 
 many and mighty streams of fire and water are ever 
 flowing to and fro, some driven upwards to our earth 
 by a rushing wind, and others winding in various 
 channels through the lower world. Of these streams 
 four are larger than the rest ; and the first of these 
 is called Oceanus, which flows in a circle round the 
 earth. The second is Acheron, which passes through 
 desert places to a lake in Tartarus, where the souls of 
 the dead wait until such time as they are born again. 
 And the third river is Pyriphlegethon, which boils 
 with flames and falls into a lake of fire. And the 
 fourth river is Cocytus, and it passes into the Stygian 
 lake, where it receives strange powers, and then, after 
 many windings, it also falls into Tartarus. 
 
 Even in the days of Saturn the same law prevailed 
 as now that men should be judged, and that those 
 who had done good should be sent to the Islands of 
 the Blest, and those who had done evil should be 
 thrown into Tartarus. But judgment was then given 
 on the day of a man's death, and both the judges and 
 the judged were alive, and owing to men being still 
 arrayed in beauty or rank or wealth, and the garment 
 of the body also acting as a veil to the perceptions of 
 the soul in the case of the judge, the judgment was 
 not always just. So Jupiter ordained that for the 
 future the naked soul of the judge, stripped of all its 
 gross mortality, should judge the souls that were 
 brought naked before him. 
 
 For when the soul separates from the body, each 
 A. c. vol. xix. L
 
 162 PLATO. 
 
 part still carries with it its mortal features ; and he 
 who was tall in his lifetime will be tall after death, 
 and he who had flowing hair will have flowing hair 
 still, and the slave who was branded by the scourge 
 will carry the scars upon his body into the other world. 
 So also the soul of the tyrant will bear indelible marks 
 of crime, and will be " full of the prints and scars of 
 his perjuries and misdeeds." For such a soul as his 
 there can be no cure ; nor will there be any pardon for 
 such as have been guilty of foul murder or sacrilege, but 
 they will be thrown into Tartarus, whence they can 
 never come forth, and their punishment will be ever- 
 lasting. 
 
 But those whose crimes are not unpardonable will be 
 condemned by the three judges to abide in Tartarus for 
 a year ; and after that they will be cast forth on the 
 shores of Acheron, where they must wander lament- 
 ing, and calling out on those whom they have slain 
 or wronged on earth to pardon and deliver them ; and 
 until their prayer is heard, they are forced to return 
 again to their place of torment 
 
 Now the Three look with awe and reverence on the 
 face of him who has lived a life of holiness and truth 
 in this world, and who is probably a private citizen 
 or philosopher, who has done his own work and not 
 troubled himself about the business of others, and they 
 send him to the Islands of the Blest, or to that purer 
 earth of which we spoke before ; " and there," con- 
 tinues Socrates, " they live henceforth, freed from the 
 body, in mansions brighter far than these, which no 
 tongue may describe, and of which time would fail
 
 THE STORY OF ER. 163 
 
 me to telL And he concludes, in language almost 
 apostolic : 
 
 " Wherefore seeing these things are so, what ought 
 we not to do, to attain virtue and wisdom in this life, 
 when the prize is so glorious, and the hope so great ? " 
 
 THE STOKY OF EB. 
 
 ("Republic," Book x.) 
 
 Er, the Pamphylian, a brave man, was slain in 
 battle, and ten days afterwards his body, which, un- 
 like all the other dead, was still nncorrupted, was 
 brought home to be buried ; but on the funeral pyre he 
 returned to life, and told all that he had seen in the 
 other world. When his soul left the body (he said) 
 he journeyed in company with many other spirits 
 until he came to a certain place where there were two 
 openings in the earth and two in the heaven, and be- 
 tween them judges were seated, 
 
 " who bade the just, after they had judged them, ascend 
 by the heavenly way on the right Imnd, having the signs 
 of the judgment bound on their foreheads ; and in like 
 manner the unjust were commanded by them to descend by 
 the lower way on the left hand ; these also had the symbols 
 of their deeds fastened on their backs. He drew near, and 
 they told him that he was to be the messenger of the other 
 world to men, and they bade him hear and gee all that was 
 to be heard and seen in that place. Then he beheld and 
 saw on one side the souls departing at either chasm of 
 heaven and earth when sentence had been given on them ; 
 and at the two other openings other souls, some ascending 
 out of the earth dusty and worn with travel, some descend- 
 ing out of heaven clean and bright, and always, on their
 
 164 PLATO. 
 
 arrival, they seemed as if they had come from a long 
 journey, and they went out into the meadow with joy, and 
 there encamped as at a festival, and those who knew one 
 another embraced and conversed, the souls which came 
 from earth curiously inquiring about the things of heaven, 
 and the souls which came from heaven of the things of 
 earth. And they told one another of what had happened 
 by the way, some weeping and sorrowing at the remem- 
 brance of the things which they had endured and seen in 
 their journey beneath the earth (now the journey lasted a 
 thousand years), while others were describing heavenly 
 blessings and visions of inconceivable beauty." J. 
 
 And for all evil deeds each soul suffered a tenfold 
 punishment, and for its good deeds it received a ten- 
 fold reward. And Er heard one of the spirits ask 
 another, where Ardiaeus the Great was? (He had 
 been tyrant of some city in Pamphylia a thousand 
 years before Er lived, and had murdered his aged 
 father and brother, and committed many other crimes.) 
 
 " The answer was : ' He comes not hither, and will 
 never come.' And ' indeed,' he said, * this was one of the 
 terrible sights which was witnessed by us. For we were 
 approaching the mouth of the cave, and, having seen all, 
 were about to reascend, when of a sudden Ardiaeus ap- 
 peared and several others, most of whom were tyrants ; 
 and there were also besides the tyrants private individuals 
 who had been great criminals ; they were just at the 
 mouth, being, as they fancied, about to return to the upper 
 world, but the opening, instead of receiving them, gave a 
 roar, as was the case when any incurable or unpunished 
 sinner tried to ascend ; and then wild men of fiery aspect, 
 who knew the meaning of the sound, came up and seized 
 and carried off several of them, and Ardiseus and others 
 they bound head and foot and hand, and threw them down
 
 THE STORY OF ER. 165 
 
 and flayed them with scourges, and dragged them along the 
 road at the side, carding them on thorns like wool, and 
 declaring to the pilgrims as they passed what were their 
 crimes, and that they were being taken away to be cast 
 into helL And of all the terrors of the place, there was no 
 terror like this of hearing the voice ; and when there was 
 silence, they ascended with joy.' These were the penalties 
 and retributions, and there were blessings as great" J. 
 
 Er and his spirit-companions tarried seven days in 
 this meadow, and then set out again on their journey ; 
 and on the fourth day they came to a place where 
 a pillar of light like a rainbow, "but far brighter, 
 stretched across heaven and earth, and in another 
 day's journey they reached it, and found that this 
 light bound together the circle of the heavens, as a 
 chain undergirds a ship ; and to either end of this 
 pillar was fastened the distaff of Necessity, having a 
 shaft of adamant and a wheel with eight vast circles 
 of divers colours, fitted into one another, and narrow- 
 ing towards the centre. And in these circles eight 
 stars were fixed ; and as the spindle moved round, 
 they moved with it each slowly or swiftly according 
 to its proper motion. And on each circle a siren stood, 
 singing in one note, and thus from the eight stars 
 arose one great harmony of sound. And round about 
 these circles at equal distances were three thrones, and 
 on these thrones were seated the three daughters of 
 Necessity, clothed in white robes, with garlands on 
 their heads. And they also sang as they turned the 
 circles of the spindle Lachesis singing of past time, 
 Clotho of the present, and Atropos of time that shall
 
 166 PLATO. 
 
 be. The spirits, as they arrived, were led to Lachesis 
 in order by a Prophet, who took from her knees lots 
 and samples of lives, and, mounting a rostrum, spoke 
 as follows : " Thus saith Lachesis, daughter of Ne- 
 cessity. Mortal souls, behold a new cycle of mortal 
 life ! Your genius will not choose you, but you will 
 choose your genius ; and let him who draws the first 
 lot have the first choice of life, which shall be his 
 destiny. Virtue is free, and according as a man 
 honours or dishonours her he will enjoy her more or 
 less; the chooser is responsible, heaven is justified." 
 When he had thus spoken he cast the lots among 
 them, and each took up the lot which fell near him, 
 all but Er himself, who was not allowed. 
 
 And these lives were of every kind, both of men 
 and animals, and were variously composed beauty, 
 and wealth, and poverty, and strength, and nobility 
 all mingled together. But no definite character was 
 yet attached to any ; for the future nature of each soul 
 depended on the life it might choose. And on the 
 choice (so said the Prophet who had arranged the lots) 
 each man's happiness depended : and to choose aright 
 he should know all that follows from the possession .of 
 power and talent ; and should choose the mean, and 
 avoid both extremes so far as he may, not in this life 
 only but in that which is to come. " Even the last 
 comer, if he choose discreetly and will live carefully, 
 shall find there is reserved for him a life neither un- 
 happy nor undesirable. Let not the first be careless 
 in his choice, neither let the last despair." 
 
 It was a sad yet laughable sight (said Er) to see the
 
 THE STORY OF JER. 167 
 
 manner in which the souls made their choice. For the 
 first chose the greatest despotism he could find, not 
 observing that it was ordained in his lot that he 
 should devour his own children ; and when he found 
 this out, he lamented and beat his breast, accusing the 
 gods, and chance, and everything rather than himself. 
 And their former experience of life influenced many 
 in their choice : thus the soul of Orpheus chose the 
 life of a swan, because he hated to be born again of 
 woman (for women had before torn him in pieces) ; 
 and Ajax chose the life of a lion, and Agamemnon 
 that of an eagle, because men had done them wrong ; 
 and Thersites, the buffoon of the Iliad, took the ap- 
 propriate form of an ape. Last of all came Ulysses, 
 weary of his former toils and wanderings ; and, after 
 searching about for a while, he chose a quiet and ob- 
 scure life, that was lying neglected in a corner, for all 
 the others had passed it by. 
 
 " Now when all the souls had chosen their li ves in the 
 order of the lots, they advanced in their turn to Lachesis, 
 who despatched with each of them the Destiny he had se- 
 lected, to guard his life and satisfy his choice. This Des- 
 tiny first led the soul to Clotho in such a way as to pass 
 beneath her hand and the whirling motion of the distaff, 
 and thus ratified the fate which each had chosen in the 
 order of precedence. After touching her, the same Destiny 
 led the soul next to the spinning of Atropos, and thus ren- 
 dered the doom of Clotho irreversible. From thence the . 
 souls passed straight forward under the throne of Necessity. 
 When the rest had passed through it, Er himself also passed 
 through ; and they all travelled into the plain of Forgetful- 
 ness, through dreadful suffocating heat, the ground being 
 destitute of treea and of all vegetation. As the evening
 
 168 PLATO. 
 
 came on, they took up their quarters by the bank of the 
 river of Indifference, whose water cannot be held in any 
 vessel. All persons are compelled to drink a certain 
 quantity of the water ; but those who are not preserved by 
 prudence drink more than the quantity : and each, as he 
 drinks, forgets everything. When they had gone to rest, 
 and it was now midnight, there was a clap of thunder and 
 an earthquake ; and in a moment the souls were carried up 
 to their birth, this way and that like shooting-stars. Er 
 himself was prevented from drinking any of the water ; 
 but how, and by what road he reached his body, he knew 
 not : only he knew that he suddenly opened his eyes at 
 dawn, and found himself laid out upon the funeral pyre." 
 D.
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 RELIGION, MORALITY, AND ART. 
 
 " Religions ideas die like the sun ; their last rays possessing little heat, 
 are spent in creating beauty." Lecky, Hist, of Morals. 
 
 IN his famous picture of the School of Athens, Raphael 
 has represented Plato as looking up towards heaven, 
 while Aristotle has his eyes intently fixed upon the 
 earth ; and Goethe has endorsed the idea expressed in 
 this painting. " Plato's relation to the world," he says, 
 " is that of a superior spirit, whose good pleasure it is 
 to dwell in it for a time. ... He penetrates into 
 its depths, more that he may replenish them from the 
 fulness of his own nature, than that he may fathom 
 their mysteries." * Certainly the most careless reader 
 cannot help being struck by the persistency with which 
 Plato dwells upon his favourite thought, that this life 
 is only the first stage of an endless existence, that death 
 is the release of soul from body, which the wise man 
 welcomes with joy, and that philosophy itself is but a 
 "meditation of death," or " the resembling, so far as is 
 possible,,of man to God." t In fact, disce mori may be 
 
 * Quoted in Ueberweg's History of Philosophy, i. 103 
 English transl. 
 
 t Phsedo, 80; Thetet., 176.
 
 170 PLATO. 
 
 said to be the text of Platonism. Perhaps, he says in 
 the Gorgias, Euripides was right, and our life here is 
 after all a death, and our body is the tomb or prison 
 of the soul.* And in the same spirit in which Socrates 
 bids Crito not to be too careful about his burial, Plato 
 prohibits in his " Laws " expensive funerals " for the 
 beloved one whom his relative thinks he is laying in the 
 earth has but gone away to complete his destiny." The 
 soul, he reiterates, really makes each of us to be what 
 he is, and the body is only its image and shadow, and 
 after death all that is divine in us goes on its way to 
 other gods.t Man himself is nothing more than a 
 puppet or plaything of the gods, acting his part on the 
 stage of life with more or less success, and " with some 
 little share of reality." J 
 
 His view of human nature, and of man's limited 
 powers of knowledge, is best illustrated in his own 
 famous allegory of the Cave, in the seventh book of 
 the " Eepublic." 
 
 " Imagine," says Socrates, "a number of men living in an 
 underground cavernous chamber, with an entrance open to 
 the light, extending along the entire length of the cavern 
 in which they have been confined from their childhood, 
 with their necks and legs so shackled that they are obliged 
 to sit still and look straight forward, because their chains 
 render it impossible for them to turn their heads round : 
 and imagine a bright fire burning some way off, above and 
 behind them, and an elevated roadway passing between the 
 fire and the prisoners, with a low wall built along it, like 
 
 * Gorgias, 492. t Laws, xii. 959. 
 
 J Laws, vii. 803.
 
 RELIGION", MORALITY, AND ART. 171 
 
 the screens which conjurors put up in front of their au- 
 dience, and above which they exhibit their wonders. . . . 
 Also figure to yourself a number of persons walking be- 
 hind this wall, and carrying with them statues of men 
 and images of other animals wrought in wood and stone 
 and all kinds of materials, together with various other 
 articles, which -overtop the wall; and, as you might ex- 
 pect, let some of the passers-by be talking, and others 
 silent." D. 
 
 " This cave," Socrates continues, " is the world, and 
 the fire that lights it is the SUB, and these poor pri- 
 soners are ourselves 
 
 ' Placed with our backs to bright reality ;' 
 
 and all sights or sounds in this twilight region are 
 but the shadows or echoes of real objects. And 
 as sometimes a prisoner in this cave may be released 
 from his chains, and turned round, and led up to the 
 light of day ; so may our souls pass upwards from the 
 darkness of mere opinion, and from the shadowy im- 
 pressions of sense into the pure sunlight of eternal truth, 
 lighted by the Idea of Good in itself the source of all 
 truth and beauty." 
 
 But "What is the Good?" Plato tells us, truly 
 enough, that it is what all men pursue under different 
 names, deriving its existence, seeking its reality, yet 
 totally unable to explain its nature ; and he compares 
 it in a parable, as we have seen, to the sun which 
 illuminates the eternal world of Ideas, but as to its 
 own essential nature he leaves us still in the dark. 
 The philosophers in his State will know it, he says, 
 for their souls will be enlightened, but he does not
 
 172 PLATO. 
 
 know it himself; and although the knowledge of it is 
 bound up with the existence of his State, and is the 
 culmination of his system, all that he does is to " con- 
 duct us to the chamber where this precious and indis- 
 pensable secret is locked up, but he has no key to open 
 the door." * 
 
 Sometimes, indeed, he personifies this supreme Idea, 
 and, as in the "Timseus" and "Philebus," abstract good- 
 ness is merged in the concrete God. But even here, 
 his conception of Deity rises far above the jealous and 
 sensitive occupants of Homer's Olympus, who were 
 immortal beings with mortal passions and sympathies, 
 strongly attached to persons and places, and sharing in 
 all the hopes and fears of their worshippers. A Chris- 
 tian writer could hardly frame a more exalted idea of 
 divinity than that which Plato has expressed in many 
 of his Dialogues. With him the Deity is a being of 
 perfect wisdom and goodness, all-wise and all-powerful, 
 ruling the world which he has created by the supremacy 
 of His reason. He can be only known to us through 
 some type or form ; but let none suppose that He 
 would put on a human shape by night or by day, to 
 help a friend or deceive a foe : for, being perfect good- 
 ness in Himself, such a change could be only for the 
 worse ; and, being perfect truth, He hates a lie either 
 in word or in deed.t 
 
 In this conception of the Deity, Plato does but repre- 
 sent the tendency of Greek religion towards " Mono- 
 theism." Long before his time, all the deeper thinkers 
 
 * Crete's Plato, iii. 241. t Republ., ii.
 
 RELIGION, MORALITY, AND ART. 173 
 
 had ceased to believe in the old mythology. Even the 
 sober piety of Herodotus had questioned some miracles 
 and rejected others ; and the keen common-sense of 
 Thucydides had applied the historical test to the " Tale 
 of Troy," looking upon it as a political enterprise, and 
 accepting the catalogue of ships "as an authentic 
 muster-roll." * Then Euemerus had allegorised these 
 myths ; and Palsephatus had softened them down into 
 commonplace narratives of actual facts : thus the 
 wings of Daedalus became a swift sailing vessel, the 
 dragon which Cadmus slew was King Draco, and the 
 dragon's teeth were the ivory of commerce. And 
 philosophy had aided this progress of rationalism. More 
 than a century before Plato, Xenophanes had pointed 
 out the discrepancies involved in the popular mytho- 
 logy, and had declared emphatically that there was 
 " one God, not to be compared to mortals in form or 
 thought all eye and all ear who without effort rules 
 all things by the insight of his mind." So again 
 Empedocles had recognised, amidst the crash of war- 
 ring elements, one holy impalpable Spirit, whom none 
 could come near, or touch, or see ; and even Anaxagoras, 
 with all his materialism, had paid homage to a sove- 
 reign Mind which ruled the universe. 
 
 " But," says Professor Maurice, " there lay in the 
 very heart of the faith of the Greek a seed of unbelief 
 which was continually fructifying." t While many 
 clung with unwavering faith to the religion of their 
 fathers ; while a few (as we have seen) professed a 
 
 * Crete's Greece, i. 333. * fliat. of Philos., L 86.
 
 174 PLATO. 
 
 purer and higher belief than mere anthropomorphism ; 
 there were others who, though they rejected the an- 
 cient myths, accepted nothing in their place : and 
 the Sophists seem to have encouraged this increasing 
 tendency to atheism among the younger and more 
 sceptical spirits of this age. Prodicus maintained that 
 men in olden times had deified whatever was of use 
 to them : thus wine was promoted into Bacchus, and 
 bread was dignified with the name of Ceres. Critias, 
 again, declared that the gods had been invented by 
 some crafty statesman to secure the obedience of his 
 subjects ; and one daring sceptic of this school, 
 Diagoras of Melos (subsequently banished from both 
 Sparta and Athens for his impious theories), had 
 thrown a wooden statue of Hercules into the fire, say- 
 ing that he might go through his thirteenth labour in 
 the flames. 
 
 In the tenth book of the " Laws " written, as has 
 been said, in his declining years Plato makes a bold 
 stand against this growing impiety of his day. It 
 springs, he says, from one of three causes ; from utter 
 atheism; or, second, from Epicurean apathy the 
 feeling that the gods exist, but never trouble them- 
 selves about mankind; or, thirdly, from superstition 
 the gods both exist and care, but you can pacify their 
 anger by sacrifice. Heretics, in his ideal city, are to be 
 punished by solitary confinement or by death, and the 
 heaviest vengeance of the law is to light on the wolf 
 in sheep's clothing the impious hypocrite who dares 
 to use his priestly garb to further his own ambitious or 
 criminal ends. And then he gravely takes the sceptic
 
 RELIGION, MORALITY, AND ART. 175 
 
 to task, and justifies the ways of Providence.* "Do 
 not" (he says, almost in the very words of the Psalmist) 
 " the heavens declare the glory of God ? " Does not 
 the universal testimony of mankind teach us that a 
 God exists ? And woe to the rash and presumptuous 
 youth who presumes to charge the Deity with indolence 
 or neglect, merely because he sees the wicked in pros- 
 perity, and handing down their power to their children 
 after them. God is no unskilful workman, but in His 
 wisdom has taken thought for all things, both small 
 and great. Each part of the creation has its appointed 
 work and purpose, and all the parts work together to 
 some common end. What is best for one portion is 
 therefore best for the whole. It is impious, indeed, 
 to think that this fair creation around us could have 
 been the work of nature or chance; or, again, that matter 
 could have existed before mind. Such doctrines will 
 sooner or later meet with their reward. 
 
 " God, as the old tradition declares, holding in His hand 
 the beginning, middle, and end of all that is, moves accord- 
 ing to His nature in a straight line towards the accomplish- 
 ment of His end. Justice always follows Him, and is the 
 punisher of those who fall short of the divine law. To 
 that law, he who would be happy holds fast, and follows it 
 in all humility and order ; but he who is lifted up with 
 pride, or money, or honour, or beauty who has a soul hot 
 with folly, and youth, and insolence, and thinks that he has 
 no need of a guide or ruler, but is able himself to be the 
 guide of others, he, I say, is left deserted of God ; and 
 being thus deserted, he takes to him others who are like 
 himself, and dances about in wild confusion, and many 
 
 * Laws, x. 886.
 
 17G PLATO. 
 
 think that he is a great man, but in a short time he pays a 
 penalty which justice cannot but approve, and is utterly 
 destroyed, and his family and city with him. Wherefore, 
 seeing that human things are thus ordered, what should a 
 wise man do or think, or not do or think ? " J. 
 
 The perfection of man's existence, according to Plato, 
 is to bring his nature as far as is possible into harmony 
 with God ; and this can only be done by cultivating 
 the soul, which is the divinest part of us, and came to 
 us from heaven long before our earth-born body.* 
 "Honour the soul, then," he says, in one of his homilies 
 in the " Laws," " as being second only to the gods ; 
 and the best way of honouring it is to make it better. 
 A man should not prefer beauty to virtue, nor sell his 
 word for gold, nor heap up riches for his children ; 
 since the best inheritance he can leave them is the 
 spirit of reverence. Truth is the beginning of all 
 good; and the greatest of all evils is self-love; and 
 the worst penalty of evil-doing is to grow into likeness 
 with the bad : for each man's soul changes, according 
 to the nature of his deeds, for better or for worse." t 
 
 In more than one passage Plato combats the objec- 
 tion always raised against every system of Optimism 
 the existence of evil, which implies, according to 
 the atheist, either a want of goodness in the Deity to 
 allow it, or a want of power to prevent it. Practically, 
 Plato refutes this argument in much the same language 
 
 * We may compare with this Kant's famous saying, "On 
 earth there is nothing great but Man ; in Man there is nothing 
 great but Mind." 
 
 t Laws, x.
 
 RELIGION, MORALITY, AND ART. 177 
 
 as a modern thinker might use. Evil in the creation 
 does not imply evil in the Creator; its existence is 
 part of a vast scheme of Providence : and because, with 
 our limited faculties, we cannot discern tne final cause 
 or design of everything in nature (e.g., the poison of 
 the rattlesnake), we have no right to say, therefore, that 
 no such final cause exists. Listen again to Plato (speak- 
 ing in the person of Socrates) in the " Thesetetus." 
 
 " Soc. Evils, Theodoras, can never perish; for there 
 must always remain something which is antagonistic to 
 good. Of necessity, they hover around this mortal sphere 
 and the earthly nature, having no place among the gods 
 in heaven. Wherefore, also, we ought to fly away thither; 
 and to fly thither is to become like God, as far as this is 
 possible ; and to become like Him is to become holy, just, 
 and wise. But, my friend, you cannot easily convince 
 mankind that they should pursue virtue or avoid vice, not 
 for the reasons which the many give in order, forsooth, 
 that a man may seem to be good ; this is what they are 
 always repeating, and this, in my judgment, is an old 
 wives' fable. Let them hear the truth : In God is no un- 
 righteousness at all He is altogether righteous ; and there 
 is nothing more like Him than he of us who is the most 
 righteous. And the true wisdom of men, and their no- 
 thingness and cowardice, are nearly concerned with this. 
 For to know this is true wisdom and manhood, and the igno- 
 rance of this is too plainly folly and vice. . . . There are 
 two patterns set before men in nature : the one blessed and 
 divine, the other godless and wretched ; and they do not 
 see, in their utter folly and infatuation, that they are grow- 
 ing like the one and unlike the other, by reason of their evil 
 deeds ; and the penalty is, that they lead a life answering 
 to the pattern which they resemble. And if we tell them, 
 that unless they depart from their cunning, the place of 
 A. c. vol. xix. M
 
 178 PLATO. 
 
 innocence will not receive them after death ; and that here 
 on earth they will live ever in the likeness of their own 
 evil selves, and with evil friends, when they hear this, 
 they in their superior cunning will seem to be listening to 
 fools." J. 
 
 And in the same spirit the first great "type" to 
 which all legends must conform, in his ideal State, is that 
 God is good, and is the author of good alone ; the evil 
 He suffers to exist for the just punishment of men. And 
 therefore Plato will expunge from his new mythology 
 all those false and debasing stories which Homer tells 
 about the gods and heroes, with their violent passions, 
 loves, and hatreds; where even the great Achilles 
 is represented as insolent and cruel, as slaying his 
 captives, cursing the Sun-god himself, and dragging 
 Hector's body round the walls of Troy. He will have 
 no sensational pictures of the lower world, with all its 
 horrors of Styx and Tartarus, and with the souls of 
 the dead "fluttering like bats" in sunless caverns. 
 And the music shall be simple and ennobling : he 
 will banish the wailing Lydian and soft Ionian mea- 
 sures, and he will have only martial strains in the 
 Dorian mood, such as Tyrtaeus sang when the Spartans 
 marched out to battle; and he will dismiss with 
 honour from the State the charming and versatile poet 
 who can assume all shapes and speak in all voices, and 
 will take instead the rough but honest story-teller who 
 will recite simple and useful tales.* 
 
 He again attacks the poets in the last book of the 
 " Republic ; " and here the ground of offence is their imi- 
 
 * Rep., iii. 398.
 
 RELIGION, MORALITY, AND ART. 179 
 
 tation, which is (says Plato) two degrees removed from 
 reality j for taking any object, such as a bed, there is 
 first the ideal bed, created by the Deity, which alone 
 has real existence ; and then there is the bed made by 
 the carpenter in the image of the first ; and thirdly, 
 there is the shadow of this image, which the painter 
 or poet delineates in his picture or his poem, as it may 
 be. " I have a great liking and reverence for Homer " 
 (Plato continues), " who is the great master of all tragic 
 poets-^-indeed from childhood I have loved his name ; 
 but I love truth better. And what has Homer done 
 for us, after all 1 He has not given, us laws, like Solon 
 or Lycurgus; he has not given us inventions, like 
 Thales and Anacharsis ; nor has he founded a brother- 
 hood, like Pythagoras; nor, again, has he taught us 
 any of the arts of war and peace. If he had done any 
 real good to men, is it likely that he would have been 
 allowed to wander about, blind and poor ? 'No ; all 
 that he does is to give us a second-hand imitation 
 of reality, to exalt the feelings which are an inferior 
 part of our soul, to thrill us with pity or terror, and 
 so render us unmanly and effeminate." " There are 
 enough sorrows in actual life " (he says, later on, in the 
 " Philebus "), without multiplying them on the stage or 
 in fiction." 
 
 Though Plato was more of a poet than a philosopher 
 himself, and in his writings was said to strike the 
 happy medium between poetry and prose, he is always 
 disposed to regard the .poets, as a class, in the light of 
 harmless enthusiasts, often the cause of much mischief, 
 but hardly responsible for their actions. In an earlier
 
 180 PLATO. 
 
 Dialogue the " Ion " Socrates meets the rhapsodist 
 of that name, and congratulates him upon having just 
 won the prize for recitation at a public festival. " It 
 must be a fine thing " (he says, with a tinge of irony) 
 " to be always well dressed, and to study and recite 
 passages from the prince of poets ; but is Ion always 
 master of his subject, and is his talent really an art 
 at all ? No " (Socrates goes on) ; " it must be inspi- 
 ration a magnetic influence, passing like an electric 
 current from the loadstone of divine essence into the 
 soul of the poet, and from thence into the souls of his 
 hearers." 
 
 The simple-minded Ion is delighted at the idea of 
 being inspired, and confesses that he does feel in a sort 
 of ecstasy when he recites some striking passage such 
 as the sorrows of Andromache or Hecuba, or the scene 
 where Ulysses throws off his rags, leaps on to the floor 
 among the assembled suitors, and bends that terrible 
 bow of his. "Then" (says Ion) "my eyes fill with tears, 
 my heart throbs, my hair stands on end, and I see the 
 spectators also weeping, and sympathising with my 
 grief." 
 
 And the conclusion of this short but graceful Dia- 
 logue is, that the Deity sways the souls of men through 
 the rhapsodist or poet, who is himself only the vehicle 
 of inspiration, and knows little or nothing of the 
 meaning of the glorious words which it is his privilege 
 to utter. 
 
 Plato's own view of poetry and art, then, is, that it 
 should be pure, simple, and ideal free from the sen-
 
 RELIGION, MORALITY, AND ART. 181 
 
 sational innovations of modern days ; and he points 
 with approval to Egypt, where certain forms had been 
 consecrated in the temples, from which neither painter 
 nor sculptor was allowed to deviate, and where for ten 
 thousand years they had preserved their chants and 
 the statues of their gods unchanged.* The poet should 
 not be left to his own devices ; for bad music, like a 
 bad companion, tends to corrupt the character : both 
 the music and the words should be supervised by the 
 magistrate, prizes for the best poems should be awarded 
 by competent judges, and the moral of every lay or 
 legend should be, that all earthly gifts whether 
 health, beauty, or wealth are as nothing in com- 
 parison with a just and holy life. And in the " City 
 of the Magnetes," where his own laws are to be pro- 
 mulgated, the following is to be the theme of the 
 music consecrated by the State, and appointed to be 
 sung by three choirs children, youths, and men : 
 
 " All our three choruses shall sing to the young and ten- 
 der souls of children, reciting in their strains all the noble 
 thoughts of which we have already spoken, or are about to 
 speak ; and the sum of them shall be, that the life which 
 is by the gods deemed to be the happiest is the holiest ; 
 we shall affirm this to be a most certain truth, and the 
 minds of our young disciples will be more likely to receive 
 these words of ours, than any others which we might ad- 
 dress to them. . . . And those who are too old to 
 sing will tell stories, illustrating the same virtues as with 
 the voice of an oracle." J. 
 
 We can never exactly tell how far Plato's views on 
 * Laws, ii. 660.
 
 182 PLA TO. 
 
 religion are an echo of his master's, or how far they aro 
 his own original ideas. We have another description of 
 Socrates and his teaching in Xenophon's "Memorabilia," 
 and there, like Plato, he appeals to the excellence of 
 the creation round him to prove the wisdom of the 
 great " World-builder ; " he recognises the all-pervad- 
 ing and invisible presence of the Deity ; he exalts the 
 dignity of man, only " lower than the angels " in the 
 possession of an immortal soul; and he points to signs 
 and oracles to prove how closely we may be brought 
 into actual communion with God. But in other re- 
 spects, if Xenophon can be trusted, he preached a far 
 lower standard of morality upholding, in fact, the 
 utilitarian doctrines so strongly condemned by the 
 Platonic Socrates in the beginning of the " Eepublic." 
 " You should test an action," he is made to say, " by 
 its advantages to yourself. Be just, because justice 
 brings its own reward with it ; be modest, because 
 immodesty never pays in society ; be brave, because 
 you gain glory thereby ; be true and faithful, because 
 truth will bring you friends, the most useful of all pos- 
 sessions."* If this was really the tendency of Socratic 
 teaching, it is clear that Plato took far higher ground 
 than his master. Nothing, in fact, could be further 
 from his thoughts than to degrade Virtue into a mere 
 calculation of the chances of more or less possible 
 happiness. 
 
 And in the " Philebus " (one of his latest Dialogues), 
 where the relative nature of pleasure and knowledge 
 
 * See Zeller's Socrates aud the Socratic Schools, chap. vii.
 
 RELIGION, MORALITY, AND ART. 183 
 
 is analysed, Plato distinctly maintains that pleasures 
 differ in kind as well as degree,* the lowest being the 
 mixed pleasures of the senses, and the highest and 
 purest the mental enjoyment of music or mathe- 
 matics. He also holds that wisdom is " ten thousand 
 times better" than pleasure, since it alone satisfies the 
 three criteria of goodness beauty, symmetry, and 
 truth ; while, in the scale of perfection, pleasure is 
 degraded by him to the fifth and sixth places. 
 
 The only one of Bentham's four " Sanctions "t which 
 he would allow to influence our conduct would be that 
 described in his Myths the rewards and punishments 
 in a future world. Virtue per se is most excellent 
 being, in fact, moral health and strength, just as Vice 
 is moral disease ; and worldly advantages are not to 
 balance our actions, or influence us in the choice be- 
 tween good and evil. Even in prayer, he maintains 
 that a man should not pray for gold, or honour, or 
 children, but simply for what is good ; and the gods 
 will know best how to turn his prayer to his own pro- 
 fit. " The prayer of a fool," he says again, " is fraught 
 with danger, and likely to end in the opposite of what 
 he desires." J In th# same spirit he quotes (in his 
 " Alcibiades, ii.") some lines from an old poet, which, 
 should, he thinks, be the model for all prayers: "King 
 Jove, give us what is good, whether we pray for it or 
 
 * The utilitarian maxims are : " Pleasures differ in nothing 
 but in continuance and intensity" (Paley); "The quantity of 
 pleasure being equal, push-pin is as good as poetry" (Bentham). 
 
 t See his Introduction to Morals and Legislation, chap. iii. 
 
 t Laws, iii. 688.
 
 184 PLATO. 
 
 not ; and ward off what is dangerous, even thougli wo 
 pray for it." And the spirit of the prayer he declares 
 to be worth more than any offerings a man can bring 
 just as the oracle of Ammon had declared the simple 
 prayer of the Spartans to be worth more than all the 
 sacrifices of Athens. 
 
 In one sense, Plato does not deny the " utility " of 
 Virtue, any more than Cudworth or Butler would have 
 denied it; and it is in this sense that we must take the 
 famous sentence in the " Eepublic " which Mr Grote 
 has prefixed as the motto to his three volumes : "The 
 noblest thing that is said now, or shall be said here- 
 after, is, that what is profitable is honourable, and 
 what is hurtful is base." * 
 
 * Rep., v. 457.
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 LATER PLATONISM. 
 
 SPEUSIPPUS, Plato's nephew, succeeded his uncle at 
 the head of the Academy ; and both he and those who 
 succeeded him appear to have taken a few texts and 
 phrases from their great master's writings, and on them 
 to have built up ethical systems of their own ; while 
 others, like Herniodorus, traded on those " unwritten 
 doctrines," said to have been divulged only to a 
 favoured few. But all that time has brought down 
 to us of the later Academy is some brief and frag- 
 mentary writings, and some untrustworthy traditions ; 
 and, for the most part, the memorial of these philo- 
 sophers has perished with them. 
 
 Even in Plato's own day, divisions had sprung up 
 among his followers ; and one of his most promising 
 pupils, who for twenty years had attended lectures in 
 the Academy, founded that school which has ever 
 since divided with his own the world of thought. 
 " Every man is born an Aristotelian or a Platonist : " 
 their principles are mutually repugnant, and there is 
 no common ground between the two ; and if Aristotle 
 himself could not understand his master's point of 
 view, there is still less chance of a modern Aristotelian
 
 186 PLATO. 
 
 ever doing so. The very beauty of Plato's style, his 
 exuberant fancy, the myths and metaphors in which 
 lie clothed his noblest thoughts, were all so many 
 offences to the shrewd common-sense of Aristotle, who 
 reasoned rigidly from fact to fact, who analysed the 
 constitutions of three hundred states before he wrote 
 a line of his " Politics," and whose cold and keen tem- 
 perament had little sympathy with a philosopher who 
 " poetised rather than thought." * As for the Platonic 
 "Ideas" the very foundation of Platonism he re- 
 garded them as inconceivable and impossible, or, if 
 possible, practically useless. 
 
 Plato's method of doubt and inquiry carried far 
 farther by his pupils than he ever intended it to be 
 resulted in the " New Academy," a school of Sceptics, 
 of whom Pyrrho, originally a soldier in Alexander's 
 army, was the leader. These Sceptics were a sign of 
 the times. A weariness and despair of truth was 
 creeping over society, and hence there grew up a feel- 
 ing of indifference as to all moral distinctions, which 
 the philosophers who professed it termed a " divine 
 repose." Plato had said that there was no reality 
 except in an ideal world, and Pyrrho and his followers 
 pushed this doctrine so far as to deny the existence of 
 any fixed standard of right and wrong, or of any cer- 
 tainty which sense or mind could perceive. 
 
 Socrates, it has been said, " sat for the portrait of 
 the Stoic sage ;" t and Stoicism perhaps owes as much 
 to Plato as to the Cynics, of which school it was the 
 
 * Arist., Met xi. 5. t Noack, quoted by Ueberweg, 187.
 
 LA TER PL A TONISM. 187 
 
 legitimate offshoot. The majesty of mind, the high 
 ideal of a life in accordance with reason and untram- 
 melled by self-interest, the strong sense of a personal 
 conscience, the doctrine that a man's soul was an ema- 
 nation from the Deity all these tenets might have 
 been held by Plato or his master. But the Stoic dis- 
 regarded, if he did not disbelieve in, the immortality 
 of the soul; and suicide, which Plato held to be 
 cowardly and impious, was looked upon by Seneca 
 and Epictetus as an easy and justifiable refuge against 
 all the evils of life. 
 
 Zeno was the first who lectured at Athens in the 
 Painted Porch, which gave its name (Stoa) to the sect. 
 His pupil Cleanthes so slow and sure that his master 
 compared his memory to a leaden tablet, difficult to 
 write upon but retaining an indelible impression 
 carried out in actual practice the principles of his train- 
 ing, drawing water and kneading dough the whole night 
 long, that he might have leisure for philosophy in the 
 day-time. Chrysippus followed, the second founder 
 of the " Porch," who is said to have written upwards 
 of seven hundred volumes ; and lastly Posidonius, the 
 most learned of all, whose lectures at Ehodes were 
 heard both by Cicero and Pompey. 
 
 Home was naturally the home of Stoicism. The 
 pride and " majestic egotism " which was their ideal 
 of virtue, suited stern and zealous characters like Cato 
 or Comutus ; and this pride, when softened by religious 
 sentiment, produced the noblest examples of pagan 
 philosophy in the Emperor Marcus Aurelius and the 
 slave Epictetus. But though Stoicism could raise up
 
 138 PLATO. 
 
 a school of heroes, it suppressed all softer emotions, 
 and set up an ideal unattainable by any except the 
 most exalted minds. A change was coming over 
 society, and the want was felt of a more tender and 
 attractive philosophy, and a longing for some deeper 
 truth than the cold comfort given by a " creed out- 
 worn " like paganism. Hence a reaction set in against 
 the casuistry and scepticism of the later Stoics in favour 
 of the more spiritual side of humanity. Allegory, 
 Mysticism, Inspiration, and Ecstasy, were the charac- 
 teristics of this new philosophy ; a critical spirit and 
 the strict inductions of reason were discouraged; to 
 elicit divine ideas, and to subdue the senses, was held 
 to be the end of life. And, like other creeds, this 
 dawned in the East. 
 
 Alexandria was the meeting-point of Eastern and 
 "Western civilisation. In its vast gardens and libraries 
 might be found a medley of all nations, creeds, and 
 languages ; for the policy of the first three Ptolemys 
 known as Soter, Philadelphus, and Euergetes 
 ("Saviour," "Loving-brother," and "Benefactor") 
 was a liberal and universal toleration. Accordingly, 
 a temple of Isis might be found side by side with a 
 Jewish synagogue, or a shrine dedicated to Venus; 
 and freethinkers like Stilpo or Theodoras (banished 
 from their own states in Greece for their impiety) 
 were received with the same welcome at court as 
 the translators of the Septuagint or the high priest 
 from Eleusis. Everything, indeed, combined to 
 make Alexandria the centre of attraction for philo- 
 sophers and men of letters. Besides the natural
 
 LATER PLATOX1SM. 189 
 
 charms of the place the bright sunshine, the clear 
 atmosphere, and a soil so rich in flowers and fruits 
 that "a man," says Ammianus, "might almost believe 
 himself in another world " there was the certainty of 
 royal favour, of learned and congenial society, and 
 (better than all) of a comfortable pension and a luxu- 
 rious residence in or near the palace. For the further 
 encouragement of literature, Ptolemy I. had founded 
 and liberally endowed the " Museum " (or, as we 
 should call it, " university "), with its porticos and lec- 
 ture-rooms and dining-hall, and its library of 700,000 
 volumes burnt when Alexandria was besieged by 
 Caesar. In connection with the library there grew 
 up a school of grammarians and critics, whose lives 
 were passed in the usual routine of a royal literary 
 circle, writing, publishing, dining together, talking 
 scandal, and carrying on an incessant war of words. 
 
 In the learned world at Alexandria, some Jews 
 founded a new system of philosophy by blending 
 Judaism with Platonism. They sought for the 
 deeper truth which they believed was hidden under 
 every text of Scripture ; intensifying all that was 
 miraculous or supernatural, discarding the literal 
 interpretation, and neglecting the ceremonial law as 
 being merely the symbolism which veiled the truth. 
 Philo headed this " mystical rationalism," tracing 
 Plato's world of ideas back to Moses, but giving them 
 a place in the Word of God as the plan of a building 
 has a place in the mind of the builder. And, in lan- 
 guage like that which Plato uses in the " Timseus," he 
 describes how God, an invisible but ever - present
 
 190 PLATO. 
 
 Essence, created and ruled the world by means of 
 ministering spirits or potencies, of whom the Word is 
 highest, and second only to Himself. 
 
 Philo lived just before the Christian era ; and from 
 his time a succession of Alexandrian Jews continued 
 to give to the world their transcendental theories, 
 founded on one portion or another of Plato's writ- 
 ings \ some, like Apollonius of Tyana, going back to 
 Pythagoras for their inspiration, and others, like the 
 Therapeutae, seeking " illumination " in a lonely and 
 ascetic life, until, towards the end of the second cen- 
 tury, the school of Neo-Platonists was founded by 
 Ammonius Saccas. They united the Eastern doctrine 
 of " emanation " with the Platonic doctrine of ideas, 
 believing that the ideas emanated from the One, as the 
 soul emanates from the ideas, and that the last and lowest 
 stage of emanation was the sensible and material world 
 around us. They held it man's duty to purify his soul, 
 and make it pass through various stages of perfection, 
 until at last it should be freed from all contamination 
 of the senses, and, in a sublime moment of ecstasy, 
 enter into actual communion with God. Four times 
 (so Porphyry tells us) his master Plotinus was thi 
 " caught up " in a celestial trance. Indeed, this phil- 
 osopher was so ashamed of having a body at all, that 
 he would tell no one who were his parents or what 
 was his country, and resolutely refused ever to have 
 his portrait taken; for it was bad enough (he said) 
 that his soul should be veiled at all by an earthly image, 
 and he would never hand down an image of that 
 image to posterity. How deeply he was imbued with
 
 LATER PLATONISM. 191 
 
 Platonism may be seen from the mere titles of the fifty- 
 four treatises which have come down to us. Provi- 
 dence, Time and Eternity, Reason, Being, Ideas, the 
 "Daemon" who has received each of us in charge, such 
 are the subjects of some of the chapters in his "Enneads." 
 He at one time even obtained leave of the reigning 
 emperor to found a city in Campania, to be called 
 Platonopolis, whither he and his friends were to 
 retire from the world ; but happily the idea was never 
 actually put into execution. 
 
 The next generation of Neo-Platonists carried their 
 Mysticism still further. They revived divination and 
 astrology ; they interpreted dreams and visions ; they 
 consulted oracles ; and practised those ancient rites of 
 expiation which Plato himself had so strongly con- 
 demned, lamblichus, one of their number, traced a 
 mysterious affinity between earth and heaven ; and on 
 one of Plato's texts " all things are full of gods " he 
 constructed a hierarchy of heroes, daemons, angels, and 
 archangels. Proclus, again a fanatic who wished 
 that all books might be burnt except Plato's "Timaeus " 
 interpreted his " God -enlightened master" in his 
 own fashion, and perfected himself in every form of 
 ritual, fasting and keeping vigil, celebrating the festival 
 of every god in the pagan calendar, and honouring 
 with mysterious rites the souls of all the dead. 
 
 There was one Neo-Platonist in the reign of Trajan 
 whose genial and sympathetic character stands out in 
 strong contrast to the superstition and pedantry of his 
 age. This was Plutarch of Chaeronea, better known 
 as a biographer than a philosopher. He discusses the
 
 192 PLA TO. 
 
 Socratic morality with calm good sense, purges the old 
 mythology, and preaches a purer monotheism than 
 any of his contemporaries. 
 
 The last of the ]S^eo-Platonists of whom we have 
 any record was Boethius, who lectured at Athens ; and 
 shortly after his time the Emperor Justinian gave the 
 death-blow to Greek philosophy by interdicting all 
 instruction in the Platonic school. 
 
 It has been said that " Mysticism finds in Plato all 
 its texts," and certainly most of Christian Mysticism 
 may be traced back to the N"eo-Platonists. From their 
 time to our own. we find this tendency towards a 
 theologia mystica appearing in one form or another, 
 whether it be in the secret traditions of the Jewish 
 Cabala in the preaching of Eckhart in the fourteenth 
 century in the revival of Neo-Platonism at Florence 
 in the days of Cosmo de Medici in the science of 
 sympathies taught by Agrippa and Paracelsus in 
 Jacob Behmen's celestial visions or in Saint Teresa's 
 " four degrees " of prayer necessary to reach a perfect 
 " quietism." 
 
 Plato was regarded by the early Fathers of the 
 Church in the light of another apostle to the Gentiles. 
 Justin Martyr, Jerome, and Lactantius, all speak of 
 him as the wisest and greatest of philosophers. Augus- 
 tine calls him his converter, and thanks God that ho 
 became acquainted with Plato first and with the Gospel 
 afterwards : and Eusebius declared that " he alone of 
 all the Greeks had attained the Porch of Truth." It is 
 easy to understand the grounds of this feeling. Passages 
 from his Dialogues might be multiplied to prove the
 
 LATER PLATONISM. 193 
 
 close similarity which exists between them and the 
 Scriptures, especially the books of the Pentateuch. 
 The picture of the ideal Socrates preaching justice 
 and temperance, and opposing to the self-assertion of 
 the Pharisees of his age the humility of the earnest 
 inquirer and the soberness of truth his declaration 
 at his trial that he will obey God rather than man, 
 and fears not those who are only able to kill the body 
 the description of the just man persecuted, scourged, 
 tortured, and finally crucified,* such passages serve 
 to explain the prayer of Erasmus, who added to 
 the invocation of Christian saints in his litany, 
 " Sancte Socrates, ora pro nobis ;" and the belief of so 
 many of the Fathers that Plato, like St John the Bap- 
 tist, was a forerunner of Christ. Again, the strong 
 faith in the immortality of the soul the no less strong 
 sense of the pollution of sin the belief that virtue is 
 likeness to God the idea in the " Phsedrus " of a word 
 sown in the heart, and bringing forth fruit in due sea- 
 son the parable of the " Cave " and the Light of the 
 upper world, are a few instances out of many which 
 might be quoted to show the foreshadowings of Chris- 
 tianity so often traced in Plato. Once, indeed in 
 the last conversation held by Socrates with his friends 
 a passage occurs which seems to point even more 
 directly than any we have quoted to a Revelation 
 hereafter to be granted. Simmias, one of the speak- 
 ers in the Dialogue, thinks it impossible to hope for 
 exact knowledge in the great question they are dis- 
 
 ' The literal Greek is " impaled. ' 
 A. c. vol. xix. N
 
 194 PLATO. 
 
 cussing the unknown future of the soul ; still, he argues, 
 they should persevere in the search for truth, taking 
 the hest of human words to bear them up " as on a raft " 
 through the stormy waters of life ; but their voyage 
 on this frail bark would be perilous, unless they might 
 hope to meet with some securer stay some " word 
 from God," it might be. 
 
 Passages of this sort explain sufficiently the grounds 
 of the reverence with which Plato was regarded by 
 the Eastern Church, and especially in the school for 
 catechists at Alexandria, where Clement and Origen 
 taught. They even go far to justify the belief of 
 Augustine that Plato might perhaps have listened to 
 Jeremiah in Egypt, and that in his esoteric lectures 
 in the Academy he revealed the mystery of the Trinity 
 to a few chosen disciples. 
 
 Tertullian, on the other hand, declaimed bitterly 
 at Carthage against all Greek philosophy. He headed 
 the reaction which had set in against the Gnostics of 
 a former century, who had changed Plato's "Ideas" 
 into a world of ^Eons, and held that the Word, 
 "Wisdom, and Power, were so many emanations from 
 the divine mind. Platonism Tertullian held to be the 
 source of all heresies, and denied that there could be 
 any fellowship between the disciple of Greece and the 
 disciple of heaven, or between the Church and the 
 Academy. 
 
 Boethius, as we have said, was the last Xeo-Platon- 
 ist ; and his " Consolations of Philosophy " is the link 
 between the old world and the new. Then came the 
 Dark Ages, when the classics were only read by monks
 
 LATER PLATON1SM. 195 
 
 and churchmen, till they were revived in the schools 
 of Alcuin and Charlemagne. 
 
 Philosophy soon passed into scholasticism, and was 
 confined to the dogmas of the Church ; and through- 
 out the Middle Ages we find two great hostile camps 
 among the Schoolmen the Realists and Nominalists 
 each fighting under the shadow of a great name ; Plato 
 being the first (said Milton) "who brought the monster 
 of Realism into the schools," in his doctrine of Ideas, 
 so sharply criticised by Aristotle. The question at 
 issue between these two parties was whether Universals 
 had a real and substantial existence, subject to none 
 of the change and decay which affects particulars, or 
 whether (as the Nominalists argued) they were merely 
 general names expressive of general notions. 
 
 Early in the thirteenth century came a reaction from 
 the East in favour of Aristotle. His writings (which 
 had escaped destruction by the merest accident) had 
 been translated as early as the fifth century into Syriac 
 and Arabic; the Jews had translated them into Latin; 
 and the conquests of the Arabs in Spain had brought 
 them to the knowledge of the Schoolmen. Averroes, 
 the greatest of Arabian commentators, looked upon 
 Aristotle as the only man whom God had suffered to 
 attain perfection, and as the source of all true science. 
 He died in A.D. 1198, just before the rule of the Moors 
 in Spain came to an end ; but " Averroism," with its 
 pantheistic tenets, long survived its founder. 
 
 Albert of Bollstadt, Provincial of the Dominican 
 order in Germany, " the universal doctor " (who bears a 
 kind of half-mythical reputation as Albertus Magnus),
 
 196 PLATO. 
 
 reduced Aristotle's writings to a system. His pupil, 
 Thomas Aquinas, " the angelic doctor," soon followed in 
 his steps, rejecting all the texts of Platonism, denying 
 innate ideas, or a priori reasoning in theology ; but he 
 is so far a realist that he recognises the existence of 
 universals ante rem that is, in the divine mind; and 
 post rem that is, obtained by the effort of the indi- 
 vidual reason. His contemporary, Duns Scotus, " the 
 subtle doctor," went further, and assailed Platonism 
 with every weapon that the logic of his age supplied ; 
 while, later on, William of Ockham, "the invincible 
 doctor," revived Nominalism, and regarded universals 
 as a mere conception of the mind. Realism passed 
 out of date with Descartes in the sixteenth century, 
 and the tendency of all modern philosophy has been 
 distinctly towards Nominalism. Our own great philo- 
 sophical writers, Hobbes, Berkeley, Hume, and Locke, 
 all maintain that it is possible to have general names 
 as the signs or images of general ideas. 
 
 Bacon, the contemporary of Descartes, denounced 
 the wisdom of the Greeks as being " showy and dis- 
 putatious;" their logic he considers useless, their 
 induction haphazard, their dialectic " the mere chatter- 
 ing of children ; " and among one of the grand causes 
 of human error "the idols of the theatre," as he 
 terms them * he ranks the Platonic " Ideas." 
 
 Once again an attempt was made to revive Platon- 
 
 * "I look upon the various systems of the philosophers," 
 says Bacon, "as merely so many plays brought out upon the 
 stage theories of being which are merely scenic and ficti- 
 tious." Nov. Org., i. 44.
 
 LATER PLATONISM. 197 
 
 ism, at the end of the seventeenth century, by Cud- 
 worth, a writer of profound classical learning, who 
 maintained that there were certain eternal and im- 
 mutable verities which can only be comprehended by 
 reason, can never be learned by experience, and cannot 
 be changed by the will or opinion of men. And in 
 this sense every intuitive moralist may be said to be 
 a Platonist ; for the doctrine of a moral sense, which 
 apprehends of itself the distinctions of right and 
 wrong, and is not merely the product of society or 
 association, has its origin in the Platonic theory of 
 " reminiscence." 
 
 END OF PLATO. 
 
 PRINTED BY WILLIAM BLACKWOOD AND SONS, EDINBURGH.
 
 Ancient Classics for English Readers 
 
 EDITED BY THE 
 
 REV. W. LUCAS COLLINS, M.A. 
 
 LUCIAN
 
 The Volumes published of this Series contain 
 
 HOMER : THE ILIAD, BY THE EDITOR. 
 
 HOMER : THE ODYSSEY, BY THE SAME. 
 
 HERODOTUS, BY GEORGE C. SWAYNE, M.A. 
 
 CAESAR, BY ANTHONY TROLLOPE. 
 
 VIRGIL, BY THE EDITOR. 
 
 HORACE, BY THEODORE MARTIN. 
 
 AESCHYLUS, BY REGINALD S. COPJLESTON, M.A. 
 
 XENOPHON, BY SIR ALEX. GRANT, BART., LL.D. 
 
 CICERO, BY THE EDITOR. 
 
 SOPHOCLES, BY CLIFTON W. COLLINS, M.A. 
 
 PLINY, BY A. CHURCH, M.A., AND W. J. BRODRIBB, M.A. 
 
 EURIPIDES, BY WILLIAM BODHAM DONNE. 
 
 JUVENAL, BY EDWARD WALFORD, M.A. 
 
 ARISTOPHANES, BY THE EDITOR. 
 
 HESIOD AND THEOGNIS, BY JAMES DAVIES, M.A. 
 
 PLAUTUS AND TERENCE, BY THE EDITOR. 
 
 TACITUS, BY WILLIAM BODHAM DONNE. 
 
 LUCIAN, BY THE EDITOR. 
 
 PLATO, BY CLIFTON W. COLLINS. 
 
 THE GREEK ANTHOLOGY, BY LORD NEAVES. 
 
 SUPPLEMENTARY SERIES. 
 
 The Volumes HOT.U published contain 
 
 \. LIVY, BY THE REV. W. LUCAS COLLINS, M.A. 
 
 2. OVID, BY THE REV. A. CHURCH, M.A. 
 
 3. CATULLUS, TIBULLUS, & PROPERTIUS, BY THE 
 
 REV. JAMES DAVIES, M.A. 
 
 4. DEMOSTHENES, BY THE REV. W. J. BRODRIBB, M.A. 
 
 Other Volumes are in preparation.
 
 LUCIAN 
 
 BY THE 
 
 REV.jW. LUCAS COLLINS, M.A. 
 
 AUTHOR OF 
 'HTONIANA,' 'THE PUBLIC SCHOOLS,' ETC. 
 
 WILLIAM BLACKWOOD AND SONS 
 
 EDINBURGH AND LONDON 
 
 1873. REPRINT, 1877
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 CHAP. I. BIOGRAPHICAL, 1 
 
 n II. LUCIAN AND THE PAGAN OLYMPUS, . . 12 
 
 M IH. DIALOGUES OF THE DEAD, .... 50 
 
 n IV. LUCIAN AND THE PHILOSOPHERS, : . . 88 
 
 n V. SATIRES ON SOCIETY, 138 
 
 n VI. LUCIAN AS A ROMANCE- WRITER, . . .168 
 
 n VII. LUCIAN AND CHRISTIANITY, . . . .167
 
 L, U C I A N. 
 
 CHAPTEE I. 
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL. 
 
 LUCIAN (Lucianus, or Lycinus, as he sometimes calls 
 himself) was born about A.D. 120, or perhaps a few 
 years later, at Samosata, on the bank of the Euphrates, 
 at that time the capital city of Commagene, and per- 
 haps better known a century later from its heresiarch 
 bishop, Paul What we know of our author's life 
 is chiefly gathered from incidental notices scattered 
 through his numerous writings. Of his youthful 
 days he has given what is probably a truthful account 
 in a piece which he has entitled " The Dream." This 
 appears to have been written in his successful later 
 years (when men are most disposed to be open and 
 honest about their early antecedents), and recited as 
 a kind of prologue to his public readings of his works, 
 before his fellow-citizens of Samosata. He tells us that 
 his parents, who seem to have been in humble circum- 
 stances, held a council of the friends of the family to 
 consult what should be done with their boy. They 
 A. c. vol. xviii. A
 
 2 LUCIAX. 
 
 came to the conclusion that a liberal education was not 
 to be thought of, because of the expense. The next 
 best thing, for a lad who had already no doubt given 
 token of some ability, was to choose some calling 
 which should still be of an intellectual rather than a 
 servile character. This is his own account of what 
 took place in the family council : 
 
 " When one proposed one thing and one another, 
 according to their fancies or experience, my father 
 turned to my maternal uncle he was one of the 
 party, and passed for an excellent carver of Mer- 
 curies * ' It is impossible,' said he, politely, ' in your 
 presence, to give any other art the preference. So take 
 this lad home with you, and teach him to be a good 
 stone-cutter and statuary : for he has it in him, and 
 is clever enough, as you know, with his hands.' He 
 had formed this notion from the way in which I used 
 to amuse myself in moulding wax. As soon as I left 
 school, I used to scrape wax together, and make figures 
 of oxen and horses, and men too, with some cleverness, 
 as my father thought. This accomplishment had 
 earned me many a beating from my schoolmasters ; 
 but at this moment it was praised as a sign of natural 
 talent, and sanguine hopes were entertained that I 
 should speedily become master of my new profession, 
 from this early plastic fancy. So, on a day which was 
 counted lucky for entering on my apprenticeship, to 
 
 * The figures of Mercury so commonly set up in the streets 
 and at the gates of houses were mere busts without arms, and 
 could not have required any very great amount of art in their 
 production.
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL. 3 
 
 my uncle I was sent. I did not at all object to it my- 
 self : I thought I should find the work amusing enough, 
 and be very proud when I could show my playmates 
 how I could make gods, and cut out other little figures 
 for myself and my special friends. But an accident 
 happened to me, as is not uncommon with beginners. 
 My uncle put a chisel in my hand, and bid me work 
 it lightly over a slab of marble that lay in the shop, 
 quoting at the same time the common proverb, ' Well 
 begun is half done.' But, leaning too hard upon it, in 
 my awkwardness, the slab broke ; and my uncle, seiz- 
 ing a whip that lay at hand, made me pay my footing 
 in no very gentle or encouraging fashion ; so the first 
 wages I earned were tears." 
 
 "I ran off straight home, sobbing and howling, 
 with the tears running down my cheeks. I told them 
 there all about the whip, and showed the wheals ; and 
 with loud complaints of my uncle's cruelty, I added 
 that he had done it all out of envy, because he was 
 afraid I should soon make a better artist than himself. 
 My mother was extremely indignant, and vented bitter 
 reproaches against her brother." * 
 
 Of course, with the mother in such mood, we readily 
 understand that young Lucian never went back to the 
 shop. " I went to sleep," he says, " with my eyes full 
 of tears, and that very night I had a dream." This 
 dream, which the author goes on to relate, is a repro- 
 duction, adapted to suit the circumstances, of the well- 
 known " Choice of Hercules." How far Lucian 
 
 * " The Dream," 2-4.
 
 4 LVCIAN: 
 
 actually dreamed it, or thought he dreamed it, is 
 impossible to say. He was imaginative enough, no 
 douht, to have pictured it all to himself in his sleep ; 
 or a youth who had hit upon so ingenious an explana- 
 tion of -his uncle's beating him was equally capable of 
 inventing a dream for the family edification ; or (and 
 this is the most likely supposition) the practised 
 fabulist might have only adopted it as an appo- 
 site parable for the audience before whom he re- 
 lated it. The dream was this : Two female figures 
 seemed to have laid hold of him on either side, 
 and struggled so fiercely for the possession that he felt 
 as if he were being torn in two. " The one figure was 
 of coarse and masculine aspect, with rough hair and 
 callous hands, with her robe high-girt, and covered with 
 dust very like my uncle the stone-cutter when he was 
 polishing his work ; the other had a lovely face and 
 graceful bearing, and was elegantly dressed." The 
 first is " Statuary," who offers him, if he will follow 
 her, an ample maintenance, good health, and possibly 
 fame. He is not to be discouraged at her rough ap- 
 pearance ; such, at first starting in life, were Phidias, 
 Myron, and Praxiteles. The other graceful lady is 
 " Liberal Education." She reminds him that he had 
 already made some slight acquaintance with her : but 
 much is still wanting. She will make her votary 
 acquainted with all the noblest things which the 
 noblest men in all times have done, and said, and 
 written ; she will adorn his soul with temperance, jus- 
 tice, gentleness, prudence, and fortitude ; with the love 
 of the beautiful, and the thirst for knowledge. Nay,
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL. 5 
 
 she will give him that which all men covet immor- 
 tality. Her rival can but offer him the work and 
 position of a mere labourer, earning his living by his 
 hands, one of the vulgar herd, obliged to bow before 
 his superiors, and working according to his patrons' 
 taste.* 
 
 Lucian hardly waited, he says, for the termination 
 of this divine creature's speech, before he sprang up, 
 turned his back upon her rival, and threw himself into 
 her embraces. " No doubt/' he slyly observes, '" the 
 recollection of the flogging which my brief acquaintance 
 with the other lady had got me- the day before contri- 
 buted not a little to my choice." The rejected claim- 
 ant gnashed upon him savagely with her teeth, and 
 then, " stiffening like a second Niobe," she was very 
 appropriately turned into stone, t 
 
 "Whatever truth there might be in the vision, Lucian's 
 choice was made. How he found the means for the 
 further education that was needful, we are not told ; 
 but he got himself trained in some way as a Rhetori- 
 cian. That science was not only very popular, but its 
 professors, when once they had made themselves a 
 name, were pretty well paid. The Emperor Marcus 
 Aurelius was himself a most liberal patron of this as of 
 other sciences, and maintained public lectures on juris- 
 prudence, with which rhetoric was directly connected, 
 both at Rome and in the provinces. 
 
 * Wieland well remarks that the art of sculpture must have 
 been very much on the decline, both in point of merit and repu- 
 tation, to lead the writer to speak of it in such slighting terms. 
 
 t "The Dream," 6-14.
 
 6 L UCIA y. 
 
 For some time after his education was completed, 
 he seems to have wandered up and down Ionia, with 
 very precarious means of support, exercising his profes- 
 sion, among other places, at Antioch, where he must 
 have come into contact more or less with the new sect 
 called " Christians," with what result we shall partly 
 see hereafter. By degrees he got into some practice as 
 an advocate : but not meeting with the success which 
 he hoped for in that line, he took to composing orations 
 for others to deliver, and to giving lectures upon 
 rhetoric and the art of public speaking. In this latter 
 capacity he travelled a good deal, as was the custom for 
 all professors in those days, and delivered his lectures 
 and declamations in the towns of Syria, Greece, Italy, 
 and GauL It was in the last-named country always 
 a rich harvest-field, as we gather from Juvenal,* for 
 travelling orators and lecturers on law that he seems 
 to have been most successful, and he continued there 
 for ten years. 
 
 Whether he eventually grew tired of his profession, 
 as some expressions in his writings would lead us to 
 think, or whether he had made enough money by it to 
 enable him to devote himself to the more strictly lite- 
 rary life to which his tastes and abilities alike pointed, 
 he gave up the study and the practice of Rhetoric in 
 about his fortieth year. He cast off his old mistress, 
 he says, because he had grown tired of her false 
 ways : " she was always painting her face and tiring 
 her head," and otherwise misbehaving herself, and he 
 
 * See his Satires, vii. 175, and xv. 111.
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL. 7 
 
 would endure it no longer. She had led him a very 
 unquiet life of it, he declares, for some years. He 
 makes poor Rhetoric, indeed, say in her defence in 
 the same Dialogue, and with at least some degree of 
 truth, that she had taken him up when he was young, 
 poor, and unknown, had brought him fame and repu- 
 tation, and lastly in Gaul had made him a wealthy 
 man.* It is possible that the declining reputation 
 in which the science, owing to the abuses introduced 
 by unworthy professors, was beginning to be held 
 throughout Greece, may have been one great reason 
 for his withdrawing from it. 
 
 He delivered his last lecture on the subject at 
 Thessalonica, where he would again meet with, or at 
 least hear something of, the members of the Christian 
 Church. Thence he returned to his native town of 
 Samosata, found his father still alive there, t and soon 
 removed him and his whole family into Greece. He 
 devoted the rest of his life to the study of philosophy 
 and to his literary work, living in good style at Athens. 
 It was here, as he tells us himself, that he got rid of 
 his " barbarous Syrian speech," and perfected himself 
 in that pure Attic diction which is marvellous in a 
 writer who was virtually a foreigner. For such Greek 
 as was spoken in Syria during the Empire was, as 
 Lucian confesses, little better than a patois. To these 
 years of his life at Athens are naturally assigned those 
 Dialogues of his which have in them so much of the 
 Aristophanic spirit and manner. There also he enjoyed 
 
 * " The Double Accusation," 27 and 31. 
 + "Alexander, "56.
 
 8 LUCIAN. 
 
 the friendship of Demonax of Cyprus, who, if we may 
 trust the character which his friend gives of him in 
 the little biographical sketch which bears his name, 
 well deserved to be called an eclectic philosopher. 
 His philosophy, combining some of the highest tenets 
 of the Socratic school with the contempt of riches and 
 luxury affected by the Cynics, was, says Lucian, 
 " mild, cheerful, and benevolent," and he lived re- 
 spected to the end of his long life, " setting an example 
 of moderation and wisdom to all who saw and heard 
 him." * 
 
 Lucian still travelled occasionally, and on one occa- 
 sion paid a visit to the reputed oracle of the arch- 
 impostor Alexander, at Abonoteichos in Paphlagonia, 
 of which he gives a very graphic account. This man 
 exercised an extraordinary influence over the credu- 
 lity not only of his own countrymen but of strangers 
 
 * Lucian gives us a number of conversational anecdotes of 
 Demonax, one of the few collections of classical ana. Perhaps 
 the best is this. A certain sophist from Sidon, very fond of 
 praising himself, was boasting that he understood all systems 
 of philosophy. " If Aristotle calls me to the Lyceum, I can 
 follow him : if Plato invites me to the Academy, I will meet 
 him there : if Zeno to the Porch, I am ready : if Pythagoras 
 calls upon me, I can be silent." Rising up quietly among the 
 audience " Hark ! " said Demonax, addressing him " Pytha- 
 goras calls you. " There was evidently something in common 
 between the two friends in their views upon religious questions. 
 When a neighbour asked Demonax to accompany him to the 
 temple of ^Esculapius to pray for the recovery of his son, the 
 philosopher replied " Do you suppose that the god is deaf, 
 that he cannot hear us \vhere we are ? " Life of Demonax, 
 14, 27.
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL. 9 
 
 also. Lucian's zeal against such sham pretenders here 
 brought him into some trouble, and went near to cost 
 him his life. Alexander, who had specially invited 
 him to an audience, held out his hand, according to 
 custom, for his visitor to kiss ; whereupon Lucian, by 
 way of active protest against an imposture which he 
 had already denounced, bit it so hard as actually to 
 lame him for some time. The Prophet affected to treat 
 the thing as a practical joke, but, when Lucian was 
 leaving the country, gave private orders to the captain 
 and crew of the vessel to fling the malicious unbeliever 
 overboard a fate which he only escaped through the 
 unusual tender-heartedness of the Asiatic captain. 
 
 He seems to have become poorer again in his later 
 years, and to have occasionally taken up his old pro- 
 fession. But at last the Emperor Marcus Aurelius 
 (or, as Wieland rather thinks, Commodus) offered him 
 an official appointment (something like that of Re- 
 corder, or Clerk of the Courts) at Alexandria in Egypt. 
 His chief duties were, as he tells us, to preside 
 over the courts of justice and to keep the records.* 
 He thought it necessary to write an " Apology " for 
 accepting this position ; for it happened that he had 
 just put forth an essay (which will come under notice 
 hereafter) on the miseries of a state of dependence on 
 great men, and was conscious that his enemies might 
 take occasion to sneer at so stout a champion of inde- 
 pendence thus consenting to sell himself for office. He 
 must have felt like Dr Johnson when he consulted 
 his friends as to the propriety of his accepting the 
 * "Apology, "12.
 
 10 LUC I AN. 
 
 pension offered by Lord Bute, after the bitter defini- 
 tions of the words "pension" and " pensioner" which 
 lie had given in the first edition of his Dictionary. 
 The promotion did not come until, as he says, he 
 " had one foot already in Charon's boat," for he must 
 have been above seventy years old when he received 
 it : but the emoluments were fairly good ; he was 
 allowed to perform the office by deputy, so that it did 
 not interfere with his busy literary leisure at Athens, 
 and he lived many years to enjoy it. He is said to have 
 been a hundred years old when he died, but nothing 
 certain is known of the date or manner of his death. 
 It has been conjectured with much probability that in 
 his later years he was troubled with the gout, a dis- 
 order to which he more than once makes allusion in 
 his writings, very much in the tone of one who spoke 
 from painful experience ; and he has left two humor- 
 ous mock-tragic dramatic scenes in which Gout is per- 
 sonified as the principal character. The torments of 
 which she is the author to mankind are amusingly 
 exaggerated. Philoctetes is made out to have been a 
 sufferer, not from the bite of the snake or from the 
 poisoned arrow, but simply from gout in his foot 
 enough to account for any amount of howls 
 and lamentations, such as are put in his mouth by 
 Sophocles ; and Ulysses must have died by the same 
 enemy, and not, as was fabled, by the poisonous spine 
 of a sea-urchin. 
 
 It has been impossible, in the compass of this 
 volume, even to notice all the works of this active and
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL. 11 
 
 versatile writer, a descriptive catalogue of which would 
 alone fill some pages. Nor has the common order of 
 arrangement been here followed, but the Dialogues 
 and other pieces have been grouped as seemed most 
 convenient. 
 
 Though Lucian was always a popular writer, he has 
 not found many modern translators. The formid- 
 able number of his works has no doubt been one 
 reason for this. Spence's translation (1684) is termed 
 by Dryden " scandalous." The version by " Eminent 
 Hands," published in 1711, to which is prefixed a 
 " Life " by Dryden, is very incorrect, though some of the 
 pieces are rendered with considerable spirit. Tooke's 
 translation (1820) is also full of the blunders of 
 imperfect scholarship, though the English is often 
 racy and good. Dr Franklin's is, on the whole, that 
 which does most justice to the original. But no Eng- 
 lish translator approaches in point of excellence the 
 admirable German version by Wieland.
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 LUCIAN AND THE PAGAN OLYMPUS. 
 
 THE best known and the most popular of our author's 
 multifarious writings are his "Dialogues," many of 
 which would form admirable dramatic scenes, contain- 
 ing more of the spirit of comedy, as we moderns 
 understand it, than either the broad burlesque of 
 Aristophanes or the somewhat sententious and didactic 
 tone of Terence. The "Dialogues of the Gods," in 
 which the old mythological deities are introduced 
 to us as it were in undress, discussing their family 
 affairs and private quarrels in the most familiar style, 
 were composed with a double purpose by their writer. 
 He not only seized upon the absurd points in religious 
 fable as presenting excellent material for burlesque, 
 but he indulged at the same time in the most caustic 
 form of satire upon the popular belief, against which, 
 long before his day, the intellect of even the heathen 
 world had revolted. It is possible that his apprentice- 
 ship, brief as it was, to the manufacture of stone 
 Mercuries helped to make him an iconoclast. The 
 man who assists in the chiselling out of a god must 
 know more or less that he " has a lie in his right
 
 THE PAGAN OLYMPUS. 13 
 
 hand." The unhesitating faith in which (apparently) 
 he accepts the truth of all the popular legends about 
 Jupiter and his court, treating them in the most 
 matter-of-fact and earnest way, and assuming their 
 literal truth in every detail, makes the satire all the 
 more pungent. To have sifted the heap of legends 
 into false and true, or to have explained that this was 
 only a poetical illustration, or that an allegorical form 
 of truth, would not have damaged the popular creed 
 half so much as this representation of the Olympian 
 deities under all the personal and domestic circum- 
 stances which followed, as necessary corollaries, from 
 their supposed relations to each other. "W r e need 
 not wonder that the charge of atheism was hurled 
 against him by all the defenders, honest or dishonest, 
 of the national worship. Many as had been the blows 
 struck against it by satirists and philosophers, Lucian's 
 was, if not the hardest, the most deadly of all. 
 
 The Dialogue called " PROMETHEUS," though it stands 
 alone, and is not classed among the " Dialogues of the 
 Gods," is quite of the same character with these, 
 and may be regarded as a kind of prologue to the 
 series. As a punishment for the offence which he has 
 given to Jupiter, Prometheus is being chained down 
 upon Mount Caucasus, the idea of the scene being 
 borrowed undoubtedly from the tragedy of ^Eschylus. 
 The executioners of the punishment, however, in this 
 case, are Vulcan and Mercury alone, without the aid of 
 Strength and Force. The victim protests against the 
 cruelty and injustice of his doom, and the mean and
 
 14 LVCIAN. 
 
 petty revenge taken by Jupiter (upon a deity of much 
 older family than himself, too), just because he had been 
 outwitted in the division of the sacrifice : for this he 
 believes to have been the head and front of his offend- 
 ing.* What would be said of a mortal who should 
 crucify his cook for tasting the soup, or cutting a bit 
 off the roast ? As for his creation of men, the gods 
 ought to be very much obliged to him : for where 
 would be their temples, their honours and their sacri- 
 fices, if the earth had remained untenanted 1 Even the 
 beauty of the universe would have had no admirers.t 
 If it be said that these same mortals are wicked, 
 murderers, adulterers, and so forth, the gods had 
 better hold their tongues on that point, considering 
 the examples set by themselves. Then, as to his gift 
 of fire to men it is mere envy in Jupiter to grudge 
 it them ; and gods ought surely to be widely benefi- 
 cent, not envious and selfish. And, if the gods do not 
 like to see fire tised upon earth, at least they seem 
 very much delighted with the smoke, when it comes 
 up to them in the shape of incense. Mercury admits 
 that his defence is, to say the least, very clever ; but, 
 
 * Prometheus had cut up a victim, and divided the portions 
 into two heaps, of which he gave Jupiter his choice. Jupiter 
 chose that which seemed to have the best share of fat at the 
 top, but found that beneath there was nothing but bones. 
 
 t " ' What use could the Deity have for man,' said Epicurus, 
 1 that He should create him ? ' Surely, that there might be a 
 being that could understand His works ; that could have sense 
 to admire and voice to proclaim His providence in arrange- 
 ment, His plan of operation, His perfection in completing all." 
 Lactantius, Div. Instit, b. vii c. 5.
 
 THE PAGAN OLYMPUS. 15 
 
 he remarks, " you may think yourself very fortunate 
 that Jupiter does not hear what you say, for he would 
 surely send down a hundred vultures upon you instead 
 of one." 
 
 The change of dynasty in heaven presents of course 
 a salient point, here and elsewhere, to the satirist. He 
 makes Prometheus in his agony appeal to the ancient 
 deities, Saturn, Jupiter, and Earth, not recognising 
 any of the new introductions. In this, too, he has 
 followed ^Eschylus, who makes the great Titan call 
 upon Earth and Sea and Air, to witness his treatment 
 at the hands of a usurper. 
 
 Some of the shorter and more amusing of these 
 " Dialogues of the Gods " are here given entire, and 
 are a fair specimen of the humour of the rest. 
 
 JUPITER AND CUPID. 
 
 Cupid. Well, even if I have done wrong, pray for- 
 give me, Jupiter; I am only a child, you see, and don't 
 know any better. 
 
 Jupiter. Child, indeed, Master Cupid ! you who are 
 older than lapetus ! Because you don't happen to have 
 grown a beard yet, and because your hair isn't grey, 
 you are to be considered a child, I suppose old and 
 crafty as you are. 
 
 Cup. Why, what great harm have I done you 
 old as you say I am that you should think of putting 
 me in the stocks ] 
 
 Jup. I/ook here, then, you mischievous imp ! is this 
 a trifle the way in which you have disgraced me?
 
 16 LVCIAN. 
 
 There is nothing you have not turned me into satyr, 
 bull, gold pieces, swan, eagle ; but you never yet have 
 made a single woman fall in love with me for myself, 
 nor have I ever been able to make myself agreeable 
 in any quarter in my own person, but I have to use 
 magic in all such affairs, and disguise myself. And 
 after all, it's the bull or the swan they fall in love 
 with ; if they see me, they die of terror. 
 
 Cup. Yes, no wonder; they are but mortal, you 
 know, Jupiter, and can't endure your awful person. 
 
 Jup. How is it, then, that Apollo gets them to 
 fall in love with him ? 
 
 Cup. Well Daphne, you know, ran away from 
 him, for all his flowing locks and smooth face. But if 
 you want to make yourself attractive, you mustn't shake 
 your aegis, and carry your thunderbolt about with you, 
 but make yourself look as pleasant as you can, let 
 your hair hang down on both sides of your face in 
 curls, put a fillet round it, get a purple dress, put 
 on gilded sandals, walk with the fashionable step, 
 with a pipe and timbrel before you : you'll see, the 
 women will run after you then, faster than the 
 Mcenads do after Bacchus. 
 
 Jup. Away with you I couldn't condescend to 
 be attractive by making myself such a fool as that. 
 
 Cup. Very well, Jupiter, then give up love-making 
 altogether ; (looking slyly at him) that's easy enough, 
 you know. 
 
 Jup. Nay, I must go on with my courting, but you 
 must find me some less troublesome fashion than that. 
 And upon this sole condition, I let you off once more.
 
 TEE PAGAN OLYMPUS. 17 
 
 VULCAN AXD APOLLO. 
 
 Vulcan. I say, Apollo have you seen this young 
 bantling that Maia has just produced ? What a fine 
 child it is ! smiles at everybody, and gives plain token 
 already that it will turn out something wonderful 
 quite a blessing to us all. 
 
 Apollo. A blessing, you think, eh, Vulcan ? that 
 child who is older, in point of wickedness, than old 
 father lapetus himself ! 
 
 Vul. Why, what harm can a baby like that do 
 to anybody ? 
 
 Ap. Just ask Neptune, he stole his trident. Or 
 ask Mars, the brat slipped his sword out of its sheath 
 as quickly as you please ; to say nothing of myself, and 
 he has gone off with my bow and arrows. 
 
 Vul. What ! that infant ? who can hardly stand I 
 the one in the cradle there ? 
 
 Ap, You'll soon find out for yourself, Vulcan, if he 
 pays you a visit. 
 
 Vul. Why, he has paid me a visit, just now. 
 
 Ap. Well, have you got all your tools safe? none 
 of them missing, is there 1 
 
 Vul. (looking round). No they are all right, 
 Apollo. 
 
 Ap. Nay, look carefully. 
 
 Vul. By Jove ! I can't see my anvil ! 
 
 A p. You'll find it somewhere in his cradle, I'll be 
 bound. 
 
 Vul. Why, he's as handy with his fingers as if he 
 had studied thieving before he was born ! 
 
 A. c. vol. xviii. B
 
 18 LUCIAN. 
 
 Ap. Ah ! you haven't heard him yet talking, as pert 
 and as glib as may be. Why, he wants to run errands 
 for us all ! Yesterday, he challenged Cupid to wrestle 
 with him, and tripped up both his legs in some way, 
 and threw him in a second. Then, when we were all 
 applauding him, and Venus was hugging him after his 
 victory, he stole her cestus ; and while Jupiter was 
 laughing at that, he was off with his majesty's sceptre. 
 Ay, and if the thunderbolt did not happen to be 
 heavy, and considerably hot withal, he would have 
 stolen that too. 
 
 Vul. You make the child out to be a prodigy. 
 
 Ap. Not only that he knows music already. 
 
 Vul. How did he find that outl 
 
 Ap. He got hold of a dead tortoise somewhere, and 
 made its shell into an instrument : fitted it with pins, 
 and put a bridge to it, and stretched seven strings 
 across it. Then he sang to it, something really quite 
 pretty, Vulcan, and in good tune : I was absolutely 
 jealous of him, though, as you know, I have practised 
 the lyre some time. Maia declares, too, that he never 
 stays in heaven at night, but goes down into the 
 Shades, out of curiosity or to steal something there, 
 most likely. He has got wings, too, and has made 
 himself a rod of some miraculous power, by which he 
 guides and conducts the dead below. 
 
 Vul. Oh, I gave him that, myself, for a toy. 
 
 Ap. So, in return, to show his gratitude, your 
 anvil 
 
 V^d. By the by, you remind me. I must go and look 
 if I can find it, as you say, anywhere in his cradle.
 
 THE PAGAN OLYMPUS. 19 
 
 JITPITEB, ^SCULAPITJS, AND HERCULES. 
 
 Jupiter. Be quiet, do, both of you Hercules and 
 ^Esculapius quarrelling with one another, just like 
 mortals. It's really quite unseemly, this kind of con- 
 duct ; not at all the thing in Olympian society. 
 
 Hercules. But do you mean to say, Jupiter, this 
 apothecary fellow is to sit above me ? 
 
 JEsculapius. Quite fair I should; I'm the better 
 deity. 
 
 Here. In what way, you staring ass? Because 
 Jupiter struck you with his lightning for doing what 
 you had no right to do, and now out of sheer pity 
 has made you into an immortal? 
 
 jEsc. Have you forgot, Hercules, the bonfire that 
 you made of yourself upon Mount CEta, that you 
 taunt me with having been burnt? 
 
 Here. Our lives were considerably different. I, the 
 son of Jove, who undertook all those labours to bene- 
 fit my generation, conquering monsters and punishing 
 tyrants : while you went about like a vagabond, col- 
 lecting roots, of some little use perhaps to dose a few 
 sick folk, but never having done a single deed of 
 valour. 
 
 jEsc. All very fine ; when I healed your sores, sir, 
 when you came up here the other day half roasted 
 between the effects of the tunic and the fire together. 
 Well, if I haven't done much, at least I was never 
 a slave, as you were never carded wool in Lydia 
 in a woman's dress never had my face slapped by
 
 20 LUCIA jr. 
 
 Omphale with her gilt slipper : and never went mad 
 and killed my wife and children. 
 
 Here. If you don't stop that abuse, sir, you'll 
 pretty soon find out that your immortality is not of 
 much use to you. I'll take and pitch you head-first 
 out of heaven ; and it will be more than Poean him- 
 self can do to mend you when your skull's broken. 
 
 Jup. Stop ! I tell you both again, and don't annoy 
 the company, or I'll turn you both out of the hall. 
 But it's quite fair, Hercules, that ^Esculapius should 
 sit above you because he died first. 
 
 JUNO AND LATONA. 
 
 Juno (meeting her rival with a disdainful half* 
 boic). A lovely pair of brats indeed, Latona, you 
 have presented Jupiter with ! 
 
 Latona (with a sweeping curtsey). Oh, we cannot 
 all of us be expected, your majesty, to produce such 
 a beauty as Vulcan ! 
 
 Ju. (rather disconcerted). Well, lame as he is, 
 he is very useful. He's a charming artist, and has 
 decorated heaven for us with excellent taste. Then 
 he has married Venus, and she is wonderfully fond 
 of him too. But those children of yours why, 
 that girl's quite a masculine creature, only fit for the 
 country. And now this last expedition of hers into 
 Scythia everybody knows her horrible way of living 
 there killing her visitors and eating them as bad 
 as those cannibals, the Scythians themselves. Then 
 Apollo, he pretends, I'm told, to know everything
 
 THE PAG AX OLYMPUS. 21 
 
 archery, and music, and medicine, and magic to 
 boot; and has set up his prophecy-shops, one at 
 Delphi, and one in Claros, and one at Didymce ; and 
 cheats the people who come to consult him, with his 
 enigmas and double-entendres, which can be turned 
 into answers to the question both ways, so that he can 
 never be proved wrong. He makes it pay, no doubt ; 
 there are always fools enough in the world ready to 
 be cheated by a fortune-teller. But wiser persons 
 see through him well enough, for all his humbugging 
 prodigies. Prophet as he is, he could not divine that 
 he was to kill his favourite with a quoit; or foresee 
 that Daphne would run away from him, in spite of 
 his pretty face and his curls. I don't see, for my 
 own part, how you could have been considered more 
 fortunate in your children than poor Niobe. 
 
 La. Oh yes ; I know how you hate to see my two 
 darlings the cannibal and the charlatan, as you are 
 pleased to call them in the company of the gods : 
 especially when her beauty is the subject of remark, 
 or when he plays after dinner, to the admiration of 
 everybody. 
 
 Ju. Eeally, Latona, you make me laugh. Admire 
 his playing indeed ! "Why, if the Muses had only 
 thought proper to decide fairly, Marsyas ought to 
 have skinned him, for he was unquestionably the 
 better musician of the two. As it was, poor fellow, 
 he was cheated, and lost his life by their unjust 
 verdict. And as for your beautiful daughter, yes, 
 she was so beautiful, that when she knew she had 
 been spied by Actseon, for fear that the young man
 
 22 LUCIAX. 
 
 should publish her ugliness, she set the dogs at him. 
 And I might add that her occupation as a midwife 
 is not over-maidenly. 
 
 La. You are mighty proud, Juno, because you are 
 the consort of Jove, and so think you can insult us 
 all as much as you please. But it will not be very 
 long before I shall see you in your usual hysterics, 
 when his majesty goes down to earth in disguise upon 
 one of his intriguing rambles. 
 
 VENUS AND CUPID. 
 
 Venus. How in the world is it, Cupid, that you, 
 who have mastered all the other gods, Jupiter and 
 Neptune and Apollo and Ehea and even me, your 
 mother yet you never try your hand upon Minerva ] 
 In her case, your torch seems to lose its fire, your 
 quiver has no arrows, and your skill and cunning is 
 all at fault. 
 
 Cupid. I am afraid of her, mother ; she has such a 
 terrible look, and such stern eyes, and is so horribly 
 man-like. Whenever I bend my bow and take aim 
 at her, she shakes her crest at me and frightens me so 
 that I absolutely shake, and the arrow drops out of 
 my hands. 
 
 Ven. But was not Mars even more terrible ? Yet 
 you disarmed and conquered him. 
 
 Cup. Oh, he gives in to me of his own accord, and 
 invites me to attack him. But Minerva always eyes 
 me suspiciously, and whenever I fly near her with my 
 torch, " If you dare to touch me," she says, " I swear 
 by my father, I'll run my spear through you, or take
 
 THE PAGAN OLYMPUS. 23 
 
 you by the leg and pitch you into Tartarus, or tear you 
 lirab from limb." She has often threatened me so ; 
 and then she looks so savage, and has got a horrible 
 head of some kind fixed upon her breast, with snakes 
 for hair, which I am dreadfully afraid of. It terrifies 
 me, and I run away whenever I see it. 
 
 Ven. You are afraid of Minerva and her Gorgon, 
 you say you, who are not afraid of Jupiter's thunder- 
 bolt ! And pray, why are the Muses still untouched, 
 as if they were out of the reach of your arrows ? Do 
 they shake their crests too, or do they display any 
 Gorgon's heads 1 
 
 Cup. Oh, mother ! I should be ashamed to meddle 
 with them they are such respectable and dignified 
 young ladies, always deep in their studies, or busy 
 with their music ; I often stand listening to them till 
 I quite forget myself. 
 
 Ven. Well, let them alone ; they are very respect- 
 able. But Diana, now why do you never aim a 
 shaft at her ? 
 
 Cup. The fact is, I can't catch her ; she is always 
 flying over the mountains; besides, she has a little 
 private love-affair of her own already. 
 
 Ven. With whom, child ? 
 
 Cup. With the game stags and fauns that she 
 hunts and brings down with her arrows ; she cares for 
 nothing else, that I know of. But as for that brother 
 of hers, great archer as he is, and far as he is said to 
 shoot 
 
 Ven. (laughing}. Yes, yes, I know, child you've 
 hit Mm often enough.
 
 24 LUC I AN. 
 
 As a pendant to these "Dialogues of the Gods," 
 though it is not one of the pieces which bear that 
 name, we have an amusing satire, conceived in the 
 same daring spirit of iconoclasm, called 
 
 JUPITER IN HEROICS. 
 
 The speculations of the rationalists of the day as 
 to the existence or non-existence of the Olympian 
 deities have reached the ears of Jupiter himself, and 
 he enters upon the scene in a state of considerable 
 excitement and indignation, marching up and doAvn, 
 and muttering, with a pallid face, and his skin the 
 colour of a philosopher, to the great bewilderment of 
 his family. He finds it impossible to give expression 
 to his feelings in sober prose, but addresses Minerva 
 in tragic verse, compounded from his recollections of 
 Euripides. " Good heavens," says his goddess-daughter 
 to herself, " what an awful prologue ! " l$ot to show 
 herself wanting in poetical taste, however, as indeed 
 was due to her own reputation, she answers him in his 
 own vein, in a cento from Homer. But, as the king 
 of the gods is proceeding in the same strain, Juno 
 comes upon the scene, and, like some mortal wives, 
 has little sympathy with her husband's poetical vein. 
 She begs him, for the sake of ordinary comprehensions, 
 to confine himself to prose. "Remember, Jupiter," 
 says she, " that all of us have not devoured Euripides 
 bodily, as you have, and do not be angry if we are un- 
 able to keep up with you in this extempore tragedy." 
 She draws her own conclusion at once as to the cause 
 of this excitement. Plainly it is nothing more or less
 
 THE PAGAN OLYMPUS, 25 
 
 than a new love-affair. Jupiter scornfully assures her 
 that this is quite a different matter. It is a question 
 which concerns the honour and status of all the court 
 of Olympus ; men are actually discussing among them- 
 selves upon earth whether they shall hereafter do 
 worship and sacrifice to the gods at all. A council of 
 the immortals must be held at once on urgent affairs ; 
 although Minerva, with a cautious prudence which 
 will always find imitators, suggests that it would be 
 better to leave such questions to settle themselves, and 
 that the safest way to treat scepticism is to ignore it. 
 But her counsel is overruled, and Mercury has orders 
 to summon a general assembly of the gods forthwith. 
 
 Mercury. O yes, yes ! the gods are to come to 
 council immediately ! !N"o delay all to be present 
 come, come ! upon urgent affairs of state. 
 
 Jupiter. What ! do you summon them in that bald, 
 inartificial, prosaic fashion, Mercury and on a business 
 of such high importance ? 
 
 Merc. Why, how would you have it done, then ? 
 
 Jup. How would I have it done ] I say, proclama- 
 tion should be made in dignified style in verse of 
 some kind, and with a sort of poetical grandeur. They 
 would be more likely to come. 
 
 Merc. Possibly. But that's the business of yout 
 epic poets and rhapsodists I'm not at all poetical 
 myself. I should infallibly spoil the job, by putting 
 in a foot too much or a foot too little, and only get 
 myself laughed at for my bungling poetry. I hear 
 even Apollo himself ridiculed for some of his poetical
 
 26 LUCIAN. 
 
 oracles though, in his case obscurity covers a multi- 
 tude of sins. Those who consult him have so much 
 to do to make out his meaning that they haven't much 
 leisure to criticise his verse. 
 
 Jup. "Well, but, Mercury, mix up a little Homer in 
 your summons the form, you know, in which he 
 used to call us together ; you surely remember it. 
 
 Merc. Not very readily or clearly. However, I'll 
 try: 
 
 " Now, all ye female gods, and all ye male, 
 And all ye streams within old Ocean's pale, 
 And all ye nymphs, at Jove's high summons, come, 
 All ye who eat the sacred hecatomb ! 
 Who sit and sniff the holy steam, come all, 
 Great names, and small names, and no names at all." * 
 
 Jup. "Well done, Mercury ! a most admirable pro- 
 clamation. Here they are all coming already. Now 
 take and seat them, each in the order of their dignity 
 according to their material or their workmanship ; 
 the golden ones in the first seats, the silver next to 
 them ; then in succession those of ivory, brass, and 
 stone, and of these, let the works of Phidias, and 
 Alcamenes, and Myron, and Euphranor, and suchlike 
 artists, take precedence ; but let the rude and inartistic 
 figures be pushed into some corner or other, just to fill 
 up the meeting and let them hold their tongues. 
 
 Merc. So be it ; they shall be seated according to 
 their degree. But it may be as well for me to under- 
 stand, supposing one be of gold, weighing ever so 
 
 * A burlesque of sundry passages in Homer.
 
 THE PAGAN OLYMPUS. 27 
 
 many talents, "but not well executed, and altogether 
 common and badly finished, is he to sit above the 
 brazen statues of Myron and Polycleitus, or the 
 marble of Phidias and Alcamenes 1 Or must I count 
 the art as more -worthy than the material ] 
 
 Jup. It ought to be so, certainly; but we must give 
 the gold the preference, all the same. 
 
 Merc. I understand. You would have me class them 
 according to wealth, not according to merit or excel- 
 lence. Now, then, you that are made of gold, here 
 in the first seats. (Turning to Jupiter.) It seems to 
 me, your majesty, that the first places will be filled up 
 entirely with barbarians. You see what the Greeks 
 are very graceful and beautiful, and of admirable 
 workmanship, but of marble or brass, all of them, or 
 even the most valuable, of ivory, with just a little gold 
 to give them colour and brightness ; while their in- 
 terior is of wood, with probably a whole common- 
 wealth of mice established inside them. Whereas 
 that Bendis, and Anubis, and Atthis there, and Men, 
 are of solid gold, and really of enormous value.* 
 
 Neptune (coming foncard). And is this fair, Mer- 
 cury, that this dog-faced monster from Egypt should 
 sit above me me Neptune ? 
 
 Merc. That's the rule. Because, my friend Earth- 
 shaker, Lysippus made you of brass, and consequently 
 poor the Corinthians having no gold at that time ; 
 
 * Bendis was a Thracian goddess, in whom Herodotus recog- 
 nises Diana. The Athenians had introduced her, and held a 
 festival in her honour. Atthis and Men (Lunus) were Phrygian 
 deities : Mithras was the Persian sun-god.
 
 28 LUC I AN. 
 
 whereas that is the most valuable of all metals. You 
 must make up your mind, therefore, to make room for 
 him, and not be vexed about it ; a god with a great 
 gold nose like that must needs take precedence. 
 
 (Enter VENUS.) Ven. (coaxingly to Mercury). Now 
 then, Mercury dear, take and put me in a good place, 
 please ; I'm golden, you know. 
 
 Merc. Not at all, so far as I can see. Unless I'm 
 very blind, you're cut out of white marble from Pen- 
 telicus, I think and it pleased Praxiteles to make a 
 Venus of you, and hand you over to the people of 
 Cnidus. 
 
 Ven. But I can produce a most unimpeachable 
 witness Homer himself. He continually calls me 
 "golden Venus" all through, his poems. 
 
 Merc. Yes; and the same authority calls Apollo 
 " rich in gold " and " wealthy ; " but you can see him 
 sitting down there among the ordinary gods. He was 
 stripped of his golden crown, you see, by the thieves, 
 and they even stole the strings of his lyre. So you 
 may think yourself well off that I don't put you down 
 quite amongst the crowd. 
 
 (Enter the COLOSSUS of RHODES.) Col. Now, who 
 will venture to dispute precedence with me me, who 
 am the Sun, and of such a size to boot ? If it had not 
 been that the good people of Rhodes determined to 
 construct me of extraordinary dimensions, they could 
 have made sixteen golden gods for the same price.* 
 Therefore I must be ranked higher, by the rule of 
 
 * Sixteen was the recognised number of legitimate gods.
 
 THE PAGAN OLYMPUS. 29 
 
 proportion. Besides, look at the art and the work- 
 manship, so correct, though on such an immense 
 scale. 
 
 Merc. What's to be done, Jupiter 1 It's a very hard 
 question for me to decide. If I look at his material, 
 he's only brass ; but if I calculate how many talents' 
 weight of brass he has in him, he's worth the most 
 money of them all. 
 
 Jup. (testily). What the deuce does he want here at 
 all dwarfing all the rest of us into insignificance, as 
 he does, and blocking up the meeting besides ? (Aloud 
 to Colossm.) Hark ye, good cousin of Rhodes, though 
 you may be worth more than all these golden gods, 
 how can you possibly take the highest seat, unless 
 they all get up and you sit down by yourself? Why, 
 one of your thighs would take up all the seats in the 
 Pnyx ! You'd better stand up, if you please, and 
 you can stoop your head a little towards the company. 
 
 Merc. Here's another difficulty, again. Here are 
 two, both of brass, and of the same workmanship, 
 both from the hands of Lysippus, and, more than all, 
 equal in point of birth, both being sons of Jupiter 
 Bacchus, here, and Hercules. Which of them is to sit 
 first 1 They're quarrelling over it, as you see. 
 
 Jup. We're wasting time, Mercury, when we ought 
 to have begun business long ago. So let them sit 
 down anyhow now, as they please. We will have 
 another meeting hereafter about this question, and 
 then I shall know better what regulations to make 
 about precedence. 
 
 Merc. But, good heavens ! what a row they all
 
 30 LUC I AN. 
 
 make, shouting that perpetual cry, as they do, 
 " Divide, 'vide, 'vide the victims ! " " Where's the 
 nectar ? where's the nectar ? " " The ambrosia's all out ! 
 the ambrosia's all out ! " " Where are the hecatombs ? 
 where are the hecatombs 1 " " Give us our share ! " 
 
 Jup. Bid them hold their tongues, do, Mercury, 
 that they may hear the object of the meeting, and let 
 such nonsense alone. 
 
 Merc. But they don't all understand Greek, and I 
 am no such universal linguist as to make proclamation 
 in Scythian, and Persian, and Thracian, and Celtic. 
 It will be best, I suppose, to make a motion with 
 my hand for them to be silent. 
 
 Jup. Very well do. 
 
 Merc. See, they're all as dumb as philosophers. 
 Now's your time to speak. Do you see 1 they're all look- 
 ing at you, waiting to hear what you're going to say. 
 
 Jup. (clearing his throat). Well, as you're my owu 
 son, Mercury, I don't mind telling you how I feeL 
 You know how self-possessed and how eloquent I 
 always am at public meetings? 
 
 Merc. I know I trembled whenever I heard you 
 speak, especially when you used to threaten all that 
 about wrenching up earth and sea from their foun- 
 dations, you know, gods and all, and dangling that 
 golden chain * 
 
 * Lucian repeatedly brings forward, in these Dialogues, the 
 gasconade which Homer put into the mouth of Jupiter, II. 
 viiL 18 
 
 " A golden chain let down from heaven, and all, 
 Both gods and goddesses, your strength apply ;
 
 THE PAGAN OLYMPUS. 31 
 
 Jup. (interrupting Mm). But now, my son, I can't 
 tell whether it's the importance of the subject, or the 
 vastness of the assembly (there are a tremendous lot 
 of gods here, you see) my ideas seem all in a whirl, 
 and a sort of trembling has come over me, and my 
 tongue seems as though it were tied. And the most 
 unlucky thing of all is, I've forgotten the opening 
 paragraph of my speech, which I had all ready pre- 
 pared beforehand, that my exordium might be as 
 attractive as possible. 
 
 Merc. Well, my good sir, you are in a bad way. 
 They all mistrust your silence, and fancy they are to 
 hear something very terrible, and that this is what 
 makes you hesitate. 
 
 Jup. Suppose, Mercury, I were to rhapsodise a 
 little, that introduction, you know, out of Homer ? 
 
 Merc. Which? 
 
 Jup. (declaiming) 
 
 " Now, hear my words, ye gods and she-gods all " 
 
 Merc. No heaven forbid ! you've given us enough 
 of that stuff already. No pray let that hackneyed 
 style alone. Eather give them a bit out of one of the 
 Philippics of Demosthenes any one you please ; you 
 
 Yet would ye fail to drag from heaven to earth, 
 
 Strive as ye may, your mighty master Jove : 
 
 But if I choose to make my power be known, 
 
 The earth iteelf and ocean I could raise, 
 
 And binding round Olympus' ridge the cord, 
 
 Leave them suspended so in middle air." (Lord Derby.) 
 
 Jupiter here dislikes Mercury's allusion to it.
 
 32 LVCIAN. 
 
 can alter and adapt it a little. That's the plan most 
 of our modern orators adopt. 
 
 His Olympian majesty begins his oration, accord- 
 ingly, with an adaptation of the opening of the First 
 Philippic. But he presently descends to his own 
 matter-of-fact style ("here," he says, "my Demos- 
 thenes fails me "), and relates how he had been present 
 the day before, with some other gods, at a sacrifice of 
 thanksgiving offered by a merchant-captain for his 
 preservation from shipwreck a very shabby affair, he- 
 complains it was, a single tough old cock for supper 
 among sixteen gods. On his way home, he had heard 
 two philosophers disputing, and, wishing to listen to 
 their arguments, assumed a cloak and a long beard, 
 and might, he declares, have very easily, for the nonce, 
 passed for a philosopher himself. It was that rascal 
 Damis the Epicurean, disputing with Timocles the 
 Stoic, asserting that the gods took no heed to mortals or 
 their affairs in fact, practically denying their exist- 
 ence. Poor Timocles had been making a stout fight of it 
 on the other side, but was so hard pressed by his oppo- 
 nent that Jupiter found him all in a perspiration and 
 almost exhausted; he had therefore thrown the shadows 
 of night round the disputants at once, and so put an 
 end to the discussion. Following the crowd on their 
 way home, he had been shocked to find that the ma- 
 jority were on the side of the atheistical Damis ; and 
 he had now summoned this assembly to take into 
 their serious consideration the terrible results that 
 would ensue if this opinion became the popular one.
 
 THE PAGAN OLYMPUS. 33 
 
 No more victims, and gifts, and incense-offering, " the 
 gods may sit in heaven and starve." Darnis and 
 Timocles are to meet again, he understands, for public 
 discussion, and Jupiter verily fears that unless the 
 gods give some help to their own champion, the other 
 will get the best of it. He begs that some one of 
 the assembly will get up in his place and offer some 
 advice. Mercury invites any "who are of the legal 
 standing in point of age " (we are to understand there 
 are a great many newly-introduced deities in the 
 council) to rise and deliver his opinion. 
 
 To make the burlesque more complete, it is Momus, 
 the jester of the Olympian conclave, who first rises 
 in reply to Jupiter's invitation.* He has long ex- 
 pected this, and is not surprised at it. The gods have 
 brought it upon themselves, by neglecting their duties 
 notoriously. Here, among friends and gods, with no 
 mortal to hear, he may venture to speak openly. Has 
 Jupiter himself been careful to make distinction be- 
 tween the good and the evil upon earth ] Has virtue 
 found any reward, or vice any punishment 1 What have 
 any of them been caring for but their victims and their 
 dues 1 What shameful stories they have allowed the 
 poets to tell of their private life ! stories which, he 
 
 * Lord Lyttelton, in his " Dialogues of the Dead," makes 
 Lucian give his own explanation of this passage to Rabelais, 
 who does not quite understand the introduction of Momus. " I 
 think our priests admitted Momus into our heaven as the 
 Indians are said to worship the Devil, through fear. They 
 had a mind to keep fair with him. For we may talk of the 
 Giants as we will, but to our Gods there can be no enemy so 
 formidable as he. Ridicule is the terror of all false religions. " 
 
 A. c. voL xviii. c
 
 34 LUC IAN. 
 
 admits, may possibly be true enough, yet not meet to 
 be told to mortal hearers. And then the oracles, worse 
 than vague, positively deceptive witness those noto- 
 rious productions of Apollo's about the empire which 
 Croesus was to destroy by crossing the Halys, and the 
 sons of women who were to meet their fate at Salamis. 
 No marvel if, when the gods are so remiss in their 
 duties, men begin to grow tired of worshipping them. 
 
 Jupiter protests against such ribald language. He 
 quotes his Demosthenes to the effect that it is much 
 more easy to abuse and to find fault than to offer sug- 
 gestions under difficulties. 
 
 Then Neptune asks leave to say a few words. He 
 lives, indeed, at the bottom of the sea, and is not in 
 the habit of interfering much in affairs on land, but 
 he strongly advises that this Damis shall be silenced 
 at once by lightning, or some such irresistible argu- 
 ment. But Jupiter replies, very fairly, that this 
 would only be a tacit admission on the part of the 
 gods that they had no other kind of argument to 
 offer. Apollo gives it as his opinion that the fault lies 
 in Timocles himself, who, though a very sensible man, 
 has not the knack of putting an argument clearly. 
 Upon which Momus remarks that the recommendation 
 of clearness and perspicuity certainly comes with a 
 curious kind of propriety from Apollo, considering 
 the style of his own oracular utterances. He invites 
 him to give them an oracle now, which of the two 
 disputants will get the better in this contest ? Apollo 
 tries to excuse himself, on the ground that he has no 
 tripod or incense, or other appliances at hand, and
 
 THE PAGAN OLYMPUS. 35 
 
 that he can do this kind of thing in much "better style 
 at Colophon or at Delphi. At last, urged hy Jupiter 
 to prove his art, and so put a stop to the jeers of Momus, 
 he proceeds, with some apology for extempore versi- 
 fying, to deliver an utterly incomprehensible oracle, 
 which fully justifies the criticisms of his brother deity. 
 Hercules offers to pull down the whole portico on the 
 head of Damis, if the controversy should seem to be 
 taking a turn unfavourable to the Olympian interests. 
 But now a messenger arrives from earth, no other 
 than the brazen statue of Hermagoras Mercury of the 
 Forum who stands in front of the Pcecile at Athens. 
 He comes to announce adopting the new fashion of 
 heroics set by Jupiter that the duel of the philoso- 
 phers has been renewed. The gods agree to go down 
 to see the battle, and the scene of the dialogue is 
 supposed to change at once to Athens. There Ti- 
 mocles is trying to argue with his infidel opponent. 
 He wonders, he says, that men" do not stone him for 
 his impious assertions. Damis does not see why 
 men should take that trouble : the gods, if gods they 
 be, can surely take their own part ; they hear him, 
 and yet they do not strike. But they will, replies 
 Timocles ; their vengeance is sure though slow. They 
 are otherwise occupied, retorts the sceptic gone out 
 to dinner, perhaps, with those " blameless Ethiopians " 
 they often do, according to Homer ; possibly, some- 
 times, even without waiting for an invitation. In vain 
 does his opponent argue from the harmony and order 
 of creation, and from the general consent of mankind : 
 the very diversities of national worship, the many
 
 36 LUCIAN. 
 
 absurd forms of superstition, are claimed by his oppo- 
 nent as arguments on the other side. Timocles com- 
 pares the world to a ship, which could not keep its 
 course without a steersman. Damis replies that if 
 there were, indeed, a divinity at the helm of this 
 world's affairs, he would surely parcel out the duties 
 of his crew better than he appears to do putting the 
 rascals and lubbers in command, and letting the best 
 men be stowed away in holes and corners, and kept on 
 short rations besides. Timocles, as a last resource, 
 threatens to break the head of his opponent, who runs 
 away laughing. Jupiter is in doubt, however, on 
 which side the real victory lies. Mercury consoles 
 him that the gods have still the majority on their side 
 three-fourths of the Greeks, all the rabble, and all 
 the barbarians. " Nay, my son," replies Jupiter, " but 
 that saying of Darius had much truth, which he 
 uttered of his faithful general Zopyrus : I, too, had 
 rather have one man like Damis on my side than ten 
 thousand Babylonians." * 
 
 The satire, in its bold scepticism, seems to go much 
 beyond the " Dialogues of the Gods." In those, it is 
 but the absurdities of the popular mythology always 
 incredible, one cannot but think, to the educated in- 
 telligence which he ridicules and exposes ; a creed 
 which, if it could be supposed to have any influence 
 upon the moral conduct of men, could only have had 
 an influence for evil. But in that which has now been 
 sketched, he attacks the belief in a divine providence 
 
 * The story is told by Herodotus, iii. 154. 

 
 THE PAGAN OLYMPUS. 37 
 
 altogether : and though most of the arguments against 
 such government of the world are chiefly taken from 
 the manifest falsehood of certain items of the Greek 
 popular creed, still the tone is too much that of pure 
 materialism. 
 
 THE COUNCIL OP THE GODS. 
 
 In this amusing scene the absurdities of polytheism 
 are put in the broadest light, and treated with the most 
 admirable humour. The object of the Council, which 
 is summoned by Jupiter's orders, is to institute a strict 
 scrutiny into the right and title of the new gods 
 aliens and foreigners of all kinds and shapes to a seat 
 in the house of Olympus. They have lately found 
 their way into heaven in such numbers that they are 
 becoming quite a nuisance, as we have seen in the com- 
 plaint made both by Neptune and Mercury in the 
 dialogue just preceding. 
 
 Momus is again the chief spokesman ; freedom of 
 speech is, as he says, one of his main characteristics, and 
 he is in the habit of giving his opinion without fear or 
 favour. So, with Jupiter's permission, he will name some 
 of what he considers the most gross cases of intrusion. 
 
 Momus. First, there is Bacchus; a grand pedigree 
 his is ! half a mortal, not even a Greek by his mother's 
 side, but the grandson of some Syro-Phcenician merchant- 
 captain, Cadmus. Since he has been dignified with im- 
 mortality, I shall say nothing about himself, his style 
 of head-dress, his drinking, or his unsteady gait. You 
 can all see what he is, I suppose more like a woman
 
 38 LUCIAN. 
 
 than a man, half crazy, and stinking of wine even be- 
 fore breakfast. But he has brought in his whole tribe 
 to swell our company, and here he is with all his rout, 
 whom he passes off as gods Pan, and Silenus, and the 
 Satyrs, a lot of rough country louts, goat-herds most of 
 them, dancing-fellows, of all manner of strange shapes; 
 one of them has horns, and is like a goat all below 
 his waist, with a long beard you hardly can tell him 
 from a goat ; another is a bald fellow with a flat nose, 
 generally mounted on an ass a Lydian, he is. Then 
 there are the Satyrs with their little prick ears, bald too, 
 they are, and with little budding horns like kids Phry- 
 gians, I believe ; and they've all got tails besides. You 
 see the sort of gods my noble friend provides us with. 
 And then we are surprised that men hold us in con- 
 tempt, when they see such ridiculous and monstrous 
 gods as these ! I say nothing of his introducing two 
 women here one his mistress Ariadne (whose crown, 
 too, he has put among the stars, forsooth !), and the 
 other a farmer's daughter, Erigone. And what is 
 more absurd than all, brother deities, he has brought 
 her dog in too : for fear, I suppose, that the girl should 
 cry if she hadn't her darling pet to keep her company 
 in heaven. Now, don't you consider all this an insult, 
 mere drunken madness and absurdity ? And now 
 I'll tell you about one or two more. 
 
 Jupiter (interrupting Mm). Don't say a word, if you 
 please, Momus, either about Hercules or ^Esculapius 
 I see what you're driving at. As to those two, one is 
 a physician, and cures diseases, and, as old Homer says, 
 you know " is worth a host of men ; " and as to
 
 THE PAGAN OLYMPUS. 39 
 
 Hercules, why, he's my son, and earned his immortal- 
 ity by very hard work ; so say no word against him. 
 
 Mom. "Well, I'll hold my tongue, Jupiter, though I 
 could say a good deal. They're both as black as cin- 
 ders still, from the fire. If you would only give me 
 leave to speak my mind freely, I've a good deal to say 
 about you. 
 
 Jup. Oh, pray speak out, as far as I am concerned ! 
 Perhaps you charge me with being a foreigner too 1 
 
 Mom. Well, in Crete they do say that, you know ; 
 and more than that, they show the place where you 
 were buried. I don't believe them myself any more 
 than I do what the people of ^Egium say, that you 
 are a changeling. But I do say this, that you've 
 brought in too many of your illegitimate children here. 
 
 Momus goes on to tell the royal chairman some 
 home truths, which Jupiter hears with great equanim- 
 ity. Then he inveighs against the monstrous forms 
 introduced from Eastern mythology ; Phrygians and 
 Medes like Atthis and Mithras, who cannot even 
 talk Greek ; the dog-faced Anubis, and the spotted 
 bull from Memphis, apes and ibises from Egypt. And 
 how can Jupiter himself have allowed them to put 
 ram's horns on his head at Ammon? No wonder 
 that mortals learn to despise him. 
 
 A solemn decree is drawn up by Momus, in strict legal 
 form, beginning as follows : " Whereas divers aliens, 
 not only Greeks but Barbarians, who are in no wise 
 entitled to the freedom of our community, have got 
 themselves enrolled as gods, and so crowded heaven
 
 40 LUCIAN. 
 
 that it has become a mere disorderly mob of all nations 
 and languages : and whereas thereby the ambrosia and 
 the nectar runs short, so that the latter is now four 
 guineas a pint, because there are so many to drink it ; 
 and whereas these new-comers, in their impudence, 
 push the old and real gods out of their places, and 
 claim precedence for themselves, against all our ancient, 
 rights, and demand also priority of worship on earth ; 
 it seemed good, therefore, to the Senate and Commons 
 of Olympus, to hold a High Court at the winter equi- 
 nox, and to elect as Commissioners of Privileges seven 
 of the greater gods, three from the ancient council of 
 the reign of Saturn, and four from the twelve gods, of 
 whom Jupiter to be one." 
 
 The business of the Commission is to be the ex- 
 amination of all claims to a seat in Olympus. Claim- 
 ants are to bring their witnesses, and prove their pure 
 descent ; and they who cannot make good their claims 
 are to be sent back to the tombs of their fathers. 
 Moreover, from this time forth every deity is to mind 
 his or her proper business, and none to pursue more 
 than one art or science ; Minerva is not to practise 
 physic, nor ^Esculapius divination ; and Apollo is to 
 make his election, and either be a seer, or a musician, 
 or a doctor but not all three. 
 
 Jupiter had intended to put this decree to the vote ; 
 but, foreseeing that a great many who were there 
 present would probably vote against it, he took the 
 easier course of issuing it on his own royal authority. 
 
 The dramatic sketch entitled " Timon " handles the
 
 THE PAGAN OLYMPUS. 41 
 
 Olympian Jupiter in the same free spirit as the pre- 
 ceding Dialogues, and is by some considered as the 
 author's masterpiece. The character of Plutus, the 
 god of Riches, introduced into the piece, is obviously 
 borrowed from Aristophanes's comedy of that name. 
 Timon is introduced after he has forsaken society, 
 _and is digging for his livelihood. 
 
 TIMON. 
 
 Timon (stopping his work, and leaning on his 
 spade). Jupiter ! god of Friendship, god of Hos- 
 pitality, god of Sociality, god of the Hearth, Lightning- 
 flasher, Oath-protector, Cloud-compeller, Thunderer, 
 or by whatever name those moon-struck poets please 
 to call you (especially when they have a hitch in the 
 verse, for then your great stock of titles helps to prop 
 a lame line, or fill a gap in the metre), where be your 
 flashing lightnings now, and your rolling thunders, and 
 that terrible levin-bolt of yours, blazing and red-hot 1 
 Plainly all these are nonsense, a mere humbug of the 
 poets, nothing but sonorous words. That thunderbolt 
 which they are always singing of, that strikes so far 
 and is so ready to hand, it's quenched, I suppose 7 
 got cold, and hasn't a spark of fire left in it to scorch 
 rascals. A man who has committed perjury is more 
 afraid, now, of the snuff of last night's lamp than of 
 your invincible lightning. 'Tis just as if you were 
 to throw the stump of a torch among them, they 
 would have no fear of the fire or smoke, but only of 
 getting besmirched with the black from it. 
 
 Ah, Jupiter ! in your youthful days, when you were
 
 42 LUC I AN. 
 
 hot-blooded and quick-tempered, then you used to deal 
 summary justice against knaves and villains : never 
 made truce with them for a day : but the lightning 
 was always at work, and the aegis always shaking over 
 them, and the thunder rolling, and the bolts continu- 
 ally launched here and there, like a skirmish of sharp- 
 shooters : and earthquakes shook us all like beans in 
 a sieve, and snow came in heaps, and hail like pebbles, 
 and for I'm determined, you see, to speak my mind 
 to you then your rain was good strong rain, each 
 drop like a river. Why, in Deucalion's days, there 
 rose such a deluge in no time, that everything was 
 drowned except one little ark that stuck on Mount 
 Lycoris, and preserved one little surviving spark of 
 human life, in order, I suppose, to breed a new 
 generation worse than the other. 
 
 Well you see the consequences of your laziness, 
 and it serves you right. No man now offers you a 
 sacrifice, or puts a garland on you, except at odd times 
 the winners at Olympia ; and they do it not because 
 they feel under any obligation to do it, but merely in 
 compliance with a kind of old custom. They'll very 
 soon make you like Saturn, and take all your honours 
 from you, though you think yourself the grandest of 
 the gods. I say nothing as to how often they have 
 robbed your temples nay, some fellows, I hear, actu- 
 ally laid hands on your sacred person at Olympia ; 
 while you, the great thunder-god, did not even 
 trouble yourself to set the dogs at them, or rouse the 
 neighbours, but sat there quiet, you, the celebrated 
 Giant-killer and Titan-queller, as they call you, while
 
 TEE PAGAN OLYMPUS. 43 
 
 they cut your golden locks off your royal head, though 
 you had a twenty-foot thunderbolt in your hand all 
 the while. "When does your High Mightiness mean 
 to put a stop to all this which you are allowing to go 
 on? How many conflagrations like Phaeton's, how 
 many deluges like Deucalion's, does such a world as 
 this deserve? 
 
 To pass now from public iniquities to my own 
 case. After raising so many Athenians from poverty 
 to wealth and greatness, after helping every man 
 that was in want or rather, pouring my riches out 
 wholesale to serve my friends, when I have brought 
 myself to poverty by this, these men utterly refuse to 
 know me ; men who used to honour me, worship me, 
 hang on my very nod, now will not even look at me. 
 If I meet any of them as I walk, they pass me without a 
 glance, as though I were some old sepulchral stone fallen 
 down through lapse of years : while those who see me in 
 the distance turn into another path, as if I were some ill- 
 omened vision which they feared to meet or look upon 
 I, who was so lately their benefactor and preserver ! 
 
 So, in my distress, I have girt myself with skins, 
 and retreated to this far corner ; and here I dig the 
 ground for four obols a day, and talk philosophy to 
 my spade and myself. One point I think I gain here; 
 I shall no longer see the worthless in prosperity for 
 that were worse to bear than all. Now then, Son of 
 Saturn and Rhea, wake up at last from this long deep 
 slumber for you've slept longer than Epimenides * 
 
 * The Rip van Winkle of classic story. He is said to have 
 sought shelter in a cave from the heat of the sun, while keep-
 
 44 LVCIAN. 
 
 and blow your thunderbolt hot again, or heat it afresh 
 in ^Etna, and make it blaze lustily, and show a little 
 righteous wrath, worthy of the Jove of younger days ; 
 unless, indeed, that be a true story which the Cretans 
 tell, and you be dead and buried too. 
 
 Jupiter (in Olympus, disturbed by Timon's clamorous 
 expostulations below). Who in the world, Mercury, is 
 this fellow that's bawling so from Attica, down at the 
 foot of Hymettus, a perfect scarecrow, he looks, in a 
 dirty goat-skin ? Digging, I think he is, by his stoop- 
 ing posture. He's a very noisy impudent fellow. 
 Some philosopher, I fancy, or he wouldn't use such 
 blasphemous language. 
 
 Mercury. What do you say, father? don't you 
 know Timon of Athens ? He's the man who so often 
 used to treat us with such magnificent sacrifices ; that 
 nouveau riche, you know, who used to oft'er whole heca- 
 tombs ; at whose expense we were so splendidly enter- 
 tained at the Diasia. 
 
 Jup. What a sad reverse of fortune ! That fine, 
 handsome, rich fellow, who had used to have such 
 troops of friends round him ! What has brought him 
 to this 1 so squalid and miserable, and having to dig 
 for his bread, I suppose, by the way he drives his 
 spade into the ground ? 
 
 Mercury proceeds to inform his father that Timon's 
 reckless generosity has reduced him to poverty, and 
 that all the friends who shared his bounty have now 
 
 ing his father's sheep, aud to have slept there for fifty-seven 
 years.
 
 THE PAGAN OLYMPUS. 45 
 
 deserted him. He has left the ungrateful city in 
 disgust, and hired himself out as a day-labourer 
 in the country. Jupiter, however, is not going to 
 follow the example of mankind, and neglect the man 
 from, whom, in his day of prosperity, he has received 
 so many favours. He is sorry that his case has 
 hitherto escaped his notice ; but really the noise and 
 clamour those Athenians make with all their philoso- 
 phical disputes has so disgusted him, that for some 
 time he has not turned his eyes in their direction. 
 " Go down to him at once," he says to Mercury, " and 
 take Plutus with you, with a good supply of money ; * 
 and let Plutus take care not to leave him again so 
 easily as he did before. As for those ungrateful friends 
 of his, they shall have their deserts, as soon as ever I can 
 get my lightning mended. I broke two of my strong- 
 est bolts the other day, launching them in a passion 
 against Anaxagoras the Sophist, who was teaching his 
 followers that we gods were an utter impossibility in 
 the nature of things. I missed him (Pericles put his 
 hand in the way),t and the lightning struck the tem- 
 ple of Castor, I am sorry to say, and destroyed it ; 
 but my bolt was all but shivered itself against the 
 
 * " Plutus, the god of gold, 
 Is but his steward." 
 
 Shaksp., "Timon," act i. sc. 1. 
 
 The introduction of Plutus's name into this tragedy makes one 
 curious to know whether the author was acquainted (through 
 any translation) either with this dialogue of Lucian's or with 
 the " Plutus " of Aristophanes. 
 
 t Anaxagoras, when accused of impiety and brought to trial, 
 was protected by Pericles, who had been his pupil.
 
 46 LUC IAN. 
 
 rock there. However, those rascals will be punished 
 enough for the present, when they see Timon grown 
 rich again." 
 
 Merc. See now, what a thing it is to make a 
 clamour, and to be impudent and troublesome ! I 
 don't mean for lawyers only, but for those who put up 
 prayers to heaven. Here's Timon going to be set up 
 again as a rich man out of the extreme of poverty, all 
 because of his noise and bold words attracting Jupiter's 
 notice ! If he had bent his back to his digging in 
 silence, he might have dug on till doomsday without 
 Jupiter's noticing him. (He goes off, and returns with 
 Plutus.) 
 
 Plutus. I shan't go near that fellow, Jupiter. 
 
 Jup. How, my good Plutus, not when I bid you? 
 
 Plu. No. He insulted me turned me out of his 
 house, and scattered me in all directions me, the 
 old friend of the family all but pitched me out of 
 doors, as if I burnt his fingers. What ! go back to 
 him, to be thrown to his parasites, and toadies, and 
 harlots ? No : send me to those who value the gift, 
 who will make much of me, who honour me and desire 
 my company ; and let all those fools keep house still 
 with Poverty, who prefer her to me. Let them get 
 her to give them a spade and an old sheep-skin, and go 
 dig for their twopence a-day, after squandering thou- 
 sands in gifts to their friends. 
 
 Jup. Timon will never behave so to you again. 
 His spade-husbandry will have taught him pretty well 
 (unless his back's made of stuff that can't feel) that 
 you are to be preferred to Poverty. You're rather a
 
 THE PAGAN OLYMPUS. 47 
 
 discontented personage, too : you blame Timon because 
 lie opened his doors and let you go where you liked, 
 and neither locked you up nor watched you jealously ; 
 whereas at other times you cry out against the rich, 
 saying that they confine you with bolts and bars, and 
 put seals on you, so that you never get so much as a 
 glimpse of daylight. You used to complain to me 
 that you were suffocated in the dark holes they kept 
 you in ; and I must say you used to look quite pale 
 and careworn, and your fingers quite contracted from 
 the constant habit of counting ; and you often threat- 
 ened to escape from such confinement the moment you 
 had a chance. 
 
 Plutus replies to Jupiter with some sensible remarks 
 as to there being a mean between the prodigal and the 
 miser ; but he consents to pay Timon a visit at Jupi- 
 ter's command, though feeling, as he says, that he 
 might as well get into one of the Danaids' leaky water- 
 jars, so sure is he to filter rapidly through the hands of 
 such a master. The god of Eiches,'we must remember, 
 is blind ; and Mercury, who has to escort him to 
 Athens, recommends him to hold fast by his coat-tail 
 all the way down. Jupiter desires his messenger to 
 call at JStna on his way, and send up the Cyclops to 
 mend his broken thunderbolt. 
 
 They find Timon hard at work, in the company of 
 Poverty. But 'she has brought with her a band of 
 other companions Labour, and Perseverance, and 
 Wisdom, and Fortitude. This is a stronger body- 
 guard, as Mercury observes, than Plutus ever gathers 
 round him. The god of Kiches confesses it ; he can
 
 48 LUCIAN. 
 
 be of no service to a man who has such friends about 
 him, and he offers to begone at once. But Mercury 
 reminds him of the will of Jove. Poverty pleads in 
 vain that she has rescued him from his old associates, 
 Sloth and Luxury, and is now forming him to virtue 
 in her own more wholesome school ; and though Timon 
 asks with some roughness to be left still under her 
 instruction, and bids Plutus begone " to make fools -of 
 other men as he has once of him," he is overruled by 
 Mercury's appeal to his sense of gratitude to Jupiter, 
 who has taken so much trouble to help him. Poverty 
 reluctantly takes her leave, and with her depart Labour 
 and Wisdom and the rest of her company. 
 
 Digging on in the earth by direction of Plutus, 
 Timon finds an immense buried treasure, and the sight 
 at once reawakens his love of riches. But it now 
 takes another and more selfish form. Henceforth he 
 will live for himself and not for others, and become 
 the enemy of men as he had formerly been their in- 
 judicious friend. The name which he desires to be 
 known by is that of " The Misanthrope." * The com- 
 panions of his former days of splendour who had 
 been treated by him with such munificence, and had 
 repaid him with such ingratitude hear of his new 
 wealth, and flock to him to make their excuses and 
 apologies, to tender him all kinds of services, and to 
 offer him public honours, if he will only give them a 
 little of his new riches. Blows from his spade, and 
 showers of stones, are his only answer. And in this 
 
 * " I am Misanthropos, and hate mankind." 
 
 Shaksp., "Timon," act iv. sc. 3.
 
 THE PAGAN OLYMPUS. 49 
 
 spirit the Dialogue (which concludes somewhat ab- 
 ruptly) leaves him. 
 
 Timon the Misanthrope was probably a real personage, 
 round whose name many fictitious anecdotes gathered. 
 Aristophanes refers to him more than once in his 
 comedies as a well-known character ; Plato mentions 
 him, and, if we may trust Plutarch, he lived about the 
 time of the Peloponnesian war. This latter writer speaks 
 of his intimacy with the Cynic Apemantus, introduced 
 in Shakspeare's play,* and gives us an anecdote of him 
 in connection with Alcibiades. Apemantus, we are 
 told, asked Timon why he so much affected the com- 
 pany of that young gallant, hating all other men as he 
 professed to do t " Because," replied Timon, " I fore- 
 see that he shall one day become a great scourge to 
 those I hate most the Athenians." 
 
 * Shakspeare's play is founded chiefly on the twenty-eighth 
 novel in Painter's " Palace of Pleasure." 
 
 A. c. vol. xviii.
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 DIALOGUES OP THE DEAD. 
 
 LESS original than the Olympian Dialogues, for their 
 idea must be allowed to be borrowed from Homer, 
 while the inclination to moralise upon the vanity of 
 earthly riches, and honours, and beauty, and the work 
 of that great leveller Death, is common enough, these 
 have perhaps been even more popular. An imitation 
 in great measure themselves, they have found imitators 
 amongst the moderns, in their turn, who have shown 
 considerable ability. The " Dialogues of the Dead " of 
 Fontenelle and of Lord Lyttelton still find readers, 
 and these imitations have charmed many to whom the 
 original was unknown in any other way than by name.* 
 The Dialogues of Fenelon, composed for the instruc- 
 tion of his pupil the Duke of Burgundy, were, again, 
 an imitation of those of Fontenelle, but are somewhat 
 more didactic, as we should expect, and less lively. 
 But perhaps the most striking modern work for the 
 
 * "The dead," says Fontenelle in his preface, "ought to 
 speak wisely, from their longer experience and greater leisure; it 
 is to be hoped that they take rather more time to think than is 
 usual with the living." ^
 
 DIALOGUES OF THE DEAD. 51 
 
 idea of which we are indebted to the Greek satirist 
 is the ' Imaginary Conversations ' of "Walter Savage 
 Landor. 
 
 Some three or four of the most striking of this 
 series must content our readers here. The following, 
 although it does not stand first in the common order 
 of arrangement, seems to form the best introduction to 
 the series. 
 
 CHARON AND HIS PASSENGERS. 
 
 Charon. Now listen to me, good people I'll tell 
 you how it is. The boat is but small, as you see, and 
 somewhat rotten and leaky withal : and if the weight 
 gets to one side, over we go: and here you are crowd- 
 ing in all at once, and with lots of luggage, every one of 
 you. If you come on board here with all that lumber, 
 I suspect you'll repent of it afterwards especially those 
 who can't swim. 
 
 Mercury. What's best for us to do then, to get safe 
 across? 
 
 Cha. I'll tell you. You must all strip before you 
 get in, and leave all those encumbrances on shore : and 
 even then the boat will scarce hold you all. And you 
 take care, Mercury, that no soul is admitted that is 
 not in light marching order, and who has not left all 
 his encumbrances, as I say, behind. Just stand at 
 the gangway and overhaul them, and don't let them 
 get in till they've stripped. 
 
 Merc. Quite right ; I'll see to it. Now, who comes 
 first here ? 
 
 Menippus. I Menippus. Look I've pitched my
 
 52 LUC1AN. 
 
 wallet and staff into the lake ; my coat, luckily, I didn't 
 bring with me. 
 
 Merc. Get in, Menippus you're a capital fellow. 
 Take the best seat there, in the stern-sheets, next ..the 
 steersman, and watch who gets on board. Now, who's 
 this fine gentleman? 
 
 Charmolaus. I'm Charmolaus of Megara a general 
 favourite. Many a lady would give fifty guineas for a 
 kiss from me. 
 
 Merc. You'll have to leave your pretty face, and 
 those valuable lips, and your long curls and smooth 
 skin behind you, that's all. Ah! now you'll do 
 you're all right and tight now : get in. But you, sir, 
 there, in the purple and the diadem, who are you ? 
 
 Lampiclius. Lampichus, king of Gelo. 
 
 Merc. And what d'ye mean by coming here with all 
 that trumpery ? 
 
 Lamp. How ? Would it be seemly for a king to 
 come here unrobed ? 
 
 Merc. Well, for a king, perhaps not but for a dead 
 man, certainly. So put it all off. 
 
 Lamp. There I've thrown my riches away. 
 
 Merc. Yes and throw away your pride too, and 
 your contempt for other people. You'll infallibly 
 swamp the boat if you bring all that in. 
 
 Lamp. Just let me keep my diadem and mantle. 
 
 Merc. Impossible off with them too. 
 
 Lamp. Well anything more? because I've thrown 
 them all off, as you see. 
 
 Merc. Your cruelty and your folly and your in- 
 solence and bad temper off with them all !
 
 DIALOGUES OF THE DEAD. 53 
 
 Lamp. There, then I'm stripped entirely. 
 
 Merc. Very well get in. And you fat fellow, who 
 are you, with all that flesh on you ? 
 
 Damasias. Damasias, the athlete. 
 
 Merc. Ay, you look like him : I remember having 
 seen you in the games. 
 
 Dam. (smiling). Yes, Mercury ; take me on board 
 I'm ready stripped, at any rate. 
 
 Merc. Stripped? Nay, my good sir, not with all 
 that covering of flesh on you. You must get rid of 
 that, or you'll sink the boat the moment you set your 
 other foot in. And you must take off your garlands 
 and trophies too. 
 
 Dam. Then now I'm really stripped, and not 
 heavier than these other dead gentlemen. 
 
 Merc. All right the lighter the better : get in. 
 
 [In like manner the patrician has to lay aside his 
 noble birth, his public honours, and statues, and tes- 
 timonials the very thought of them, Mercury de- 
 clares, is enough to sink the boat ; and the general 
 is made to leave behind him all his victories and 
 trophies in the realms of the dead there is peace. 
 Next comes the philosopher's turn.] 
 
 Merc. Who's this pompous and conceited person- 
 age, to judge from his looks he with the knitted 
 eyebrows there, and lost in meditation that fellow 
 with the long beard? 
 
 Men. One of those philosophers, Mercury or rather 
 those cheats and charlatans : make him strip too ; 
 you'll find some curious things hid under that cloak 
 of his.
 
 54 LUCIAN. 
 
 Merc. Take your habit off, to begin with, if you 
 please and now all that you have there, great 
 Jupiter! what a lot of humbug he was bringing 
 with him and ignorance, and disputatiousness, and 
 vainglory, and useless questions, and prickly argu- 
 ments, and involved statements, ay, and wasted 
 ingenuity, and solemn trifling, and quips and quirks 
 of all kinds ! Yes by Jove ! and there are gold 
 pieces there, and impudence and luxury and de- 
 bauchery oh ! I see them all, though you are try- 
 ing to hide them ! And your lies, and pomposity, 
 and thinking yourself better than everybody else 
 away with all that, I say ! Why, if you bring all 
 that aboard, a fifty-oared galley wouldn't hold you ! 
 
 Philosopher. Well, I'll leave it all behind then, if 
 I must. 
 
 Men. But make him take his beard off too, Master 
 Mercury; it's heavy and bushy, as you see; there's 
 five pound weight of hair there, at the very least. 
 
 Merc. You're right. Take it off, sir ! 
 
 Phil. But who is there who can shave me ? 
 
 Merc. Menippus there will chop it off with the 
 boat-hatchet he can have the gunwale for a chop- 
 ping-block. 
 
 Men. Nay, Mercury, lend us a saw it will be more 
 fun. 
 
 Merc. Oh, the hatchet will do ! So that's well ; 
 now you've got rid of your goatishness, you look 
 something more like a man. 
 
 Men. Shall I chop a bit off his eyebrows as well ? 
 
 Merc. By all means ; he has stuck them up on his
 
 DIALOGUES OF THE DEAD. 55 
 
 forehead, to make himself look grander, I suppose. 
 What's the matter now? You're crying, you rascal, 
 are you afraid of death ? Make haste on board, will 
 you? 
 
 Men. He's got something now under his arm. 
 
 Merc. What is it, Menippus ? 
 
 Men. Flattery it is, Mercury and a very profitable 
 article he found it, while he was alive. 
 
 Philosopher (in a fury). And you, Menippus 
 leave your lawless tongue behind you, and your 
 cursed independence, and mocking laugh ; you're the 
 only one of the party who dares laugh, 
 
 Merc, (laughing). No, no, Menippus they're 
 very light, and take little room; besides, they are 
 good things on a voyage. But you, Mr Orator there, 
 throw away your rhetorical flourishes, and antitheses, 
 and parallelisms, and barbarisms, and all that heavy 
 wordy gear of yours. 
 
 Orator. There, then there they go ! 
 
 Merc. All right. Now then, slip the moorings. 
 Haul that plank aboard up anchor, and make sail. 
 Mind your helm, master ! And a good voyage to 
 us ! What are you howling about, you fools ? You, 
 Philosopher, specially? Now that you've had your 
 beard cropped? 
 
 Phil. Because, dear Mercury, I always thought the 
 soul had been immortal. 
 
 Men. He's lying ! It's something else that troubles 
 him, most likely. 
 
 Merc. What's that? 
 
 Men. That he shall have no more expensive suppers
 
 56 LUCIAN. 
 
 nor, after spending all the night in debauchery, pro- 
 fess to lecture to the young men on moral philosophy 
 in the morning, and take pay for it. That's what 
 vexes him. 
 
 Phil. And you, Menippus are you not sorry to die 1 
 
 Men. How should I be, when I hastened to death 
 without any call to it? But, while we are talking, 
 don't you hear a noise as of some people shouting 
 on the earth? 
 
 Merc. Yes, I do and from more than one quarter. 
 There's a public rejoicing yonder for the death of 
 Lampichus; and the women have seized his wife, 
 and the boys are stoning his children ; and in Sicyon 
 they are all praising Diophantus the orator for his 
 funeral oration upon Crato here. Yes and there 
 is Damasias's mother wailing for him amongst her 
 women. But there's not a soul weeping for you, 
 Menippus you're lying all alone. 
 
 Men. Not at all you'll hear the dogs howling 
 over me presently, and the ravens mournfully flapping 
 their wings, when they gather to my funeral. 
 
 Merc. Stoutly said. But here we are at the land- 
 ing-place. March off, all of you, to the judgment- 
 seat straight ; I and the ferryman must go and fetch 
 a fresh batch. 
 
 Men. A pleasant trip to you, Mercury. So we'll be 
 moving on. Come, what are you all dawdling for? 
 You've got to be judged, you know ; and the punish- 
 ments, they tell me, are frightful wheels, and stones, 
 and vultures. Every man's life will be strictly in- 
 quired into, I can tell you.
 
 DIALOGUES OF THE DEAD. 57 
 
 The Cynic Menippus, introduced to us in this 
 amusing dialogue, " a dog of the real old breed," as 
 Lucian calls him, "always ready to bark and 
 bite "* is a great favourite with the author, and re- 
 appears very frequently in these imaginary conversa- 
 tions. He was a disciple of Diogenes, and had been 
 a usurer in earlier life, but having lost his wealth 
 by the roguery of others, at last committed suicide. 
 The banter with which he treats Charon in the little 
 dialogue which follows is very humorous. 
 
 CHAKON AND MENIPPUS. 
 
 Charon (calling after Menippus, who is walking oj). 
 Pay me your fare, you rascal ! 
 
 Menippus. Bawl away, Charon, if it's any satisfac- 
 tion to you. 
 
 Cha. Pay me, I say, for carrying you across ! 
 
 Men. You can't get money from a man who hasn't 
 got it. 
 
 Cha. Is there any man who has not got an obolus 1 
 
 Men. I know nothing about anybody else ; I know 
 I haven't. 
 
 Clia. (catching hold of him). I'll strangle you, you 
 villain ! I will, by Pluto ! if you don't pay. 
 
 Men. And I'll break your head with my staff. 
 
 Cha. Do you suppose you are to have such a long 
 trip for nothing ? 
 
 * The term " Cynic," applied to that school of philosophy, is 
 derived from the Greek for " dog."
 
 58 LUC I AN. 
 
 Men. Let Mercury pay for me, then ; it was he put 
 me on board. 
 
 Mercury. A very profitable job for me, by Jove ! if 
 I'm to pay for all the dead people. 
 
 Cha. (to Men). I shan't let you go. 
 
 Men. You can haul your boat ashore, then, for that 
 matter, and wait as long as you please ; but I don't see 
 how you can take from me what I don't possess. 
 
 Clia. Didn't you know you had to pay it ? 
 
 Men. I knew well enough ; but I tell you I hadn't 
 got it. Is a man not to die because he has no money 1 
 
 Cha. Are you to be the only man, then, who can 
 boast that he has crossed the Styx gratis ? 
 
 Men. Gratis ^ Not at all, my good friend, when 1 
 baled the boat, and helped you with the oar, and was 
 the only man on board that didn't howl. 
 
 Cha. That has nothing to do with the passage- 
 money; you must pay your obolus. It's against all 
 our rules to do otherwise. 
 
 Men. Then take me back to life again. 
 
 Cha. Yes a fine proposal that I may get a whip- 
 ping from .(Eacus for it. 
 
 Men. Then don't bother. 
 
 Cha. Show me what you've got in your scrip there. 
 
 Men. Lentils, if you please, and a bit of supper for 
 Hecate. 
 
 Cha. (turning to Mercury in despair). Where on 
 earth did you bring this dog of a Cynic from, Mercury 1 ? 
 chattering, as he did, all the way across, cutting his 
 jokes and laughing at the other passengers, and sing- 
 ing while they were all bemoaning themselves.
 
 DIALOGUES OF THE DEAD. 59 
 
 Merc. Didn't you know, Charon, who your passenger 
 was ? A most independent fellow, who cares for no- 
 body. That's Menippus. 
 
 Cha. (shaking Ms fist at him as he moves off). Well, 
 let me only catch you again ! 
 
 Men. (looking back and laughing). Ay, if you catch 
 me ; but 'tis hardly likely, my good friend, that you'll 
 have me for a passenger twice. 
 
 MERCURY AND CHARON SQUARING ACCOUNTS. 
 
 Mercury. Let us have a reckoning, if you please, 
 Mr Ferryman, how much you owe me up to this 
 present date, that we mayn't have a squabble here- 
 after about the items. 
 
 Charon. By all means, Mercury nothing like being 
 correct in such matters; it saves a world of unpleasant- 
 ness. 
 
 Merc. I supplied an anchor to your order twenty- 
 five drachmae. 
 
 Cha. That's very dear. 
 
 Merc. I vow to Pluto I gave five for it. And a 
 row-lock thong two obols. 
 
 Cha. Well, put down five drachmas and two obols. 
 
 Merc. And a needle to mend the sail. Five obols 
 I paid for that. 
 
 Cha. Well, put that much down too. 
 
 Merc. Then, there's the wax for caulking the seams 
 of the boat that were open, and nails, and a rope to 
 make halyards of, two drachmae altogether. 
 
 Cha. Ay ; you bought those worth the money. 
 
 Merc. That's all, if I've not forgotten something in
 
 60 LUCIAN. 
 
 my account. And now, when do you propose to pay 
 me? 
 
 Cha. It's out of my power, Mercury, at this mo- 
 ment ; but if a pestilence or a war should send people 
 down here in considerable numbers, you can make a 
 good thing of it then by a little cheating in the pass- 
 age-money. . 
 
 Merc. So I may go to sleep at present, and put up 
 prayers for all kinds of horrible things to happen, that 
 I may get my dues thereby ? 
 
 OJia. I've no other way of paying you, Mercury, 
 indeed. At present, as you see, very few come our 
 way. It's a time of peace, you know. 
 
 Merc. "Well, so much the better, even if I have to 
 wait for my money a while. But those men in the 
 good old times ah ! you remember, Charon, what fine 
 fellows used to come here, good warriors all, covered 
 with blood and wounds, most of them! Now, 'tis 
 either somebody who has been poisoned by his son 
 or his wife, or with his limbs and carcase bloated by 
 gluttony, pale spiritless wretches all of them, not a 
 whit like the others. Most of them come here owing 
 to their attempts to overreach each other in money 
 matters, it seems to me. 
 
 Cha. Why, money is certainly a very desirable 
 thing. 
 
 Merc. Then don't think me unreasonable, if you 
 please, if I look sharp after your little debt to me. 
 
 When the Cynic philosopher has been admitted
 
 DIALOGUES OF THE DEAD. 61 
 
 into the region of shadows, he makes himself very 
 much at home there. In another of these dialogues 
 he cross-examines all the officials whom he meets, 
 with the air of a traveller anxious for information; 
 and his caustic wit does not spare the dead a whit 
 more than it had spared the living. He begs ^Eacus 
 to show him some of " the lions " in this new region. 
 He professes great surprise at seeing the figures which 
 once were Agamemnon, Ajax, and Achilles, now mere 
 bones and dust ; and asks to be allowed just to give 
 Sardanapalus, whom the Cynic hates especially for his 
 luxury and debauchery, a slap in the face ; but ^Eacus 
 assures him that his skull is as brittle as a woman's. 
 Even the wise men and philosophers, he finds, cut no 
 better figure here. " Where is Socrates ? " he asks his 
 guide. " You see that bald man yonder 1 " says ^Eacus. 
 " Why, they are all bald alike here," replies Menippus. 
 " Him with the flat nose, I mean." " They've all flat 
 noses," replies Menippus again, looking at the hollow 
 skulls round him. But Socrates, hearing the inquiry, 
 answers for himself ; and the new-comer into the lower 
 world is able to assure the great Athenian that all men 
 now admit his claim to universal knowledge, which 
 rests, in fact, on the one ground of being conscious 
 that man knows really nothing. But he learns some- 
 thing more about the Master of the Sophists from a 
 little dialogue which he has with Cerberus. 
 
 MENIPPUS AND CEKBERU8. 
 
 Menippus. I say, Cerberus (I'm a kind of cousin
 
 62 L UC1A N. 
 
 of yours, you know they call me a dog), tell me, "by 
 the holy Styx, how did Socrates behave himself when 
 he came down among ye ? I suppose, as you're a di- 
 vinity, you can not only bark, but talk like a human 
 creature, if you like ? 
 
 Cerberus (growling). "Well, when he was some way 
 off, he came on with a perfectly unmoved countenance, 
 appearing to have no dread at all of death, and to wish 
 to make that plain to those who stood outside the 
 gates here. But when once he got within the archway 
 of the Shades, and saw the gloom and darkness ; and 
 when, as he seemed to be lingering, I bit him on the 
 foot (just to help the hemlock), and dragged him down, 
 he shrieked out like a child, and began to lament over 
 his family and all sorts of things. 
 
 Men. So the man was but a sophist after all, and 
 had no real contempt for death ? 
 
 Cerb. No; but when he saw it must come, he steeled 
 himself to meet it, professing to suffer not unwillingly 
 what he must needs have suffered anyhow, that so he 
 might win the admiration of the bystanders. In short, 
 I could tell you much the same story of all those kind 
 of people : up to the gate they are stout-hearted and 
 bold enough, but it is when they get within that the 
 trial comes. 
 
 Men. And how did you think I behaved when I 
 came down ? 
 
 Cerb. You were the only man, Menippus, who be- 
 haved worthy of your profession you and Diogenes 
 before you. You both came here by no force or com- 
 pulsion, but of your own accord, laughing all the way,
 
 DIALOGUES OF THE DEAD. 63 
 
 and bidding the others who came with you howl and 
 be hanged to them. 
 
 The reflections which Lucian has put into the mouth 
 of the Cynic in the following brief dialogue are of a 
 graver kind. 
 
 MENIPPtTS AND MERCURY. 
 
 Menippus. I say, Mercury, where are all the hand- 
 some men and women? Come show me about a 
 little, I am quite a stranger here. 
 
 Mercury. I haven't time, really. But look yonder, 
 on your right ; there are Hyacinthus, and Narcissus, 
 and Nireus, and Achilles, and Tyro, and Helen, and 
 Leda ; and, in short, all the celebrated beauties. 
 
 Men. I can see nought but bones and bare skulls, 
 all very much alike. 
 
 Merc. Yet all the poets have gone into raptures 
 about those very bones which you seem to look upon 
 with such contempt. 
 
 Men. Anyway, show me Helen; for I should never 
 be able to make her out from the rest. 
 
 Merc. This skull is Helen.* 
 
 Men. And it was for this that a thousand ships 
 were manned from all Greece, and so many Greeks and 
 Trojans died in battle, and so many towns were laid 
 waste ! 
 
 * "Now get you to my lady's chamber, and tell her, let her 
 paint an inch thick, to this favour she must come." Hamlet, 
 act v. sc. 1.
 
 64 LUC I AN. 
 
 Mere. Ay, but you never saw the lady alive, Men- 
 ippus, or you would surely have said with Homer, 
 
 " No marvel Trojans and the well-armed Greeks 
 For such a woman should long toils endure : 
 Like the immortal goddesses is she." * 
 
 If one looks at withered flowers which have lost 
 their colour, of course they seem to have no beauty ; 
 but when they are in bloom, and have all their natural 
 tints, they are very beautiful to see. 
 
 Men. Still I do wonder, Mercury, that the Greeks 
 should never have bethought themselves that they were 
 quarrelling for a thing that was so short-lived, and 
 would perish so soon. 
 
 Merc. I have really no leisure for moralising, my 
 good Menippus. So pick out a spot for yourself, and 
 lay yourself down quietly ; I must go aiid fetch some 
 more dead people. 
 
 DIOGENES AND MAUSOLTJS. 
 
 Diogenes. Prithee, my Carian friend, why do you give 
 yourself such airs, and claim precedence of all of us ? 
 
 Mausolus. In the first place, my friend of Sinope, 
 by reason of my royal estate ; I was king of all Caria, 
 ruled over much of Lydia, reduced several of the 
 islands, advanced as far as Miletus, and subdued most 
 part of Ionia. Then, because I was handsome and 
 tall, and a good warrior. Most of all, because I have 
 a magnificent monument set up over me at Halicar- 
 
 * Horn., II. iii. 156.
 
 DIALOGUES OF THE DEAD. 65 
 
 nassus, no man that ever died has the like ; so beau- 
 tifully is it finished, men and horses sculptured to the 
 life out of the finest marble : you can scarce find even 
 a temple like it. Don't you think I have a right to be 
 proud of all this ? 
 
 Diog. Because of your kingdom, you say 1 and your 
 fine person, and the great weight of your tomb ? 
 
 Maus. Yes ; that is what I am proud of. ' 
 
 Diog. But, my handsome friend (ha-ha !), you haven't 
 much left of that strength and beauty that you talk 
 about. If we asked any one to decide between our 
 claims to good looks, I don't see why they should pre- 
 fer your skull to mine. Both of us are bald and naked, 
 both of us show our teeth a good deal, neither of 
 us have any eyes, and our noses are both rather flat. 
 The tomb, indeed, and the marble statues, the men of 
 Halicarnassus may show to their visitors, and boast of 
 them as ornaments of their land ; but as to you, my 
 good friend, I don't see what good your monument 
 does you : unless you may say this that you bear a 
 greater weight upon you than I do, pressed down as 
 you are by all those heavy stones. 
 
 Maus. Are none of my glories to profit me, then? 
 And are Mausolus and Diogenes to stand here on equal 
 terms'? 
 
 Diog. No; not exactly equal, most excellent sir; 
 not at alL Mausolus has to lament when he remem- 
 bers his earthly lot, how happy he was, and Diogenes 
 can laugh at him. And Mausolus can say how he 
 had the tomb built for him at Halicarnassus by his 
 wife and sister ; while Diogenes does not know and 
 
 A. c. vol. xviii. E
 
 66 LUC I AN. 
 
 does not care whether his body had any burial at all, 
 but can say that he left behind him the reputation 
 among the wise of having lived a life worthy of a man, 
 a loftier monument, base Carian slave, than yours, 
 and built on a far safer foundation. 
 
 In another dialogue Diogenes talks in the same strain 
 to Alexander, and recommends the waters of Lethe as 
 the only remedy for the sad regrets which those must 
 feel, who have exchanged the glories of earth for the 
 cold and dreary equality which reigns among the dead 
 below a passionless and objectless existence, in which 
 none but the bitterest Cynic, who rejoices in the dis- 
 comfiture of all earthly ambitions, can take any plea- 
 sure. So also Achilles, in a dialogue with the young 
 Antilochus a premature visitor to these gloomy re- 
 gions repeats the melancholy wish which Homer has 
 put into his mouth in the Odyssey 
 
 " Rather would I in the sun's warmth divine 
 Serve a poor churl who drags his days in grief, 
 Than the whole lordship of the dead were mine." * 
 
 Such is the tone of these Dialogues throughout, a 
 grim despair disclosing itself through their cynical 
 levity. "Whatever the " Elysian Fields " of the poets 
 might be, the satirist gives us no glimpse of them. 
 All whom the new visitors meet are in tears, except 
 the infants. In one scene, Diogenes remarks a poor 
 decrepit old man weeping bitterly. To him, one 
 
 * Horn., Odyss. xi. ("Worsley).
 
 ' DIALOGUES OF THE DEAD. 67 
 
 would think, the change could have "been not so very 
 sad. Was he a king on earth 1 !No. Or a man of 
 rank and wealth 1 ? "No," is the reply; "I was in 
 my ninetieth year, and miserably poor ; I had to earn 
 niy bread by fishing. I had no children to succour 
 me, and I was lame and blind." " "What ! " says the 
 philosopher, " in such a case, could you really wish to 
 have life prolonged ? " " Ay," replies the old fisher- 
 man, echoing the thought of the great Achilles "Ay, 
 life is sweet, and death terrible." 
 
 THE TYRANT. 
 
 Although this is not classed amongst the " Dialogues 
 of the Dead," there seems no reason why it should not 
 find a place among them. Charon and his ghostly 
 freight are a favourite subject for Lucian's satire, and 
 he has here introduced them again in a dramatic scene 
 of considerably more length than any of the preceding. 
 The sparkling humour of the introduction gives addi- 
 tional force to the serious moral of the close. 
 
 CHABON, CLOTHO, MERCURY. ETC. 
 
 Charon. "Well, Clotho, here's the boat all a-taut, and 
 everything ready for crossing ; we've pumped out the 
 water, and stepped the mast, and hoisted the sail the 
 oars are in their row-locks, and, so far as I am con- 
 cerned, nothing hinders us from weighing anchor and 
 setting off. And that Mercury is keeping me waiting 
 he ought to have been here long ago. The boat lies here 
 empty still, you see, when we might have made three 
 trips already to-day ; and now it's almost evening, and
 
 68 LUCIAN. 
 
 we haven't earned a penny yet. And I know Pluto 
 will think it's all my laziness, whereas the fault lies in 
 quite another quarter. That blessed ghost-conductor 
 of ours has been drinking the waters of Lethe himself, 
 I suppose, and has forgot to come back. He's most 
 likely wrestling with the young men, or playing on his 
 lyre, or holding an argument, to show his subtle wit. 
 Or very possibly my gentleman is doing a little thieving 
 somewhere on the road, for that's one of his many ac- 
 complishments. He takes considerable liberties with us, 
 I must say, considering that he's half our servant. 
 
 Clotlio. You don't know, Charon, but that he has 
 been hindered in some way ; Jupiter may have wanted 
 him for some extra work up above; he's his master 
 too, you see.* 
 
 Cha. But he has no right to get more than his share 
 of work out of our common property, Clotho : 7 never 
 keep him, when it's his time to go. But I know what 
 it is ; with us he gets nothing but asphodel, and liba- 
 tions, and salt-cake, and such funeral fare all the rest 
 is gloom, and fog, and darkness ; while in heaven 'tis all 
 brightness, and lots of ambrosia, and nectar in abund- 
 ance ; so I suppose he finds it pleasanter to spend his 
 time up there. He flies away from here fast enough, as 
 if he were escaping out of prison ; but when the hour 
 comes for him to return, he moves very leisurely, and 
 takes his time on the road down. 
 
 * The many offices of Mercury were a favourite subject of 
 jest with Aristophanes as well as with Lucian. Some figures of 
 the god represented him with his face painted half black and 
 half white, to signify his double occupation, above and below.
 
 DIALOGUES OF THE DEAD. 69 
 
 Clo. Don't put yourself in a passion, Charon ; look, 
 here he comes, close by, bringing a large company with 
 him driving them before him, I should rather say, 
 with his rod, like a flock of goats. But what's this 1 
 I see one of the party with his hands tied, and another 
 laughing, and another with a wallet on his back and a 
 club in his hand, looking very savage, and hurrying 
 the rest on. And don't you see how Mercury himself 
 is actually running down with sweat, and how dusty 
 his feet are ; he's quite out of breath, panting, with 
 his mouth open. What's the matter, Mercury ? 
 What are you so hurried about? You seem quite 
 done up. 
 
 (Enter MERCURY, very hot, with a large company 
 of Ghosts.) 
 
 Merc. Matter, Clotho ? Why, I've been hunting this 
 runaway here, till I suppose you thought I had run 
 away myself to-day, and deserted my ship. 
 
 Clo. Who is he? and what did he want to run 
 away for ? 
 
 Merc. That's plain enough because he wanted to 
 live a little longer. He's a king or a tyrant of some 
 sort, and from what I can make out from his howlings 
 and lamentations, he complains that he is being taken 
 away from a position of great enjoyment. 
 
 Clo. So the fool tried to run away, did he ? when 
 the thread of his life was already spun out ! 
 
 Merc. Tried to run away, did you say ? Why, unless 
 that stout fellow there, he with the club, had helped 
 me, so that we contrived between us to catch him and
 
 70 LUC I AN. 
 
 tie him, he would have got clean off. From the mo- 
 ment that Atropos handed him over to me, he did 
 nothing but kick and struggle all the way, and stuck 
 his heels in the ground, so that it was very hard to 
 get him along. Then sometimes he would beg and 
 pray me to let him go just for a little bit offering 
 me ever so much money. But I, as was my duty, re- 
 fused especially as it was impossible. But when we 
 got just to the entrance, and I was counting over the 
 dead, as usual, to ^Eacus, and he was checking them 
 off by the list which your sister had sent him, lo and 
 behold ! this rascal had got off somehow or other, and 
 was missing. So there was one dead man short of the 
 count. ^Eacus frowned at me awfully. "Don't try 
 your cheating game here, Mercury," says he, "it's 
 quite enough to play such tricks up above ; here in 
 the Shades we keep strict accounts, and you can't hum- 
 bug us. A thousand and four, you observe, my list 
 has marked on it ; and you come here bringing me one 
 too few unless you please to say that Atropos cheated 
 you in the reckoning." I quite blushed at his words, 
 and recollected at once what had happened on the road ; 
 and when I cast my eyes round and couldn't see that 
 wretch, I knew he had escaped, and ran back after him 
 all the way, towards daylight, and that excellent fellow 
 there went with me, of his own accord ; and by run- 
 ning like race-horses we caught him just at Taenarus * 
 so near he was getting away. 
 
 * At which spot there was one of the reputed descents 
 to the Shades.
 
 DIALOGUES OF THE DEAD. 71 
 
 The Ferryman desires them to waste no more time 
 now in chattering, and proposes to start at once. Clo- 
 tho and Mercury count the dead into the boat. First, 
 three hundred infants, including those who have been 
 deserted and exposed. Charon (who is still very 
 cross) complains of them as " a cargo of very unripe 
 fruit." Mercury next hands him in four hundred old 
 people ; " they are ripe enough," he observes, " at any 
 rate and some rotten." Seven have died for love 
 besides a great philosopher, who has killed himself for 
 the sake of a good-for-nothing woman. Several have 
 died of a fever including the physician who attended 
 them. Cyniscus, too, is there, the Cynic philosopher, 
 who has been eating some of Hecate's supper, and a 
 quantity of raw onions besides, and has died of indiges- 
 tion. His only complaint is that he has been forgotten 
 by the Fates, and allowed to live on earth so long. 
 
 Megapenthes, the tyrant, who has made such a deter- 
 mined attempt to escape on the road, entreats Clotho to 
 let him go back to life only for a little while, if it were 
 but five days, just to finish his new house, and to give 
 some directions to his wife about some money, he will 
 be sure to come down again soon. He tries in vain to 
 bribe the Inexorable by offers of gold. Or, he will 
 give his son, his only son, as a hostage. Clotho 
 reminds him that his prayer used to be that this son 
 might survive him. That had been his wish, he con- 
 fesses ; but now he knows better. Clotho bids him 
 take comfort ; his son will follow him hero speedily ; 
 he will be put to death by the tyrant who succeeds. 
 At least he desires to know how things will go after
 
 72 LUC I AN. 
 
 his death. He shall hear, though the information will 
 hardly be pleasant. His statues will be thrown down 
 and trampled on : his wife, AV!IO has already been faith- 
 less to him, will marry her lover: his daughter will go 
 into slavery. In vain he begs for life, though the life 
 be that of a slave. Mercury, with the help of Cyniscus, 
 drives him into the boat, and threatens to tie him to 
 the mast. At this moment a little figure rushes for- 
 ward, and begs not to be left behind. It is Micyllus, 
 a poor cobbler. He has not found life on earth alto- 
 gether so pleasant, that he cares to continue it. " At 
 the very first signal of Atropos," says he, "I jumped 
 up gladly, threw away my knife and leather, and an 
 old shoe I had in my hand, and without stopping even 
 to put on my slippers or wash off the black from my 
 face, followed her at once or rather led the way. 
 There was nothing to call me back. I had no tie to 
 life, neither land, nor houses, nor gold, nor precious 
 furniture; no glory and no statues had I to leave 
 behind. Indeed I like all your ways down below 
 very much ; there's equality for all, and no man is 
 better than his neighbour ; it all seems to me uncom- 
 monly pleasant. I suppose nobody calls in debts here, 
 or pays taxes : above all, there is no cold in winter, no 
 sickness, and no beatings from great people. Here all 
 is peace, and conditions seem quite reversed ; we poor 
 laugh and are merry, while your rich men groan and 
 howL" He is eager to be ferried over at once to that 
 further shore; and When Charon sulkily declares there 
 is no room in the boat for him, he strips and proposes 
 to swim across the Styx 3 he shall get over that way
 
 DIALOGUES OF THE DEAD. 73 
 
 perhaps as fast as they will. At last it is settled that he 
 is to sit on the tyrant's back ; " and kick him well," 
 says Clotho. The Cynic now takes up the dialogue. 
 He, like his fellow-philosopher Menippus, has no money 
 to pay his passage. 
 
 Cyniscus. I'll tell you the plain truth, Charon I 
 haven't a penny to pay for my passage : nothing in the 
 world but my scrip and staff here. But I'm quite 
 ready to pump or to row : you shall have no reason to 
 complain, if you can find me a good strong oar. 
 
 CJiaron. Pull away, then. I must be content to get 
 that much out of you. 
 
 Cyn. Shall I give you a song ] 
 
 Cha. Well, do ; if you know a good sea-stave. 
 
 Cyn. I know plenty, Charon. But these Jellows are 
 blubbering so loud, they'll drown my voice. 
 
 Dead men, in discordant chorus. my riches ! 
 my lands ! Oh, what a beautiful house I've left be- 
 hind me ! Alas ! for all the money my heir will 
 squander ! Alas, my poor dear children ! Ah ! who'll 
 gather the grapes from those vines I planted last year ? 
 
 Merc. Have you nothing to lament, Micyllus ? In- 
 deed it's against all rule for any one to make this voy- 
 age without a few tears. 
 
 Micyllus. Nonsense ! I've nothing to cry for, on 
 such a pleasant voyage. 
 
 Merc. Nay, just cry a little, do just to keep up 
 the custom. 
 
 Mic. Very well, if you wish it, Mercury here 
 goes. my leather-parings ! my old shoes ! Alas !
 
 74 LUC I AN. 
 
 no longer shall I go from dawn till evening without 
 food, nor walk barefoot and half-clad all the winter, 
 with my teeth chattering for cold ! And, oh dear ! 
 who will inherit my old awl and scraper ? 
 
 Merc. There, that'll do ; we've almost got across. 
 
 Cha. Now, pay your fares, all of you, the first 
 thing. You there, fork out ! And you ! Now I've got 
 all, I think. Micyllus, where's your penny ? 
 
 Mic. You joke, my friend ; you might as well try- 
 to get blood out of a turnip, as they say, as money out 
 of Micyllus. Heaven help me if I know a penny by 
 sight whether it's round or square ! 
 
 The scene which follows, satire though it be, has a 
 terrible amount of truth in it. The tone of burlesque 
 passes almost into that of tragedy. It reads like a 
 passage from some dramatic mediaeval sermon. The 
 dead are summoned one by one before the tribunal of 
 Ehadamanthus. Each has to strip for examination : 
 for, burnt in upon the breast of every man, patent now 
 to the Judge of Souls, though invisible to mortal eyes, 
 will be found the marks left by the sins of his past 
 life.* Cyniscus presents himself first, cheerfully and 
 confidently. Some faint indications there are upon 
 
 * This is from Plato. In his ' Gorgias ' (524) Rhadamanthus 
 finds the soul of the tyrant " full of the prints and scars of 
 perjuries and wrongs which have been stamped there by each 
 action." Tacitus (Ann. vi. 6), speaking of Tiberius, introduces 
 the idea as that of Socrates : "If the minds of tyrants could 
 be laid open to view, scars and wounds would be discovered 
 upon them : since the mind is lacerated by cruelty, lust, and 
 evil passions, even as the body is by stripes and blows."
 
 DIALOGUES OF TEE DEAD. 75 
 
 hi* person of scars, healed over and almost obliterated. 
 He explains that these are the traces of great faults 
 committed in his youth through ignorance, which by 
 the help of philosophy he has amended in his maturer 
 years. He is acquitted, and bid to take his place among 
 the just, after he shall have given evidence against the 
 tyrant Megapenthes. Micyllus, the poor cobbler, who 
 has had few temptations, shows no marks at all. But 
 when Megapenthes, hanging back in terror from the 
 scrutiny, is hurled by Tisiphone into the presence of 
 the judge, Cyniscus has a terrible list of crimes to 
 charge against him. He has abused his power and 
 wealth to the most atrocious deeds of lust and cruelty. 
 In vain he tries to deny the accusations : his Bed and 
 his Lamp, the unwilling witnesses of his debaucheries, 
 are summoned, by a bold and striking figure of imper- 
 sonation, to bear their evidence against him ; and when 
 he is stripped for examination, his whole person is 
 found to be livid with the marks imprinted on it by 
 his crimes. The only question is what punishment 
 shall be assigned him. The Cynic philosopher begs to 
 suggest a new and fitting one. 
 
 Cyniscus. It is the custom, I believe, for all your 
 dead here to drink the water of Lethe ? 
 
 Rliadamanihus. Certainly. 
 
 Cyn. Then let this man alone not bo permitted to 
 taste it. 
 
 Rhad. And why so 1 
 
 Cyn. So shall ho suffer the bitterest punishment 
 in the recollection of all that he has been and done,
 
 76 LUC I AN. 
 
 and all the power he had while on earth, and in the 
 thought of his past pleasures. 
 
 JRhad. Excellently well advised ! Sentence is passed. 
 Let him he fettered and carried away to Tartarus, 
 there to remember all his past life. 
 
 The keen intellect which rejected, as some of the 
 greatest minds of antiquity had done before him, the 
 inventions of poet and mythologist as to the future 
 state, could appreciate the awful truth of a moral hell 
 which the sinner carried always within him. Lucian 
 would have said, with that great Roman poet who found 
 no refuge from superstition but in materialism, 
 
 " No vultures rend the breast of Tityos, 
 As his vast bulk lies tost on Acheron's wave ; 
 
 But he is Tityos, whose prostrate soul 
 The fangs of guilty love and vain regret, 
 And fruitless longings ever vex and tear." * 
 
 In that thought, at least, the Christian poet is in 
 accord with the heathen. It is the punishment which 
 Milton imagines for the Great Tempter himself : 
 
 " Horror and doubt distract 
 His troubled thoughts, and from the bottom stir 
 The Hell within him ; for within him Hell 
 He brings, and round about him now from Hell 
 One step, no more than from himself, can fly 
 By change of place ; now conscience works despair 
 That slumbered, wakes the bitter memory 
 Of what he was, what is, and what must be." t 
 
 * Lucretius, iii. 997. t Par. Lost, iv. 18.
 
 CHARON'S VISIT TO THE WORLD. 
 
 CHARON 8 VISIT TO THE UPPER WORLD. 
 
 This is one of the author's "best pieces, and though 
 classed amongst the miscellaneous Dialogues, may 
 very well find a place here. The dramatis personce 
 are the same, and the contrast between the world 
 of the living and the world of ghosts is still the 
 theme. 
 
 MERCURY AND CHARON. 
 
 Mercury. What are you laughing about, Charon 1 ? 
 And what has made you leave your boat and come up 
 here into our parts ? You don't very often favour us 
 with a visit. 
 
 Charon. Well, I had a fancy, Master Mercury, to 
 see what kind of a thing human life was, and what 
 men do in the world, and what it is that they have to 
 leave behind them, that they all bemoan themselves so 
 when they come down our way. For you know that 
 never a one of them makes the voyage without tears. 
 So I begged leave of absence from Pluto, just for a 
 day, like Protesilaus, and came up here into the day- 
 light. And I think myself very lucky in falling in 
 with you ; you'll be good enough to act as my guide, I 
 know, and go round with me and show me everything 
 you know all about it. 
 
 Merc. Keally, Mr Ferryman, I can't spare time. I 
 have to go off to do an errand for Jupiter upon earth. 
 He's very irascible, and if I loiter on the road, I fear he 
 may banish me entirely into your dark dominions, or 
 do to me as he did to Vulcan lately, take me by the
 
 78 LUCIAN. 
 
 foot and pitch me down from heaven, and so I shall 
 have to go limping round with the wine, like him. 
 
 Cha. And will you let me go wandering about the 
 earth and losing my way you, my old friend and 
 messmate ? It wouldn't be amiss for you to remember, 
 my lad, how I have never made you bale the boat, or 
 even pull an oar, but you lie snoring on the deck, for 
 all those great broad shoulders ; or if you find any talk- 
 ative fellow among the dead men, you chatter with him 
 all the way over, leaving a poor old fellow like me to 
 pull both oars myself. By your father's beard, now, 
 my good Mercury, don't go away ! Show me round 
 this upper world, that I may see something before I go 
 home again. Why, if you leave me here by myself, I 
 shall be no better than the blind men. Just as they 
 go stumbling about in the darkness, so do I in this 
 confounded light. Oblige me now, Mercury, do and 
 I'll never forget the favour. 
 
 Merc. This job will cost me a beating, I plainly fore- 
 see all the wages I shall get for acting as guide will 
 be blows. But I suppose I must oblige you : what 
 can a fellow do when a friend presses him ? But as 
 to seeing everything thoroughly, Mr Ferryman, that's 
 impossible it would take a matter of years. There 
 would have to be a hue and cry sent after me by 
 Jupiter, as a runaway ; and it would stop your busi- 
 ness in the service of Death, and Pluto's empire would 
 suffer, by your stopping all transportation there for 
 some time ; and then ^Eacus would be in a rage about 
 his fees, when he found not an obol coming in. But 
 I'll manage to let you see what's best worth seeing.
 
 CHARGE'S VISIT TO THE, WORLD. 79 
 
 Cha. You know best, Mercury ; I'm a perfect 
 stranger here, and know nought about this upper 
 world. 
 
 Merc. First, then, we must find some commanding 
 spot, where you can see everything from. If you could 
 have got up into heaven, now, there would have been 
 no trouble you might see it all from there, as from a 
 watch-tower. However, since your ghostly functions 
 are a bar to your admittance into Jove's dominions, 
 we must look out for a good high mountain. 
 
 CJia. You know what I used to say when we were 
 aboard my boat. "Whenever the wind took us on the 
 quarter, and the waves rose high, then you, in your ig- 
 norance, would be calling to me to shorten sail, or let go 
 the sheet, or run before the wind, and I always bid 
 you all sit still and hold your tongues I knew what 
 was best to be done. So now do you just take what 
 course you think best : you are captain now ; and I, as 
 all passengers should do, will sit still and do as you 
 tell mo. 
 
 Merc. Very right. I know the best plan, and I'll 
 soon find a good look-out place. Would Caucasus do ? 
 or is Parnassus higher or Olympus higher still 1 ? 
 When I look at Olympus, a bright idea comes into my 
 head ; but you must help me, and do your fair share 
 of the work. 
 
 Cha. Give your orders I'll help as far as I 
 can. 
 
 Merc. The poet Homer says that the sons of Aloeus 
 they were but two, and they were only youths 
 designed once upon a time to wrench up Ossa and put
 
 80 LUCIAN. 
 
 it on Olympus, and then Pelion on top of that think- 
 ing so to get a good ladder to climb into heaven by. 
 Now those lads suffered for it, and it served them right, 
 for it was a very insolent trick. But you see we are 
 not scheming anything against the gods, so why should 
 not we two roll these mountains one on top of the 
 other, so as to get a good view from a commanding 
 position ? 
 
 Cha. And could we two by ourselves lift and carry 
 Pelion or Ossa? 
 
 Merc. Why not, Charon? you don't mean to say 
 that we are weaker than those two boys, we, who are 
 divinities ? 
 
 Cha. No ; but the thing itself seems, to my mind, 
 impossible. 
 
 Merc. Very likely; because you're so illiterate, 
 Charon, and destitute altogether of the poetic faculty. 
 But that grand Homer makes a road into heaven in 
 two lines he claps the mountains together so easily. I 
 wonder, too, that this should seem to you such a pro- 
 digy, when you know how Atlas bears the weight of 
 the whole globe himself, and carries us all on his back. 
 I suppose you've heard, too, of my brother Hercules, 
 how he supplied Atlas's place once, just to allow him 
 a little rest, while he took the weight upon his own 
 shoulders ? 
 
 CJia. Yes, I've heard all about it ; but whether it 
 be true or not, you and the poet only know. 
 
 Merc. Quite true, I assure you, Charon : why should 
 such clever men tell lies ? So let's set to work upon 
 Ossa first, as the poet and his verse recommend j
 
 CHARON'S VISIT TO THE WORLD. 81 
 
 "And on Ossa's top 
 They rolled the leafy Pelion." * 
 
 Do you see how easy it is ? We've done it capitally 
 and most poetically. Now let me get up and see 
 whether it will do, or whether we must build a little 
 higher yet. Ah ! we are still under the shadow of 
 Olympus, I see. Only Ionia and Lydia are visible 
 yet on the east : on the west, we can't see further than 
 Italy and Sicily : on the south, only this side the 
 Danube, and Crete only indistinctly down here. I 
 say, Ferryman, we shall have to move (Eta too, and 
 then clap Parnassus on top of all. 
 
 Cha. So be it ; only take care we don't attempt 
 too much, I mean, beyond what poetical probability 
 allows. Homer will prove a very unlucky architect 
 for us, if we tumble down with all this weight upon 
 us and break our skulls. 
 
 Merc. Never fear it's all quite safe. Move QEta 
 now now up with Parnassus. There now I'll get 
 up and look again. All right I can see everything. 
 Now you come up too. 
 
 Cha. Lend us a hand then, Mercury it's no joke 
 getting up such a place as this. 
 
 Merc. Well, if you want to see everything, you 
 know, Charon, you can't expect to gratify your curiosity 
 and never risk your neck. But take fast hold of my 
 hand and take care you don't put your foot upon a 
 slippery stone. Well done ! now you're safe up. 
 Parnassus, luckily, has two tops, so' you can sit upon 
 
 * Horn., Odyss. xi. 
 A. c. vol. xviii. F
 
 82 LUCIAN. 
 
 one and I on the other. Now look all round you and 
 see what you can see. 
 
 Cha. I see a large extent of land, and as it were a 
 great lake all round it, and mountains and rivers bigger 
 than Cocytus or Phlegethon, and men, oh ! such 
 little creatures ! and some kind of hiding-places or 
 burrows they have. 
 
 Merc. Those are cities, which you call burrows. 
 
 CJia. Do you know, Mercury, we seem to have done 
 no good, after all, in moving Parnassus, and (Eta, and 
 these other mountains ? 
 
 Merc. Why so ? 
 
 Clia. Because I can see nothing distinctly from 
 this height. I wanted not merely to see cities and 
 hills, as one does in a picture, but men themselves, 
 and what they do, and what they talk about, as 
 I did when you met me first and found me laugh- 
 ing ; I had just been uncommonly amused at some- 
 thing. 
 
 Merc. And what was that, pray ? 
 
 CJia. Some man had been invited by one of his 
 friends to dinner, I conclude, for to-morrow. " I'll be 
 sure to come," says he and just as he was speaking, 
 down comes a tile from the roof somehow, and kills 
 him. So I laughed to think he couldn't keep his 
 appointment. And now I think I had better get down 
 again, that I may see and hear better. 
 
 Merc. Stay where you are. I've a remedy for this 
 difficulty too. I can make you marvellously keen- 
 sighted, by using a certain incantation from Homer, 
 invented for this special purpose. The moment I say
 
 CHARON'S VISIT TO THE WORLD. 83 
 
 the words, you'll find no more difficulty as to vision, 
 but will see everything quite plain. 
 
 CJia. Say them, then. 
 
 Merc. 
 
 " Lo ! from this earthly mist I purge thy sight, 
 That thou may'st know both gods and men aright."* 
 
 How now ? Can you see better ? 
 
 Gha. Wonderful ! Lynceus himself would be blind 
 in comparison ! Now explain things to me, and answer 
 my questions. But first, would you like me to ask you 
 a question out of Homer, that you may see I'm not 
 quite ignorant of the great poet ? 
 
 Merc. How come you to know anything about him, 
 a sailor like you, always at the oar ? 
 
 Gha. Look here now, that's very disrespectful to my 
 craft. Why, when I carried him across after he was 
 dead, I heard him rhapsodising all the way, and I 
 remember some of it. A terrible storm we had that 
 voyage, too. He began some chant of not very happy 
 omen for seafaring folk, how Neptune gathered the 
 clouds, and troubled the sea stirring it up with his 
 trident, like a ladle rousing all the winds and every- 
 thing else. He so disturbed the water with his poetry, 
 that all on a sudden we had a perfect tempest about 
 us, and the boat was wellnigh overset. "Well, then, 
 he fell sick himself, and vomited up great part of his 
 poem, Scylla and Charybdis, and the Cyclops, and 
 all. I had no great trouble in picking up a few scraps 
 of the contents. So, as the poet has it, 
 
 * Horn., II. v. 127.
 
 84 LUC I AN. 
 
 " Who is yon stalwart warrior, tall and strong, ' 
 By head and shoulders towering o'er the throng ?" 
 
 Merc. That's Milo of Crotona, the great wrestler. 
 The Greeks are applauding him because he has just 
 lifted a bull and is carrying it across the arena. 
 
 Cha. They'll have much better reason to applaud 
 me, Mercury, when I get hold of Milo himself, as I 
 shall do very shortly, and clap him on board my boat, 
 when he comes down our way after having been thrown 
 by that invincible wrestler, Death; no back-trick 
 that he knows can manage him. He'll weep and groan 
 then, we shall see, when he remembers all his laurels 
 and triumphs ; but now he is very proud because they 
 all admire him for carrying the bull. Do you suppose, 
 now, that man ever expects to die ? 
 
 The visitor from the lower world, under Mercury's 
 instruction, surveys many other scenes in human life. 
 Space and Chronology are, of course, set entirely at 
 defiance under the potent incantation which Mercury 
 has borrowed from the poet as they are, indeed, 
 sometimes by poets themselves.' He sees Cyrus plan- 
 ning his great expedition against Croesus ; overhears 
 the latter monarch holding his celebrated conversation 
 with Solon on the great question of human happiness ; 
 is shown the Scythian Tomyris on her white horse, the 
 savage queen who is to give the Persian conqueror 
 " his fill of blood." He sees the too fortunate Poty- 
 crates receiving back his lost ring from the fisherman, 
 and learns from his guide (who has heard it as a secret
 
 CHARGE'S VISIT TO THE WORLD. 85 
 
 from Clotho) the miserable end of the tyrant's pros- 
 perity. Then Mercury shows him the now desolate 
 site of what once was Nineveh, and tells him how the 
 great Babylon is fated to perish in like manner. As 
 for the remains of Mycenae, and Argos, and, above all, 
 of the renowned Troy, these Mercury is afraid to 
 show his friend, lest when he returns to the Shades 
 below he should strangle the poet for his exaggerations. 
 The whole dialogue is very fine, and in a higher tone 
 than is Lucian's wont to use, though no writer could 
 use it with better effect. 
 
 Clia. Strange and multiform indeed is the crowd I 
 see, and human life seems full of trouble. And their 
 cities are like hives of bees, in which each has his own 
 sting, and therewith attacks his neighbour ; and some, 
 like wasps, plunder and harry the weaker. But who 
 are that crowd of shadows, invisible to them, who 
 hover over their heads ? 
 
 Merc. These, Charon, are Hope, and Fear, and 
 Madness ; and Lusts, and Desires, and Passions, and 
 Hate, and suchlike. Of these, Folly mingles with the 
 crowd below, and is, as one may say, their fellow-citizen. 
 So also Hate, and Anger, and Jealousy, and Ignorance, 
 and Distress, and Covetousness. But Fear and Hope 
 hover above them; and the first, when she swoops 
 down upon them, drives them out of their minds, and 
 makes them cower and shudder ; whilst Hope, still 
 fluttering over them, the instant one thinks he has 
 surely laid hold of her, flies up out of his reach, and 
 leaves him balked and gaping, like Tantalus below,
 
 86 LUCIAN. 
 
 when the water flies his lips. Also, if you look close, 
 you will see the Fates too hovering over them, each 
 with her spindle, whence are drawn slender threads 
 which are attached to alL 
 
 Charon compares human life to the bubbles which 
 rise and float along the stream some small, which 
 quickly burst and disappear ; some larger, which at- 
 tract others in their course, and so grow larger still, 
 but which soon break also in their turn, and vanish 
 into nothing ;* and Mercury assures him that his com- 
 parison is quite as good as Homer's celebrated one of the 
 leaves on the trees. It puzzles him also to discover what 
 there is in this life so very desirable, that men should 
 so take the loss of it to heart; and he would fain 
 himself take a journey to earth, and preach wisdom to 
 these miserable mortals, to warn them to " cease from 
 vanity, and live with death ever before their eyes. 
 ' fools ! ' I would say to them, ' why are ye anxious 
 about such little things ? Cease from thus wearying 
 yourselves ; ye cannot live for ever : none of those 
 things ye so admire is everlasting, nor can a man carry 
 aught of it away with him when he dies, but naked 
 he must depart below ; and house and lands and gold 
 must change their master, and pass into other hands.' " 
 
 But all such preaching, Mercury assures him, would 
 be in vain. Their ears are so fast stopped with error 
 and ignorance, that no surgeon's instrument can bore 
 them. What Lethe does for the dead, obstinacy does 
 
 * Jeremy Taylor has adopted and enlarged this passage from 
 Lucian, in the opening paragraph of his "Holy Dying."
 
 CHARON'S VISIT TO THE WORLD. 87 
 
 for the living. Some there are, however, among these 
 mortals, " whose ears are open to the voice of truth, 
 and whose vision is purged to see the things of human 
 life in their real aspect." Charon would read his 
 lesson, then, to them. " That would be labour lost," 
 replies Mercury, " to teach them what they know well 
 already. See how they sit apart from the vulgar herd, 
 smiling at all that passes, and feeling never any kind 
 of satisfaction in it : but plainly meditating an escape 
 to your quiet regions, out of the weariness of life ; 
 hated, moreover, as they are by their fellows, because 
 they seek to convict them of their folly." "These 
 seem but few," says Charon. "They are enough," 
 replies Mercury. Enough to be the salt of the earth ; 
 such, even in the heathen's estimate, must always be 
 few. And cynicism and suicide, these, as we see, 
 were the heathen's remedies for the vanity and vexa- 
 tion of life.
 
 CHAPTEE IV. 
 
 LUCIAN AND THE PHILOSOPHERS, 
 
 THE great success and reputation achieved by the 
 early Greek philosophers, and especially by those who 
 professed Ehetoric and Dialectics, naturally led to the 
 assumption of the character by a host of successors, 
 many of them mere pretenders. It was a profession 
 not only tempting to a man'a self-conceit, but to his 
 love of gain : for, in spite of the protest of one at least 
 of the great teachers of antiquity Socrates against 
 debasing philosophy to a mere trade by accepting 
 money for discoursing on it, it had not unnaturally 
 become the custom to take fees both for public lectures 
 and for private instruction. For a philosopher had to 
 live, like other men. The Antonine Caesars, zealous 
 for the education of their subjects, founding lecture- 
 ships and endowing colleges throughout their empire, 
 possibly encouraged too much the mere pretenders to 
 learning by the liberality of their grants, and the ire 
 of the satirist may have been justly roused by the un- 
 worthiness of many of the recipients.* 
 
 * " Beaucoup de gens se faisaient philosophes parce que Marc 
 Aurfcle les enrichissait." Champagny, " Les Antonines," iii.
 
 LUCIAN AXD THE PHILOSOPHERS. 89 
 
 Athens was still the great resort for professors of 
 all sciences, from all countries, and of all characters. 
 The genius of the people insured such visitors a wel- 
 come reception. Talk was the Athenian's privilege and 
 his delight. " To tell or to hear some new thing," is 
 St Paul's brief epitome of the life of the Athenian 
 multitude of his day and contemporary history does 
 but amplify the apostle's report. Nor is it to be sup- 
 posed that the wisest or the most honest teacher was 
 always the most popular; rather, the boldest and 
 least scrupulous pretenders were perhaps the most sure 
 of an audience. As in our own days, the medicine 
 which is put forward as a cure for all diseases is secure 
 of a wide sale among the vulgar ; so the lecturer who 
 professed universal knowledge and there were plenty 
 of such did not fail of commending himself to the 
 greedy ears of the Athenian populace. There were 
 men who announced themselves as prepared for a 
 consideration to dispute on any imaginable subject of 
 human knowledge, or to reply to any question which 
 curiosity might propose. Especially were those sought 
 after who professed to teach the great secret of beating 
 an opponent in argument, right or wrong ; an enviable 
 accomplishment, unfortunately, in the eyes of most 
 intellectual people, but especially of men who took 
 so much part in public life as did the Athenian 
 commons. 
 
 To such an extent had this passion for talk in all its 
 forms whether in propounding the most startling 
 
 222. The whole passage, as an illustration of Lucian, well de- 
 serves attention.
 
 90 LUCIAN. 
 
 theories of morals or metaphysics, or in the most in- 
 genious fencing with the weapons of logic and rhetoric 
 spread itself in Lucian's day, that the abuses of the 
 Schools presented an ample and tempting field for so 
 keen a satirist. Add to this that he himself had "been 
 very much as it were behind the scenes ; that in so 
 far as he had been a real seeker after wisdom and an 
 honest teacher of the truth, he had seen how these 
 were disregarded by the pretended philosophers of 
 his day ; or in so far as he had lent himself to the 
 common temptation, and had regarded gain and repu- 
 tation more than a conscientious utterance of what 
 truth he knew, he would have experienced how very 
 readily a few specious phrases and plausible asser- 
 tions pass for wisdom with the multitude, and how 
 often the unintelligible may be made to do duty for 
 the sublime. 
 
 Next to the absurdities of the popular religion, then, 
 those of the pretenders to philosophy lay invitingly 
 open to the attack of the satirist. The fact that in 
 both cases such attack had to be made upon a strong 
 position, guarded by much popular prejudice and by 
 many private interests, would be only an additional 
 reason for engaging in it. He looked upon both 
 systems as what a modern satirist would call " enor- 
 mous shams," and the success of the imposture made 
 the work of unmasking it all the more exciting. In 
 both cases, truth suiFered more or less under the un- 
 discriminating ridicule which could not afford to spoil 
 its point by making distinctions and exceptions. As 
 in his merciless dissection of the so-called divinities of
 
 LUCIAN AND THE PHILOSOPHERS. 91 
 
 the pagan heaven, he seems often to repudiate the 
 existence of any divine principle at all ; so when he 
 holds up to derision the charlatans and impostors who 
 sheltered themselves under the names of the great 
 masters of old times, and who pushed their tenets to 
 absurdity, he lays himself open to the charge of carica- 
 turing those venerable sages themselves. 
 
 But, in truth, veneration for great names is a luxury 
 in which the satirist by profession can rarely afford to 
 indulge. The exigencies of his craft go nigh to forbid 
 him to hold anything sacred. We know how con- 
 stantly, even in our more decorous modern days, the 
 man who has a keen taste for humour and a reputation 
 for being amusing is tempted to make jests which savour 
 of profanity, while he may very possibly be no more 
 profane at heart than those who profess themselves 
 shocked by his levity of tone. It has been remarked 
 already, in one of the preceding volumes of this series, 
 in speaking of Aristophanes, that we may be quite wrong 
 in assuming that he bore any malice against Socrates, 
 or was insensible to the higher qualities of his char- 
 acter, because he found that it suited his purpose to 
 caricature some of the eccentricities of so well known 
 a personage for the comic stage : and we may be doing 
 Lucian equal injustice in accusing him of atheism, 
 because in his writings he touches only the absurd side 
 of a faith which was fast passing away and leaving as 
 yet nothing in its place ; or in thinking that he sneers 
 at all great intellectual discoveries, because he found 
 in the contradictions and the sophistries of the Schools 
 such congenial matter for his pen. And although,
 
 92 LUC I AN. 
 
 like Aristophanes, he uses well-known names from 
 time to time for the persons of his drama, anything 
 like what we call personality was probably far from 
 his thoughts. " Lucian," says Eanke, " spoke after 
 the manner of ancient comedy, things true, not of 
 this or that individual, but of bodies, of communities, 
 of society in general." 
 
 With this reservation the reader will perhaps judge 
 more fairly the broad farce for this is what it really 
 is of the Dialogue which follows. 
 
 THE SALE OF THE rHILOSOPHEIlS. 
 
 Scene, a Slave-mart; JUPITER, MERCURY, PHILOSO- 
 PHERS in the garb of slaves for sale ; audience 
 of Buyers. 
 
 Jupiter. Now, you arrange the benches, and get the 
 place ready for the company. You bring out the 
 goods, and set them in a row ; but trim them up a 
 little first, and make them look their best, to attract as 
 many customers as possible. You, Mercury, must put 
 up the lots, and bid all comers welcome to the sale. 
 Gentlemen, we are here going to offer you philosophi- 
 cal systems of all kinds, and of the most varied and in- 
 genious description. If any gentleman happens to be 
 short of ready money, he can give his security for the 
 amount, and pay next year. 
 
 Mercury (to Jupiter}. There are a great many 
 come; so we had best begin at once, and not keep 
 them waiting.
 
 THE SALE OF THE PHILOSOPHERS. 93 
 
 Jup. Begin the sale, then. 
 
 Merc. Whom shall we put up first ? 
 
 Jup. This fellow with the long hair, the Ionian. 
 He's rather an imposing personage. 
 
 Merc. You, Pythagoras ! step out, and show yourself 
 to the company. 
 
 Jup. Put him up. 
 
 Merc. Gentlemen, we here offer you a professor of 
 the very hest and most select description who buys 1 
 Who wants to be a cut above the rest of the world 1 
 Who wants to understand the harmonies of the uni- 
 verse ? and to live two lives ? * 
 
 , Customer (turning the Philosopher round and ex- 
 amining him). He's not bad to look at. What does 
 he know best 1 
 
 * Mr Grote, in the introductory chapter of his Plato, thus 
 sketches the Pythagorean doctrine of "The Music of the 
 Spheres." " The revolutions of such grand bodies [the Sun and 
 Planets] could not take place, in the opinion of the Pythago- 
 reans, without producing a loud and powerful sound ; and as 
 their distances from the central fire were supposed to be arranged 
 in musical ratios, so the result of all these separate sounds was 
 full and perfect harmony. To the objection Why were not 
 these sounds heard by us ? they replied, that we had heard 
 them constantly and without intermission from the hour of our 
 birth ; hence they had become imperceptible by habit." 
 
 The "two lives" is of course an allusion to Pythagoras's 
 notion of the transmigration of souls. It is said of him that he 
 professed to be conscious of having been formerly Euphorbus, 
 one of the chiefs present at the siege of Troy, and of having 
 subsequently borne other shapes. There is also a story of his 
 having interfered on behalf of a dog which was being beaten, 
 declaring that in its cries he recognised "the voice of a de- 
 parted friend."
 
 94 LUCIAN. 
 
 Merc. Arithmetic, astronomy, prognostics, geometry, 
 music, and conjuring you've a first-rate soothsayer 
 before you. 
 
 Cast. May one ask him a few questions ? 
 
 Merc. Certainly (aside) and much good may the 
 answers do you. 
 
 Oust. What country do you come from ] 
 
 Pythagoras. Samos. 
 
 Oust. Where were you educated ? 
 
 Pyth. In Egypt, among the wise men there. 
 
 Oust. Suppose I buy you, now what will you teach 
 me? 
 
 Pyth. I will teach you nothing only recall things 
 to your memory.* 
 
 Oust. How will you do that ? 
 
 Pyth. First, I will clean out your mind, and wash 
 out all the rubbish. 
 
 Oust. Well, suppose that done, how do you proceed 
 to refresh the memory 1 
 
 Pyth. First, by long repose, and silence speaking 
 no word for five whole years.t 
 
 * That "all knowledge is but recollection" is an assertion 
 attributed both to Pythagoras and Plato. The idea of "an 
 immortal soul always learning and forgetting in successive 
 periods of existence, having seen and known all things at one 
 time or other, and by association with one thing capable of 
 recovering all," may be seen discussed in Plato's Dialogue, 
 " Meno," 81, 82, &c. 
 
 t The injunction of a period of silence upon neophytes (the 
 " five years " is most likely an exaggeration) was plainly 
 meant as a check upon their presuming to teach before they had 
 matured their knowledge. " It would be not unserviceable " 
 (says Tooke) " in our own age, by preventing many of our raw
 
 THE SALE OF THE PHILOSOPHERS. 95 
 
 Oust. Why, look ye, my good fellow, you'd best go 
 teach the dumb son of Croasus ! I want to talk, and 
 not be a dummy. Well, but after this silence and 
 these five years ? 
 
 Pyth. You shall learn music and geometry. 
 
 Gust. A queer idea, that one must be a fiddler before 
 one can be a wise man ! 
 
 Pyth. Then you shall learn the science of numbers. 
 
 Cust. Thank you, but I know how to count already. 
 
 Pytli. How do you count ? 
 
 Cust. One, two, three, four 
 
 Pyth. Ha ! what you call four is ten, and the per- 
 fect triangle, and the great oath by which we swear.* 
 
 Cust. Now, so help me the great Ten and Four, I 
 never heard more divine or more wonderful words ! 
 
 Pyth. And afterwards, stranger, you shall learn 
 about Earth, and Air, and Water, and Fire, what is 
 their action, and what their form, and what their 
 motion. 
 
 Cust. What ! have Fire, Air, or Water bodily shape ? 
 
 Pyth. Surely they have; else, without form and 
 shape, how could they move? Besides, you shall 
 learn that the Deity consists in Number, Mind, and 
 Harmony. 
 
 Cust. What you say is really wonderful ! 
 
 Pyth. Besides what I have just told you, you shall 
 
 young divines exposing themselves in the pulpit before they 
 have read their Greek Testament." 
 
 * Ten being the sum of 1, 2, 3, 4. Number, in the system 
 of Pythagoras, was the fundamental principle of all things : in 
 the Monad Unity he recognised the Deity.
 
 96 LUCIAN. 
 
 understand that you yourself, who seem to be one indi- 
 vidual, are really somebody else. 
 
 Gust. "What ! do you mean to say I'm somebody else, 
 and not myself, now talking to you 1 
 
 Pyth. Just at this moment you are ; but once upon a 
 time you appeared in another body, and under another 
 name ; and hereafter you will pass again into another 
 shape stilL 
 
 [After a little more discussion of this philosopher's 
 tenets, he is purchased on behalf of a company of pro- 
 fessors from Magna Grecia, for ten minae. The next 
 lot is Diogenes, the Cynic.] 
 
 Merc. "Who'll you have next? That dirty fellow 
 from Pontus ? 
 
 Jup. Ay he'll do. 
 
 Merc. Here ! you with the wallet on your back, 
 you round-shouldered fellow ! come out, and walk round 
 the ring. A grand character, here, gentlemen ; a most 
 extraordinary and remarkable character, I may say ; a 
 really free man here I have to offer you who'll buy ? 
 
 Oust. How say you, Mr Salesman? Sell a free 
 citizen ? 
 
 Merc. Oh yes. 
 
 Oust. Are you not afraid he may bring you before 
 the court of Areopagus for kidnapping ? 
 
 Merc. Oh, he doesn't mind about being sold ; he 
 says he's free wherever he goes or whatever becomes of 
 him. 
 
 Oust. But what could one do with such a dirty,
 
 THE SALE OF THE PHILOSOPHERS. 97 
 
 wretched-looking body unless one were to make 
 a ditcher or a water-carrier of him? 
 
 Merc, "Well, or if you employ him as door-porter, 
 you'll find him more trustworthy than any dog. In 
 fact, ' Dog ' is his name. 
 
 Gust. Where does he come from, and what does he 
 profess 1 
 
 Merc. Ask him that will he most satisfactory. 
 
 Oust. I'm afraid of him, he looks so savage and 
 sulky ; perhaps he'll hark if I go near him, or even 
 bite me, I shouldn't wonder. Don't you see how 
 he handles his club, and knits his brows, and looks 
 threatening and angry 1 
 
 Merc. Oh, there's no fear he's quite tame. 
 
 Oust, (approaching Diogenes cautiously). First, my 
 good fellow, of what country are you 1 
 
 Diogenes (surlily). All countries. 
 
 Oust. How can that be 1 
 
 Diog. I'm a citizen of the world. 
 
 Gust. What master do you profess to follow 1 
 
 Diog. Hercules. 
 
 Gust. Why don't you adopt the lion's hide, then 1 
 I see you have the club. 
 
 Diog. Here's my lion's hide, this old cloak. Like 
 Hercules, I wage war against pleasure ; but not under 
 orders, as he did, but of my own free will. My choice 
 is to cleanse human life. 
 
 Gust. A very good choice too. But what do you 
 profess to know best? or of what art are you 
 master ? 
 
 Diog. I am the liberator of mankind, the physician 
 A. c. vol. xviii. o
 
 98 LUC I AN, 
 
 of the passions ; in short, I claim to be the prophet of 
 truth and liberty. 
 
 Gust. Come now, Sir Prophet, suppose I buy you, 
 after what fashion will you instruct me ? 
 
 Diog. I shall first take and strip you of all your 
 luxury, confine you to poverty, and put an old gar- 
 ment on you : then I shall make you work hard, and 
 lie on the ground, and drink water only, and fill your 
 belly with whatever comes first ; your money, if you 
 have any, at my bidding you must take and throw 
 into the sea ; and you must care for neither wife nor 
 children, nor country ; and hold all things vanity ; 
 and leave your father's house and sleep in an empty 
 tomb, or a ruined tower, ay, or in a tub : and have 
 your wallet rilled with lentils, and parchments close- 
 written on both sides. And in this state you shall 
 profess yourself happier than the King of the East. 
 And if any man beats you, or tortures you^ this you 
 shall hold to be not painful at all. 
 
 Oust. How ! do you mean to say I shall not feel 
 pain when I'm beaten 1 Do you think I've the shell 
 of a crab or a tortoise, man 1 
 
 Diog. You can quote that line of Euripides, you 
 know, slightly altered. 
 
 Cmt, And what's that, pray ? 
 
 Diog. 
 
 " Thy mind shall feel pain, but thy tongue confess none." * 
 But the qualifications you will most require are these : 
 you must be unscrupulous, and brazen-faced, and ready 
 
 * This unfortunate quibble of Euripides, which he puts into
 
 THE SALE OF THE PHILOSOPHERS. 99 
 
 to revile prince and peasant alike ; so shall men take 
 notice of you, and hold you for a brave man. More- 
 over, let your speech be rough, and your voice harsh, 
 and in fact like a dog's growl ; and your countenance 
 rigid, and your gait corresponding to it, and your 
 manner generally brute-like and savage. All modesty 
 and gentleness and moderation put far from you ; the 
 faculty of blushing you must eradicate utterly. Seek 
 the most crowded haunts of men; but when there, 
 keep solitary, and hold converse with none ; address 
 neither friend nor stranger, for that would be the 
 ruin of your empire. Do in sight of all what others 
 are almost ashamed to do alone. At the last, if 
 you choose, choke yourself with a raw polypus, or 
 an onion.* And this happy consummation I devoutly 
 wish you. 
 
 Oust, (recovering from some astonishment). Get 
 out with you ! what abominable and unnatural prin- 
 ciples ! 
 
 Diog. But very easy to carry out, mind you, and 
 not at all difficult to learn. One needs no education, 
 or reading, or such nonsense, for this system ; it's the 
 real short cut to reputation. Be you the most ordi- 
 nary person, cobbler, sausagemonger, carpenter, pawn- 
 
 the mouth of Hippolytus in his play (Hipp. 612) as a defence 
 of perjury, 
 
 " My tongue hath sworn it but my thought was free " 
 
 was a never -failing subject of parody to his critics and 
 satirists. 
 
 * The first mode of suicide was said to have been adopted 
 by the philosopher Democritus.
 
 100 LUC I AN. 
 
 broker, nothing hinders your being the object 
 of popular admiration, provided only that you've 
 impudence enough, and brass enough, and a happy 
 talent -for bad language. 
 
 Oust. Well, I don't require your instructions in 
 that line. Possibly, however, you might do for a 
 bargeman or a gardener,* at a pinch, if this party 
 has a mind to sell you for a couple of oboli, I 
 couldn't give more. 
 
 Mere, (eagerly). Take him at your own bidding ; 
 we're glad to get rid of him, he is so troublesome, 
 bawls so, and insults everybody up and down, 
 and uses such very bad language. 
 
 Jup. Call out the next the Cyrenaic there, in 
 purple, with the garland on, 
 
 Merc. Now, gentlemen, let me beg your best atten- 
 tion. This next lot is a very valuable one quite 
 suited to parties in a good position. Here's Pleasure 
 and Perfect Happiness, all for sale ! Who'll give me 
 a bidding now, for perpetual luxury and enjoyment ? 
 [A Cyrenaic, bearing traces of recent debauch, staggers 
 into the ring.'] 
 
 Oust. Come forward here, and tell us what you 
 know : I shouldn't mind buying you, if you've any 
 useful qualities. 
 
 Merc. Don't disturb him, sir, if you please, just 
 now don't ask him any questions. The truth is, he 
 
 * For the accomplishments of the bargemen and vine- 
 dressers in the way of bad language we have Horace's testi- 
 mony, Sat. i. 5 and 7. The first-mentioned fraternity bear the 
 same reputation still.
 
 THE SALE OF THE PHILOSOPHERS. 101 
 
 has taken a little too much; that's why he doesn't 
 answer his tongue's not quite steady. 
 
 Cust. And who in their senses, do you suppose, 
 would buy such a debauched and drunken rascal 1 
 Faugh ! how he stinks of unguents ! and look how he 
 staggers and goes from side to side as he walks ! * But 
 tell us, now, Mercury, what qualifications he. really 
 has, and what he knows anything about. 
 
 Merc. "Well, he's very pleasant company good to 
 drink with, and can sing and dance a little useful to 
 a master who is a man of pleasure and fond of a gay 
 life. Besides, he is a good cook, and clever in made 
 dishes and, in short, a complete master of the science 
 of luxury. He was brought up at Athens, and was 
 once in the service of the Tyrants of Sicily, who gave 
 him a very good character. The sum of his prin- 
 ciples is to despise everything, to make use of every- 
 thing, and to extract the greatest amount of pleasure 
 from everything. 
 
 Gust. Then you must look out for some other 
 purchaser, among the rich and wealthy here ; I can't 
 afford to buy such an expensive indulgence. 
 
 Merc. I fear, Jupiter, we shall have this lot left on 
 our hands he's unsaleable. 
 
 * If this be really meant for Aristippus, the founder of the 
 Cyrenaic philosophy, it is the most unfair presentation of all. 
 However some of his followers might have abused his prin- 
 ciples, his own character is probably much more fairly described 
 by Horace : 
 
 " All lives sat well on Aristippus ; though 
 He liked the high, he yet could grace the low." 
 
 Ep. I. xvii.
 
 102 LUC I AN. 
 
 Jup. Put him aside, and bring out another. Stay, 
 those two there, that fellow from Abdera who is 
 always laughing, and the Ephesian, who is always 
 crying ; I've a mind to sell them as a pair. 
 
 Merc. Stand out there in the ring, you two. "We 
 offer you here, sirs, two most admirable characters, the 
 wisest we've had for sale yet. 
 
 Gust. By Jove, they're a remarkable contrast ! "Why, 
 one of them never stops laughing, while the other 
 seems to be in trouble about something, for he's in 
 tears all the time. Holloa, you fellow ! what's all this 
 about ? "What are you laughing at ? 
 
 Democritus. Need you ask] Because everything 
 seems to me so ridiculous you yourselves included. 
 
 Gust. What ! do you mean to laugh at us all to our 
 faces, and mock at all we say and do ? 
 
 Dem. Undoubtedly ; there's nothing in life that's 
 serious. Everything is unreal and empty a mere 
 fortuitous concurrence of indefinite atoms. 
 
 Oust. You're an indefinite atom yourself, you rascal ! 
 Confound your insolence, won't you stop laughing? 
 But you there, poor soul (to Heraditus), why do you 
 weep so 1 for there seems more use in talking to you. 
 
 Heraditus. Because, stranger, everything in life 
 seems to me to call for pity and to deserve tears ; there 
 is nothing but what is liable to calamity ; wherefore 
 I mourn for men, and pity them. The evil of to-day I 
 regard not much : but I mourn for that which is to 
 come hereafter the burning and destruction of all 
 things. This I grieve for, and that nothing is per- 
 manent, but all mingled, as it were, in one bitter cup,
 
 THE SALE OF THE PHILOSOPHERS. 103 
 
 pleasure that is no pleasure, knowledge that knows 
 nothing, greatness that is so little, all going round and 
 round and taking their turn in this game of life. 
 
 Gust. What do you hold human life to be, then ? 
 
 Her. A child at play, handling its toys, and 
 changing them with every caprice. 
 
 Gust. And what are men 1 
 
 Her. Gods but mortal. 
 
 Gust. And the gods ? 
 
 Her. Men but immortal. 
 
 Gust. You speak in riddles, fellow, and put us off 
 with puzzles. You are as bad as Apollo Loxias, giving 
 oracles that no man can understand. 
 
 Her. Yea ; I trouble not myself for any of ye. 
 
 Gust. Then no man in his senses is like to buy 
 you. 
 
 Her. Woe ! woe to every man of ye, I say ! buyers 
 or not buyers. 
 
 Gust. Why, this fellow is pretty near mad ! I'll 
 have nought to do with either of them, for my part. 
 
 Merc, (turning to Jupiter). We shall have this pair 
 left on our hands too. 
 
 Jup. Put up another. 
 
 Merc. Will you have that Athenian there, who talks 
 so much? 
 
 Jup. Ay try him. 
 
 Merc. Step out, there ! A highly moral character, 
 gentlemen, and very sensible. Who makes me an 
 offer for this truly pious lot 1 
 
 [The morality which the satirist puts into the mouth 
 of Socrates, in his replies to the interrogatories of his
 
 104 LUCIAN. 
 
 would-be purchaser, is that which was attributed to him 
 probably quite without foundation by his enemies. 
 The customer next asks, where he lives ?] 
 
 Socrates. I live in a certain city of mine own build- 
 ing, a new model Eepublic, and I make laws for 
 myself.* 
 
 Oust. I should like to hear one of them. 
 
 Soc. Listen to my grand law of all, then, about 
 wives that no man should have a wife of his own, 
 but that all should have wives in common. 
 
 Oust. What ! do you mean to say you have abro- 
 gated all the laws of marriage ? 
 
 Soc. It puts an end, you see, to so many difficult 
 questions, and so much litigation in the divorce 
 courts. 
 
 Oust. Grand idea that ! But what is the main 
 feature of your philosophy ? 
 
 Soc. The existence of ideals and patterns of all 
 things in nature. Everything you see the earth, 
 and all that is on it, the heavens, the sea of all 
 these there exist invisible ideals, external to this 
 visible universe. 
 
 Ciist. And pray where are they ? 
 
 Soc. Nowhere. If they were confined to any place, 
 you see, they could not be at all. 
 
 Oust. I never see any of these ideals of yours. 
 
 Soc. Of course not : the eyes of your soul are 
 blind. But I can see the ideals of all things. I see 
 
 * It must be remembered that Plato, in his 'Republic,' 
 makes Socrates the expositor of his new polity throughout ; he 
 had probably derived at least the leading ideas from him.
 
 THE SALE OF THE PHILOSOPHERS. 105 
 
 an invisible double of yourself, and another self 
 besides myself in fact, I see everything double. 
 
 Oust. Bless me ! I must buy you, you are so very 
 clever and sharp-sighted. Come (turning to Mercury), 
 what do you ask for him 1 
 
 Merc. Give us two talents for him. 
 
 Oust. I'll take him at your price. I'll pay you 
 another time. 
 
 Merc. What's your name ? 
 
 Oust. Dion, of Syracuse. 
 
 Merc, (makes a note). Take him, and good luck to 
 you. Now, Epicurus, we want you. Who'll buy this 
 lot? He's a disciple of that laughing fellow, and also 
 of the other drunken party, whom we put up just 
 now. He knows more than either of them, however, 
 on one point he's more of an infideL Otherwise, 
 he's a pleasant fellow, and fond of good eating. 
 
 Oust. What's his price ? 
 
 Merc. Two minae. 
 
 Oust. Here's the money. Eut just tell us whit he 
 likes best. 
 
 Merc. Oh, anything sweet honey-cakes, and figs 
 especially. 
 
 Oust. They're easily got ; Carian figs are cheap 
 enough. 
 
 Jup. Now then, call another him with the shaven 
 crown there, and gloomy looks the one we got from 
 the Porch yonder. 
 
 Merc. You're right. I fancy a good many of our 
 customers who have come to the sale are waiting to 
 bid for him. Now I'm going to ofler you the most
 
 106 LUC I AN. 
 
 perfect article of all Virtue personified. Who wants 
 to be the only man who knows everytliing ? 
 
 Gust. "What do you mean ? 
 
 Merc. I mean that here you have the only wise 
 man, the only handsome man, the only righteous man, 
 the true and only king, general, orator, legislator, and 
 everything else there is.* 
 
 Oust. The true and only cook then, I conclude, and 
 cobbler, and carpenter, and so forth ? 
 
 Merc. I conclude so too. 
 
 Oust. Come then, my good fellow if I'm to pur- 
 chase you, tell me all about yourself; and first let me 
 ask, with all these wonderful qualifications, are you 
 not mortified at being put up for sale here as a slave ? 
 
 Chrysippus. Not at all : such things are external 
 to ourselves, and whatever is external to ourselves, it 
 follows must be matters of indifference to us. 
 
 [The Stoic proceeds to explain his tenets, in the 
 technical jargon of his school which his listener de- 
 clares to be utterly incomprehensible, and on which 
 modern readers would pronounce much the same judg- 
 
 * Lucian had evidently in his mind the humorous sketch of 
 the Stoic given by Horace, Sat. i. 3 : 
 
 " What though the wise ne'er shoe or slipper made, 
 The wise is still a brother of the trade, 
 Just as Hermogenes, when silent, still 
 Remains a singer of consummate skill 
 As sly Alfenius, when he had let drop 
 His implements of art and shut up shop, 
 Was still a barber, so the wise is best 
 In every craft, a king's among the rest." (Conington.
 
 THE SALE OF THE PHILOSOPHERS. 107 
 
 ment. His great accomplishment lies, as he him- 
 self professes, in the skilful handling of sophisms 
 " word-nets," as he calls them in which he entangles 
 his opponents, stops their mouths, and reduces 
 them to silence. He gives an example of his art, 
 which is a curious specimen of the kind of folly to 
 which the wisdom of the ancients occasionally conde- 
 scended. A crocodile is supposed to have seized a boy 
 in crossing a river, and promises to restore him to 
 his father if this latter can guess correctly what 
 he intends to do with him. If he guesses that the 
 crocodile means to give him back, he has guessed 
 wrong, because the crocodile's real intention is to eat 
 him. If he guesses that the crocodile means to eat 
 him, why then, if the crocodile gives him back after 
 all, the guess would plainly be proved wrong by the 
 result ; so that there seems no chance for the father, 
 guess which he will. The philosopher assures his 
 listener that this is but one out of many choice 
 examples of the sophistical art with which he is pre- 
 pared to furnish him ; and when the other retorts upon 
 him somewhat in his own style, the Stoic threatens to 
 knock him down with an " indemonstrable syllogism," 
 the effect of which, he warns him, will be to plunge 
 him into " eternal doubt, everlasting silence, and dis- 
 traction of mind." In the end, however, he is pur- 
 chased by his interrogator for "self and company." 
 The next who is put up for sale is " the Peripatetic," 
 by whom Aristotle is clearly intended. With him the 
 satirist deals briefly and lightly, as though he had 
 some tenderness for that particular school. " You will
 
 108 LUC IAN. 
 
 find him," says the auctioneer, " moderate, upright, 
 consistent in his life and what makes him yet more 
 valuable is that in him you are really buying two 
 men." " How do you make that out ? " asks the cus- 
 tomer. "Because," explains Mercury, "he appears to 
 be one person outside and another inside ; and remem- 
 ber, if you buy him, you must call one ' esoteric ' and 
 the other ' exoteric.' " With such recommendations, 
 the Peripatetic finds a ready purchaser for the large 
 sum of twenty minae. Last comes the Sceptic, Pyrrho, 
 who figures, by a slight change of name, as Pyrrhia, 
 a common appellation for a barbarian slave. The 
 intending purchaser asks him a few questions.] 
 
 Oust. Tell me, now, what do you know? 
 
 Pyrrliia. Nothing. 
 
 Oust. "What do you mean 1 
 
 Pyrrh. That nothing seems to me certain. 
 
 Oust. Are we ourselves nothing ? 
 
 Pyrrh. Well, that is what I am not sure of. 
 
 Ciist. Don't you know whether you are anything 
 yourself] 
 
 Pyrrh. That is what I am still more in doubt about. 
 
 Gust. What a creature of doubts it is ! And what 
 are those scales for, pray 1 
 
 Pyrrh. I weigh arguments in them, and balance 
 them one against another ; and then, when I find them 
 precisely equal and of the same weight, why, I find it 
 impossible to tell which of them is true. 
 
 Oust. Well, is there anything you can do in any 
 other line of business ?
 
 THE SALE OF THE PHILOSOPHERS. 109 
 
 Pyrrh. Anything, except catch a runaway slave. 
 Gust. And why can't you do that ? 
 
 Pyrrh. Because, you see, I've no faculty of appre- 
 hension* 
 
 Cust. So I should think you seem to me quite 
 slow and stupid. And now, what do you consider 
 the main end of knowledge % 
 
 Pyrrli. Ignorance to hear nothing and see no- 
 thing. 
 
 Cust. You confess yourself blind and deaf then ? 
 
 Pyrrh. Yea, and void of sense and perception, and 
 in no wise differing from a worm. 
 
 Cust. I must "buy you. (To Mercury.} What shall 
 we say for him 1 
 
 Merc. An Attic mina. 
 
 Cust. Here 'tis. Now, fellow, have I "bought you 
 or not tell me ? 
 
 Pyrrh. Well, it's a doubtful question. 
 
 Cust. Not at all at least I've paid for you. 
 
 Pijrrh. I reserve my opinion on that point; it 
 requires consideration. 
 
 Gust. Follow me, at all events that's a servant's 
 duty. 
 
 Pyrrh. Are you sure you're stating a fact 1 
 
 Cust. (impatiently). There's the auctioneer, and 
 there's the money, and there are the bystanders to 
 witness. 
 
 Pyrrh. Are you sure there are any bystanders 1 
 
 * The pun here happens to be the same in English as in 
 Greek. But the Athenians were fonder of such word-play than
 
 110 LUCIAN. 
 
 Oust, I'll have you off to the grinding-house,* sir, and 
 make you feel I'm your master by very tangible proofs. 
 
 Pyrrh. Stay I should like to argue that point a 
 little. 
 
 [The doubting philosopher is hurried off, still uncon- 
 vinced, by Mercury and his new owner, and the sale is 
 adjourned to the next day, when Mercury promises the 
 public that he shall have some cheaper bargains to 
 offer. The whole scene reads like a passage from the 
 old Aristophanic comedy ; and though some of the 
 allusions must necessarily lose much of their pungency 
 from our comparative ignorance of the popular phil- 
 osophy of Lucian's day, the humour of it is still 
 sufficiently entertaining.] 
 
 The professors of the various Schools of Philosophy 
 may well be supposed to have been loud in their in- 
 dignation at this caricature, and in their denunciation 
 of the author. Or at least it suited Lucian's purpose 
 to assume that they were so, and to make the wrath of 
 the solemn fraternity, real or imagined, the subject of 
 a Dialogue which follows by way of sequel to the first. 
 Possibly, also, he desired to guard against any miscon- 
 ception of his purpose in the satire, and to make it 
 clear that it was not against true philosophy or sound 
 science that he directed his wit, but against shallow and 
 conceited pretenders. This second Dialogue " The Re- 
 suscitated Professors" presents the author flying for his 
 life, pursued by a body of irate philosophers of all sects, 
 
 * Slaves who misbehaved were sent there, as the hardest work.
 
 THE RESUSCITATED PROFESSORS. Ill 
 
 who have obtained one day's leave of absence from the 
 Shades below to avenge themselves on their libeller. 
 
 THE RESUSCITATED PROFESSORS. 
 
 Socrates. Pelt the wretch ! pelt him with volleys of 
 stones, throw clods at him, oyster-shells ! Beat the 
 blasphemer with your clubs don't let him escape ! 
 Hit him, Plato ! and you, Chrysippus ! and you ! 
 Form a phalanx, and rush on him all together ! As 
 Homer says " Let wallet join with wallet, club 
 with club ! " He is the common enemy of us all, and 
 there is no man among ye whom he has not insulted. 
 You, Diogenes, now use that staff of yours, if ever you 
 did ! Don't stop ! let him have it, blasphemer that he is ! 
 What ! tired already, Epicurus and Aristippus 1 You 
 ought not to be : 
 
 " Be men, professors ! summon all your pluck ! " 
 
 Aristotle, do run a little faster ! That's good ! we've 
 caught the beast ! We've got you, you rascal ! You 
 shall soon find out who you've been abusing ! Kow 
 what shall we do with him ? Let us think of some 
 multiform kind of death, that may suffice for all of us 
 for he deserves a separate death from each. 
 
 Philosopher A. I vote that he be impaled. 
 
 Phil. B. Yes but be well scourged first. 
 
 Phil. C. Let his eyes be gouged out. 
 
 Phil. D. Ay but his tongue should be cut out 
 first. 
 
 Soc. What think you, Empedocles ? 
 
 Empedocles. He should be thrown down the crater
 
 112 LUC I AN. 
 
 of some volcano, and so learn not to revile his 
 betters. 
 
 Plato. Nay the best punishment for him will be 
 that, like Pentheus or Orpheus, 
 
 " Torn by the ragged rocks he meet his fate." 
 
 Lucian. Oh no, no, pray ! spare me, for the love 
 of heaven ! 
 
 Soc. Sentence is passed : nothing can save you. 
 For, as Homer says, 
 
 " 'Twixt men and lions, say, what truce can hold 1 " 
 
 Luc. And I implore you, too, in Homer's words 
 you will respect him, perhaps, and not reject me, when 
 I give you a recitation, 
 
 " Spare a brave foe, and take a ransom meet, 
 Good bronze, and gold which even wise men love." * 
 
 But his captors have an answer ready out of Homer's 
 inexhaustible repertory; and an appeal which the 
 prisoner makes to Euripides is met in a similar man- 
 ner. Lucian begs at least to be heard in his own 
 defence. He will prove that he is really the champion 
 and patron of true philosophy, to whom he owes all 
 that he knows. Let him at least have a fair trial, 
 before any judge they please. None can be better 
 than Philosophy herself; but where can she be found? 
 Lucian himself does not know where she lives, though 
 he has often made inquiry. He has seen men in grave 
 
 * Parodied from Homer, II. x. 378, &c. But the last half-line 
 is Lucian's own.
 
 THE RESUSCITATED PROFESSORS. 113 
 
 habits, with long beards, who ought to have known, 
 but they have always misdirected him. He has seen, 
 too, a flaunting woman, affecting to represent her, whose 
 hall of audience was thronged with visitors ; but he 
 had soon detected her as a mere impostor. 
 
 Plato agrees with him, that the dwelling of Philo- 
 sophy is hard to find, nor is her door open to all idle 
 comers. But while they are speaking, they meet her 
 walking in the portico ; and to her, by consent of both 
 parties, the prisoner's case is referred. Virtue, and 
 Temperance, and Justice, and Education, who are walk- 
 ing in her company, shall be her assessors in the court ; 
 and Truth, " a colourless form, all but imperceptible " 
 of whom Lucian himself has but a dim glimpse 
 who brings with her Liberty and Free-speech. The 
 court is held in the temple of Minerva. The aggrieved 
 parties have to choose one of their number as formal 
 accuser; and Chrysippus, in words of high eulogy 
 which may fairly be taken to express the serious 
 opinion of the author himself, suggests Plato as the 
 fittest for that office. The " marvellous sublimity of 
 thought, the Attic sweetness of diction, the persuasive 
 grace, and sagacity, and accuracy, and apposite illus- 
 trations ; the delicate irony and rapid interrogation," 
 which are here attributed to the great philosopher, are 
 all too genuine characteristics to have been introduced 
 ironically. But Plato declines the office, and the 
 Cynic Diogenes undertakes it, readily enough, dis- 
 gusted as he is at having been valued at no more than 
 two oboli at the late " Sale." He accuses Lucian of 
 endeavouring to bring all philosophy into contempt. 
 
 A. c. vol. xviii. n
 
 1U LUC I AN. 
 
 He is worse than the comedy-writers, Eupolis and 
 Aristophanes, who could at least plead in their excuse 
 the recognised licence of the Dionysiac festivals. He 
 calls for such a sentence on this profane libeller as 
 may deter others from following his example. Lucian 
 defends himself by protesting that it is only sham 
 philosophers, " asses in lions' skins," who shelter their 
 pretensions under the shadow of great names, that he 
 has attacked ; it is they, not he, who bring Philosophy 
 into contempt. Such gross misrepresentations as 
 theirs are the less excusable because of the dignity of 
 the things which they misrepresent. " The actor who 
 performs badly the part of a slave or a messenger is 
 guilty of but a venial fault ; but to present a Jupiter 
 or a Hercules to the audience in a fashion unworthy 
 of the dignity of the character becomes wellnigh a 
 profanation." 
 
 The satirist is triumphantly acquitted. Even Plato 
 and Diogenes withdrew their accusation, and join in 
 hailing him as the real friend of Truth. It is resolved 
 to call up the false pretenders to philosophy for trial 
 before the same court. Lucian desires " Syllogism " 
 that useful instrument of argument, who acts as crier 
 of the court to summon them for this purpose ; but 
 a strict logical examination is exactly what these pro- 
 fessors shrink from. Lucian succeeds, however, in 
 securing their attendance by a proclamation of his own. 
 He announces a public distribution of money and corn 
 in the Acropolis ; and whoever can show a very long 
 beard shall be entitled to a basket of figs into the 
 bargain. They come in crowds Stoics, Peripatetics,
 
 THE JIODERy LAPITH.E. 115 
 
 and Epicureans, each claiming to be served first. But 
 as soon as they hear of the investigation into their 
 lives and morals, as well as their professions, which 
 is to take place, all but two or three take to flight in 
 a panic. Then Lucian adopts another plan to catch 
 them for examination : he hangs out from the wall of 
 the Acropolis a fisherman's rod and line, baited with a 
 cluster of figs and a purse of gold. They take the bait 
 eagerly, and are hauled up one after another ; and as 
 each of the masters of philosophy repudiates all know- 
 ledge of them as true disciples, are thrown headlong 
 from the rock. But as there is a risk lest some strong 
 fish should break the line and make off with the bait, 
 Lucian goes down into the city accompanied by Con- 
 viction (one of Philosophy's suite), prepared under her 
 guidance to crown with olive such as can stand the 
 test, and to brand conspicuously on the forehead, with 
 the impression of a fox or an ape, all whose profession 
 is a mere cloak for selfish ends. He foretells that 
 they will require for their purpose very few olive 
 crowns, but a good supply of branding-irons. 
 
 THE BANQUET; OR, THE MODERN BATTLE OF THE LAPITHJ;. 
 
 This is another humorous attack upon the Schools of 
 Philosophy in general, cast in the form of a dialogue. 
 There has been a wedding supper-party at the house of 
 an Athenian of some rank, on the occasion of the 
 marriage of his son, of which Lycinus (i.e., Lucian) 
 here gives an account in a conversation with a friend. 
 He apologises ironically for telling the story at all ;
 
 116 LUCIAN. 
 
 lie protests against betraying the secrets of hospitality ; 
 he declares that, like the poet, he " hates a guest who 
 has a retentive memory ; " but since the tale has already, 
 he finds, got abroad, why, perhaps he had better tell 
 it himself, in order that at least it may be told truly. 
 His friend is sure that in point of fact he is burning to 
 tell it, and threatens, if he affects any more scruple in 
 the matter, to go to some one else for his information. 
 Then Lucian begins his narrative. There had been 
 invited to this banquet representatives of all the dif- 
 ferent schools, Stoic, Peripatetic, and Epicurean, and 
 a " grammarian " (what we should call a " literary 
 man") and a rhetorician besides. lo the Platonist, 
 known in the circles of schoolmen as " The Model," 
 tutor to the young bridegroom, also enters among the 
 guests, and is treated by the host and by most of tlie 
 company with great consideration and respect, though 
 the Stoic insisted upon being assigned the highest seat. 
 Alcidamas, the Cynic, came in last, without an invita- 
 tion, quoting, as an impudent sort of apology, the 
 words of Homer 
 
 " But Menelaus uninvited came." 
 
 To which one of the guests whispered a very apposite 
 reply from the same poet 
 
 " Howbeit this pleased not Agamemnon's heart." 
 
 The good host, however, though all the seats were 
 already filled, with much courtesy offered him a stool ; 
 but this the Cynic declined as an effeminate and need- 
 less luxury. He preferred, he said, to take his food 
 standing; and accordingly ate his supper, as Lucian
 
 THE MODERN LAP ITEM. 117 
 
 describes it, " in a kind of nomad fashion, like the 
 Scythians, looking out the best pastures, and following 
 the dishes as the slaves handed them round." And 
 still, as he ate and drank, he declaimed loudly against 
 the luxury of such entertainments, until the host stopped 
 his mouth with a cup of strong wine. The Peripatetic 
 philosopher was observed to be flirting surreptitiously 
 with a pretty waiting-maid, a proceeding to Avhich 
 the host had to put a stop by sending her quietly out 
 of the room, and substituting a rough-looking groom 
 in her place. As the wine went round, and tongues 
 were loosened, the rhetorician began to recite passages 
 from his orations ; while the litterateur, not content 
 with quoting Pindar and Anacreon, went on to favour 
 the company with a very tiresome extempore poem of 
 his own. There was a hired jester present, who, of 
 course, launched his jokes indiscriminately, as occasion 
 offered, at all the company. Most of them took it 
 good-humouredly enough ; but the Cynic, accustomed 
 to make jests instead of being the subject of them, 
 lost his temper, and engaged in a match at fisticuffs 
 with the poor buffoon, who was a mere pigmy of a 
 man, but who nevertheless gave him a good thrash- 
 ing, to the great delight of the company. 
 
 But at this stage of the entertainment a slave entered 
 with a note. One Stoic professor had been left out of 
 the list of invitations, and had sent an angry remon- 
 strance, in the form of a kind of speech, which the slave 
 was instructed to read. " Though, as was well known, 
 he disliked and despised feasts, as a mere form of sen- 
 sual gratiiication ; still, ingratitude was a thing he could
 
 118 LUCIAN. 
 
 not bear. Forgotten ? accidentally overlooked ? Oh no, 
 that excuse would not do. Twice that very morning 
 he had purposely made his bow to his friend Aristoe- 
 netus. No one can be expected to put up with such 
 marked neglect. Even Diana could not forgive not 
 having been invited to the sacrifice of CEneus. He 
 begs to enclose a philosophical problem which he 
 challenges the whole party of these pretenders who 
 have been preferred to him to solve if they can. He 
 could tell a story about the bridegroom, too, but 
 never mind. And he begs to say in conclusion, that 
 it is no use to think of appeasing his righteous indig- 
 nation by offering now to send a present of game, or 
 anything of that kind, by his servant, the man has 
 strict orders not to take it." 
 
 Lucian declares he was quite ashamed when he 
 heard this production read. "You could never have 
 expected such mean and unworthy language," he says, 
 " from a man of his hoary hairs and grave demeanour." 
 The Peripatetic philosopher took occasion from it at 
 once to attack the Stoics generally in the most un- 
 measured language. One of that school who was in the 
 company retaliated in similar terms all the professors 
 set to work to abuse each other, and ended by throw- 
 ing wine in each other's faces, and indulging in other 
 social courtesies of a like kind. 
 
 " I could not help reflecting," says the satirist, " how 
 little the learning of the Schools avails us, if it does 
 nothing to improve and dignify the intercourse of daily 
 life. Here were scholars of the highest mark making 
 themselves worse than ridiculous in the eyes of the
 
 THE MODERN LAPITH&. 119 
 
 company ! Can it be true that, as some say, much 
 poring over books, and stuffing their heads with other 
 people's ideas, makes men lose their common-sense? 
 Such conduct cannot in this case be laid to the charge 
 of the wine, for the letter- writer at least was sober. 
 Yet here are the unlearned portion of the company 
 behaving themselves quietly and modestly, while such 
 is the example set them by these professors of wisdom ! " 
 lo, the Platonist, now tried to quiet the uproar by 
 proposing a subject for discussion, upon which, after 
 the fashion of the Dialogues of Plato, each should be 
 allowed to speak in his turn and without interruption. 
 He suggested "Marriage" as an appropriate theme, 
 and proceeded to deliver his own opinion thereupon, 
 which is, of course, that of his great master, as broached 
 in his ' Republic,' and as we have had it set forth 
 by Socrates in his examination at the " Sale." * It 
 would be far better if men would make up their 
 minds to do without it altogether; but as this 
 seems improbable, at least he would recommend 
 the abolition of the prejudice in favour of having 
 separate wives. Lucian thought this expression of 
 opinion somewhat curious, to say the very least, upon 
 such an occasion. The literary gentleman, instead of 
 giving his own views on the question, took the op- 
 portunity of reciting to the company an epithalamium 
 of his own composition, which is no doubt a fair 
 burlesque of the common style of such productions. 
 Then, as it grew late, the guests began to make their 
 
 * See p. 104.
 
 120 LUCIAN. 
 
 preparations for departure ; and each proceeded to pack 
 up and carry home, as was the custom at such enter- 
 tainments, some little delicacy set apart for them by 
 their liberal host. They quarrelled again, however, in 
 their greediness, over the largest portions and the fat- 
 test fowls. A " free fight " of philosophers ensued, 
 which Lucian could only aptly compare with the battle 
 between the Centaurs and Lapithae at the marriage of 
 Pirithous. In the midst of it Alcidamas the Cynic, by 
 design or accident, itpset the lamp, and the combatants 
 were left for a while in darkness. "When it was sud- 
 denly relighted, some awkward revelations were made. 
 The Peripatetic moralist was discovered making fierce 
 love to a music-girl, while the Epicurean was concealing 
 under his robe a gold cup which he had snatched from 
 the table. Wounded and bleeding, the combatants 
 were assisted from the room by their attendant slaves. 
 But even thus they could not resist a gibe or two at 
 parting. The Epicurean, with two teeth knocked out 
 in the scuffle, saw the Stoic professor with a damaged 
 eye and his nose bleeding, and bids him remember that, 
 according to his own tenets, " Pain is no real evil." 
 Lucian could only sum up the moral, he tells his 
 friend, in the words of Euripides, 
 
 " How strange and various are the fates of men ! 
 The gods still bring to pass the unforeseen, 
 And what we look for never comes at all." * 
 
 For Avhat could possibly be more unexpected than 
 
 * The somewhat weak " tag" common to several of Euripi- 
 des's plays.
 
 UERMOTIMUS. 121 
 
 such a termination to a philosophical and literary 
 symposium ? 
 
 HERMOTIMUS. 
 
 This Dialogue, between the author himself as 
 Lycinus and a disciple of the Stoic school, though 
 rather of graver cast than either of the preceding, has 
 yet a great deal of quiet humour in it, and bears token 
 of careful finish. It is a good-humoured HOAV at the 
 Stoics, and through them at the theories of philosophers 
 generally : but it seems to convey also a graver lesson, 
 which was probably often present to a mind like 
 Lucian's, that wisdom is hard to find, and that human 
 life is not long enough for the successful pursuit of her. 
 
 Lycinus meets Hermotimus going to one of his 
 master's lectures. The student walks with a meditative 
 air, repeating mentally his lesson of yesterday : for, as 
 he explains, he must lose no time ; " life is short, and 
 art is long," as said the great Hippocrates ; and if it 
 were true of physic, still more true is it of philosophy. 
 Lycinus remarks that as, to his certain knowledge, 
 Hermotimus has been studying hard for the last twenty 
 years, much to the detriment of his health and his 
 complexion, he should have conceived that he must 
 by this time be very near the attainment of the goal 
 of happiness if that be synonymous with wisdom. 
 " Nay," replies the other ; " Virtue, as Hesiod tells us, 
 dwells afar off, and the road to her is long, and very 
 steep and rough, and costs no small toil to them that 
 travel it." He himself is as yet only at the foot of 
 the mountain. And Avhen does he hope to get to the
 
 122 LVCIAN. 
 
 top? Well, Hermotimus thinks possibly in another 
 twenty years or so. Lycinus remarks that a man 
 might go three times round the world in that time : and 
 can his master promise him that he will live so long ? 
 He hopes so, at least ; and one day one minute 
 of enjoyment on the summit, if once attained, will 
 recompense him fully for all his time and pains. But 
 is he sure again that the happiness he seeks there, and 
 of which he can have as yet no kind of experience, 
 will be found worth the search? and in what is it to 
 consist? glory, riches, exquisite pleasures is that 
 what he expects? Hermotimus bids his friend talk 
 more soberly : the life of virtue is not concerned with 
 such things as these. The fine passage which follows 
 can scarcely be altogether ironical. " Riches and glory, 
 and all pleasures of the body, all these are stripped off 
 and left below, and the man ascends, like Hercules, 
 who rose a god from the pile which consumed him on 
 Mount (Eta : so did he throw off there all that was 
 mortal, all that he inherited from his earthly mother, 
 and bearing with him that which was divine, now puri- 
 fied by fire and cleansed from all dross, soared upwards 
 to the gods. And so they who are purified by philos- 
 ophy, as though by fire, from the love of all those 
 things which men in their ignorance hold in admira- 
 tion, attain the summit and there enjoy all happiness, 
 remembering no more either riches, or glory, or pleas- 
 ure, and smiling at those who still believe in their 
 existence." 
 
 Lycinus meets him with the weapon which is always 
 at hand which the weakness of human nature fur-
 
 HERMOTIMUS. 123 
 
 nishes us with as an answer to all high, aspirations. 
 Men's lives are not found to be in accordance with the 
 principles they profess. The actual Stoics whom he 
 sees and knows do not display this insensibility to 
 riches and pleasures which the theoretical Stoic pro- 
 claims. He has seen Hermotimus's own master, the 
 great Stoic himself, dragging off a pupil before the 
 magistrates for not paying his fees. The dialogue 
 which follows is amusing. 
 
 Hermotimus. Ah ! that fellow was a rascal, and very 
 ungrateful in the matter of payment. My master never 
 treated other people so (and there were many he had 
 lent money to) because, you see, they paid him, the 
 interest punctually. 
 
 Lycinus. But even suppose they never paid, my 
 good fellow, what difference could it make to a man 
 like him, purified by philosophy, and not caring for 
 what he had left behind on Mount (Eta, you know ? 
 
 Herm. You don't suppose it was on his own account 
 he troubled himself about it ? He has a young family, 
 and he would not like to see them come to want. 
 
 Lye. But then, my good Hermotimus, he ought to 
 bring them up in virtuous habits too to be happy 
 like him, and care nothing for money. 
 
 Herm. I really have no time now, Lycinus, to discuss 
 such questions with you : I'm in a great hurry to get 
 to his lecture, and am afraid of being too late. 
 
 Lycinus begs him to set his mind at rest on that 
 point ; to-day, he can assure him, will be a holiday
 
 124 LUCIAN. 
 
 so far as lectures are concerned. He has just seen 
 a notice to that effect, in large letters, posted on the 
 professor's door. He happens to know that the excel- 
 lent man is keeping his bed, and has given strict orders 
 not to be disturbed ; having, in fact, been at a late 
 supper-party the night before, where he had eaten and 
 drunk rather more than was good for him. He had 
 been engaged there, too, in a warm dispute with a Peri- 
 patetic, which had helped to disturb his digestion. The 
 scholar is naturally anxious to know whether his master 
 got the better of his opponent. " Yes," says his infor- 
 mant; "the Peripatetic being rather obstinate and 
 argumentative, not willing to be convinced and trouble- 
 some to refute, your excellent master, having a cup in 
 his hand such as would have rejoiced the heart of old 
 Xestor,* broke his head with it they were sitting close 
 together and so silenced him at once." " An excellent 
 plan, too," says the scholar ; " there's 110 other way of 
 dealing with men who won't be convinced." And Lyci- 
 nus gravely assures him that he quite concurs in the 
 opinion. " It is extremely wrong and foolish," he ad- 
 mits, " to provoke a philosopher especially when he 
 happens to have a heavy goblet in his hand." 
 
 He proposes, however, that as Hermotimus cannot 
 go to his master's lecture to - day, he should turn 
 lecturer himself for once, so far at least as to give his 
 old friend some account of his experience as a student 
 of philosophy. Only one thing he would be glad to 
 
 * " Scarce might another raise it from the board 
 When full ; but aged Nestor raised with ease." 
 
 Iliad, xi. 635 (Lord Derby).
 
 HERMOTIMUS. 125 
 
 know before they begin will he permit his present 
 ignorant pupil to ask questions, or even contradict 
 him, if he sees occasion? Hermotimus says it is not 
 usually allowed by the teacher, but in the present case 
 he shall not object.* 
 
 The portion of this dialogue which follows is a clever 
 imitation of the Socratic mode of argument by asking 
 continuous questions, and forcing answers from an 
 opponent which have the result of reducing his state- 
 ment to an absurdity. Lycinus shows himself an 
 adept in this kind of fence. Though too long for ex- 
 tract here, it is doing scanty justice to the author to 
 condense it ; yet the spirit of it may perhaps be fairly 
 given. 
 
 Is there one only path to philosophy that of the 
 Stoics or, as Lycinus has heard, many, and under 
 various names? Many, undoubtedly, is the answer. 
 And do all teach the same or different? Totally 
 different. Then, probably, only one can be right ? 
 Certainly. And how came Hermotimus (being at the 
 first outset an ignoramus, of course, like others, and 
 not the wise or half-wise man he is now) how came 
 he to know which to choose out of all these different 
 schools? how distinguish the true from the false? 
 Well he saw the greater numbers go one way, and 
 judged that must be the best. And what majority 
 had the Stoics over the Epicureans? and does he 
 
 * The disciples of Plato were apt to reply to those disputants 
 who were so unreasonable as to ask for proof of any assertion 
 " He said it himself" the " ipse dixit " which has passed into 
 a modern phrase.
 
 126 LUCIA N. 
 
 really think that in such a matter it is safe to go "by a 
 mere majority of voices ? But it was not only that ; 
 he heard everybody say the Stoics were the wisest 
 that your true Stoic is the only complete man king, 
 and cobbler all in one. Did the Stoics say this of 
 themselves ? (because you can hardly trust a man's 
 own account of himself ; ) or did other people say it of 
 them ? Other people, also, certainly many of them. 
 Surely not the philosophers of rival sects 1 they would 
 not say so ? No. It was people who were not philo- 
 sophers at all, then 1 the vulgar and illiterate, in fact 1 
 and could a man of sense like Hermotimus really go 
 by what they said on such a question ? Nay, but he 
 had acted on his own judgment as well : he had ob- 
 served the Stoics to be always grave and well-behaved, 
 and respectably dressed ; not effeminate like some, or 
 rough like others. Then, says Lycinus, it comes to this, 
 you judge wisdom by dress, and looks, and gait : 
 which makes it hard for the blind man, does it not ? 
 how is lie to know which to follow? Hermotimus 
 does not consider himself bound to make provision for 
 the blind : that is an extreme case. Well, suppose 
 we leave the blind to shift without philosophy, says 
 Lycinus though they seem to want it as much as 
 anybody, poor fellows, to help them to bear their in- 
 firmity still, even those who can see, how can they 
 look inside a man and know what he really is 1 be- 
 cause you chose these men as guides, I suppose, for 
 their insides, not their outsides? The student feels 
 that he is no match for his opponent, and wants to 
 close the discussion. "Nothing that I say satisfies
 
 HERMOTIMUS. 127 
 
 you," he sulkily exclaims. "Nay," says the other, 
 " you don't try to satisfy me. You want to go and 
 leave me here in the slough of my ignorance : you are 
 afraid lest I should become as good a philosopher as 
 yourself. You won't teach me. So now you must 
 listen to me only don't laugh at my awkward way of 
 putting things." The passage which follows is too 
 fine to mutilate. 
 
 Tjycinus. I picture virtue to myself in this way, 
 as it were a city whose inhabitants are perfectly happy 
 (as your teacher would surely tell us if he could 
 come down from thence), perfectly wise and brave 
 and just and temperate, little less than gods. And in 
 that city you would see none of those deeds which are 
 common here among us men robbing and committing 
 violence, and overreaching each other : but they live 
 together as fellow-citizens in peace and harmony. And 
 no wonder; for all those things which in other states 
 cause strife and contention, and for the sake of which 
 men plot against each other, are put far away from 
 them : for they regard neither gold, nor sensual plea- 
 sure, nor glory, not holding such things necessary to 
 their polity. Thus they lead a calm and entirely 
 happy life, under good laws and with equal rights, 
 liberty, and all other blessings. 
 
 Hermotimus. Well, then, Lycinus, is it not good 
 for all men to wish to be citizens of such a city, and 
 neither to regard the toil of the road, nor the long 
 time spent in the pilgrimage, so only they may reach it, 
 and be enrolled on its records and share its privileges ?
 
 1 28 L UCIA N. 
 
 Lyc. Ay, verily it is, Hermotimus. That would 
 of all things be best worth striving for, even if we 
 had to give up all besides. Nor, though this present 
 land in which we live should seek to hold us back, 
 ought we to regard it ; nor, though children or parents, 
 if we have them, should seek with tears to detain us 
 here, ought we to be moved by them, but rather, if 
 we may, urge them to follow us on the same path, and 
 if they cannot or will not, then shake ourselves free 
 from them, and make straight for that blessed city 
 casting off our very garment, if they cling to that to 
 retain us, eager only to get there : for there is no fear, 
 believe me, that even the naked should be denied ad- 
 mittance if they reach the gate. There was an old 
 man, I remember, once on a time, who discoursed to 
 me of how matters went in that city, and exhorted 
 me to follow him thither : he would lead the way, he 
 said, and when I came, would enrol me in his own 
 tribe, and let me share his privileges, and so I should 
 live happy there with them all. But I, in my youth- 
 ful folly (I was scarce fifteen), would not listen to 
 him, or I might now be in the suburbs of that city, or 
 even at its gates.* Many things he told me of it, as 
 I seem to remember, and among them this, that all 
 there were strangers and immigrants, and that many 
 
 * We shall never know Lucian's full meaning here. Is this 
 but another version of " The Dream," and does he imply that 
 he had failed to carry out the nobler ideal of his choice, and 
 had sunk into the mere hired pleader ? Or had he some higher 
 " dream" still in his youth, whose invitation he was conscious 
 of having disobeyed ?
 
 HERMOTIMUS. 129 
 
 barbarians and slaves, nay, and deformed persons, and 
 dwarfs, and beggars, were enrolled among its citizens, 
 and in short, that any might win the freedom of that 
 city who would. For that the law there was that a 
 man should be ranked not by his dress, or his station, 
 or his beauty, nor yet by his birth and noble ancestry : 
 of such matters they took no account. But it sufficed, 
 in order to become a citizen, that a man should have 
 sense, and a love of the right, and diligence, and 
 energy, and should not faint or be discouraged under 
 the many difficulties he met with on the road : so that he 
 who displayed these qualities, and made good his way 
 thither, was at once admitted as a citizen with equal 
 rights, be he who he might : and such terms as higher 
 or lower, noble or plebeian, bond or free, were never 
 so much as named in that community. 
 
 Herm. You see then, Lycinus, it is no vain or weak 
 aspiration of mine, to become a denizen myself of such 
 a noble and blessed republic. 
 
 Lye. Nay, I also, my friend, have the same longing 
 as yourself, and there is no blessing I would more 
 devoutly pray for. If only that city were near, and 
 manifest to all men's eyes, be sure that I had long ere 
 this become a citizen of it But since, as you say 
 (both you and Hesiod), it lies far off, we must needs 
 inquire the way, and seek the best guide we can, is 
 it not so 1 
 
 Herm. Else we shall hardly get there. 
 
 Lye. Now, so far as promises and professions of 
 knowing the road go, we have guides offering them- 
 selves in plenty : many there are, who stand ready, 
 
 A. c. vol. xviii. I
 
 130 LUC I AN. 
 
 who tell us they are actually natives of the .place. 
 But it would seem there is not one road thither, 
 but many, and all in different directions one east, 
 one west, one north, another south ; some lead 
 through pleasant meadows and shady groves, with no 
 obstacles or unpleasantness ; others over rough and 
 stony ground, through much heat and thirst and toil ; 
 yet all are said to lead to that one and the same city, 
 though their lines lie so far apart. 
 
 There are guides, too, each recommending their own 
 path as the only true one ; which of all such are we 
 to follow ? There is Plato's road, and Epicurus's road, 
 and the road taken by the Stoics ; who is to say which 
 is right 1 The guides themselves know no road but 
 their own : and though each may declare that they have 
 seen a city at the end of it, who knows whether they 
 mean the same city, after all? The only safe guide 
 would be the man who had tried every path, who 
 had studied profoundly all the theories of Pythagoras, 
 Plato, Epicurus, Chrysippus, Aristotle, and the rest, 
 and chosen that which, from his own knowledge 
 and experience, he found to be the best and safest. 
 And what lifetime would suffice for this ? " Twenty 
 years," says his friend to Hermotimus, "you have 
 already been studying under the Stoics, you told us ; 
 and some twenty more you thought you required to 
 perfect yourself in their philosophy. And how many 
 would you give to Plato ? and how many to Aristotle ? 
 and how long do you expect to live ? " 
 
 Poor Hermotimus is no match for his Socratic cross-
 
 HERMOTIMUS. 131 
 
 examiner. He declares, with great truth and honesty, 
 that his clever friend has succeeded, like many clever 
 disputants, in making him, at all events, very uncom- 
 fortable, and that he heartily wishes he had never met 
 him that morning in his quiet meditations. "You 
 always were overbearing in argument, Lycinus ; I 
 don't know what harm Philosophy ever did you, that 
 you hate her so, and make such a joke of us philo- 
 sophers." " My dear Hermotimus," calmly replies his 
 friend, " you and your master, being philosophers, 
 ought to know more about Truth than I do : I only 
 know this much, she is not always pleasant to those 
 who listen to her." 
 
 The Dialogue is extended to some length, but the 
 neophyte Stoic fails to hold his ground. Lycinus argues 
 that after all there comes no answer to that great ques- 
 tion ' What is truth ? ' It may be, after all, that she 
 is something different from anything yet discovered. 
 All visions of her are but different guesses, and all the 
 guesses may be wrong. And life is too short to waste 
 in interminable speculations. " Words, words," are, 
 in the opinion of Lycinus, the sum of the philosophy 
 of the day, whereas life demands action. Hermotimus 
 becomes convinced that he has hitherto been wasting 
 his time; henceforth he will try to do his duty as 
 a private citizen, and if he meets a professor of phi- 
 losophy in the street, will "avoid him as he would 
 a mad dog." 
 
 Lucian is best remembered as a satirist and a jester, 
 but this Dialogue is enough to prove to us that he was
 
 132 LUC I AN. 
 
 something more. He jests continually at the false- 
 hoods which were passed off as Truth, and at the 
 doubtful shadows, of various shape and hue, which 
 confident theorists insisted were her true and only 
 embodiment. But if he could have been sure of her 
 identity, there is no reason to think he would not have 
 become ker ready and willing worshipper. 
 
 THE NEW ICAHTJS. 
 
 Hopelessly puzzled by the contradictory theories of 
 the philosophers, especially on cosmogony, the Cynic 
 Menippus has taken a journey to the stars to see 
 whether he may possibly learn the truth there ; and 
 in the Dialogue which bears the above title he gives an 
 account of his aerial travels to a friend. He had made 
 for himself a rather uneven pair of wings by cutting off 
 one from an eagle and one from a vulture, and after some 
 preliminary experiments in flying had succeeded in mak- 
 ing good his first stage, to the Moon. The earth and its 
 inhabitants looked wonderfully small from that height ; 
 indeed, except the Colossus of Rhodes and the watch- 
 tower of Pharos, he could make out little or nothing ; 
 until Empedocles, whom he met there (looking as black 
 as a cinder, as well he might, having so lately come out 
 of the crater of ^Etna), showed him that by using the 
 eagle's wing only for a while he might also acquire the 
 eagle's vision. Then he saw many things not clearly dis- 
 cernible to ordinary eyes, for his new sight penetrated 
 even into the houses. He saw the Epicurean forswear- 
 ing himself for a thousand drachmas, the Stoic quarrel-
 
 THE NEW ICARUS. 133 
 
 ling with his pupils about fees, and the Cynic in very 
 bad company. For the rest, the world was going on 
 much as he supposed ; the Egyptians were busy cultivat- 
 ing their fields, the Phoenicians making their merchant 
 voyages, the Spartans whipping their children, and the 
 Athenians, as usual, in the law-courts.* " Such," says 
 the traveller, " is the confused jumble of this world. It 
 is as though one should hire a multitude of singers, 
 or rather bands of singers, and then bid each performer 
 choose his own tune, caring nothing for the harmony ; 
 each singing his loudest, and going on with his own 
 song, and trying to drown his neighbour's voice you 
 may judge what music that would make. Even such, 
 my friend, are the performers on earth, and such is 
 the confused discord which makes up human life ; they 
 not only sound different notes, but move in inharmoni- 
 ous time and figure, with no common idea or purpose ; 
 until the choir-master drives them all from the stage, 
 and says he has no more need of them." He won- 
 dered, too, and could not forbear smiling, at the 
 quarrels which arise between men about their little 
 strips of territory, when to his eyes, as he looked 
 down, " all Greece was but four fingers' breadth." It 
 reminded him of " a swarm of ants running round and 
 round and in and out of their city, one turning over 
 a bit of dung, another seizing a bean-shell, or half a 
 
 * A reminiscence of Aristophanes, who is never weary of 
 satirising the passion of his fellow-citizens for law. In his 
 "Clouds" (1. 280), where Strepsiades is shown Athens on 
 the map, he exclaims 
 
 " Athens ! go to ! I see no law-courts sitting."
 
 134 LUC I AN. 
 
 grain of wheat, and running away with it. Probably 
 among them too, conformably to the requirements of 
 ant-life, they have their architects, and their popular 
 leaders, and public officers, and musicians, and philoso- 
 phers." [If his friend disapproves of the comparison, 
 he bids him remember the old Thessalian fable of the 
 Myrmidons.] 
 
 He was just taking flight again, he says, when the 
 Moon in a soft and pleasant female voice begged 
 him to carry something for her up to Jupiter. " ' By 
 all means,' said I, ' if it's not very heavy.' ' Only a 
 message,' said she 'just a small petition to him. I'm 
 quite out of patience, Menippus, at being talked about 
 in such a shameful way by those philosophers, who 
 seem to have nothing else to do but speculate about me 
 what I am, and how big I am, and why I am some- 
 times halved and sometimes round. Some of them say 
 I'm inhabited, and others, that I hang over the sea like 
 a looking-glass ; in short, any fancy that comes into their 
 heads, they apply to me. And, as if that were not 
 enough, they say my very light is not my own, but as 
 it were of a bastard sort, borrowed from the sun; trying 
 to make mischief between me and him my own 
 brother on purpose to set us at variance ; as if it was 
 not enough for them to say what they have about him, 
 that he is a stone, and nothing but a mass of fire. 
 HOAV many stories / could tell of them, and their 
 goings-on o' nights, for all the grave faces and severe 
 looks they wear by day ! I see it all, though I hold 
 my tongue it seems to me scarcely decent to bring all 
 their proceedings to light. So, when I see any of
 
 THE NEW ICARUS. 135 
 
 them misbehaving, I just wrap myself in a cloud, 
 not to expose them. Yet they do nothing but discuss 
 me in their talk, and insult me in every way. So 
 that I swear I have often had thoughts of going 
 away altogether as far as possible, to escape their 
 troublesome tongues. Be sure you tell Jupiter this ; 
 and say besides, that I can't possibly stay where I 
 am, unless he crushes those physical science men, 
 gags the Dialecticians, pulls down the Porch, burns 
 the Academy, and puts a stop to those Peripatetics ; 
 so that I may have a little peace, instead of being 
 measured and examined by them every day.' ' It 
 shall be done,' said I, and so took my leave." 
 
 So he went on, and reached the abode of Jupiter, 
 where he hoped at first to get in without notice, being 
 almost half an eagle that bird being under Jupiter's 
 protection ; but, remembering that, after all, he was 
 also half a vulture, he thought it best to knock at the 
 door, which was opened by Mercury.* Jupiter com- 
 plimented him highly upon his courage in making 
 the journey, though the other gods were rather 
 alarmed, thinking it a bad precedent for mortals. 
 The monarch of Olympus asked him a good many 
 questions as to the goings-on below, about which he 
 appeared somewhat curious ; " What the price of 
 wheat was now? What sort of a winter they had 
 last year ? " Especially he was anxious to know what 
 mortals really thought about him. Menippus was 
 very diplomatic in his answers. " ' What can they 
 
 * Lncian evidently has in mind Trygseus's reception by Mer- 
 cury, in the "Peace" of Aristophanes, i. 180, &c.
 
 136 LUC IAN. 
 
 think, your majesty,' said I, 'but what they are 
 in duty bound to think, that you are the sovereign 
 of the gods.' ' Nonsense,' replied his majesty ; ' I 
 know very well how fond they are all of something 
 new. There was a time when I was thought good 
 enough to give them oracles, and heal their diseases, 
 when Dodona and Pisa were in all their glory, and 
 looked up to by everybody, and so full of sacrifices 
 that I could hardly see for the smoke. But ever 
 since Apollo set up his oracle at Delphi, and ^Escu- 
 lapius his surgery at Pergamus, and Bendis has had 
 her worship in Thrace, and Anubis in Egypt, and 
 Diana at Ephesus, they all run there to hold their 
 festivals and offer their hecatombs, and look upon 
 me as old-fashioned and decrepit, and think it quite 
 enough to sacrifice to me once in six years at 
 Olympia.' " They had a good deal more chat to- 
 gether, says Menippus, after which Jupiter took 
 him to see the place where the prayers came up 
 through holes with covers to them. Their purport 
 was various and contradictory : one sailor praying for 
 a north wind, another for a south ; the farmer for 
 rain, and the fuller for sunshine. Jupiter only let 
 the reasonable prayers come through the hole, and 
 blew the foolish ones back again ; but was sadly 
 puzzled by the contradictory petitions, especially 
 when both petitioners promised him a hecatomb. 
 This business over, they went to supper ; and Menip- 
 pus was highly delighted with Apollo's performance 
 on the harp, with Silenus's dancing, and with the re- 
 citation of some of Hesiod's and Pindar's poetry by the
 
 THE NEW ICARUS. 137 
 
 Muses. A general council of the gods was afterwards 
 called, in which Jupiter announced his intention of 
 making very short work with the philosophers of 
 whom the Moon had complained. Then Menippus 
 was dismissed, under the charge of Mercury, who 
 had orders, however, to take off his wings, that he 
 might not come that way again ; and he is now 
 hurrying, he tells his friend, with some malicious 
 enjoyment, to warn the gentlemen of the Schools of 
 what they may very soon expect from Jupiter.
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 SATIRES ON SOCIETY: 
 THE PARASITE UPON HIRED COMPANIONS. 
 
 IT needs but a slight acquaintance with Greek and 
 Roman literature, and with social life at Athens in 
 its later days, and at Eome in the times of the em- 
 perors, to know that the men of rank and wealth 
 filled their tables not only with their private friends, 
 but also with guests who stood lower in the social 
 scale, and were invited because they contributed in 
 some way either to the amusement of the company 
 or to the glorification of the host. A rich man, if he 
 had any pretence to a good position in society, kept 
 almost open house : and there was a class of men 
 who, by means of sponging and toadying, and all 
 those kindred arts which are practised, only under 
 somewhat finer disguises, in modern society, contrived 
 seldom either to go without a dinner or to dine at 
 home. This disreputable fraternity of diners-out 
 "Parasites," as the Greek term was supplied an 
 inexhaustible subject for the satirist and the play- 
 writer, as has been already noticed in these volumes,
 
 SATIRES ON SOCIETY. 139 
 
 in examining the comedies of Plautus and Terence. 
 Lucian has not omitted to handle, in his own style, 
 a character so well known, and which presented such 
 fair game to the writer who set himself to hunt down 
 the follies of the times. Yet the little dialogue called 
 " THE PARASITE," in which he introduces one of these 
 mendicants of society arguing stoutly in defence of his 
 vocation, is one of the most good-humoured of all. 
 Perhaps there was an amount of bonhomie about a 
 man who could not afford to be disagreeable which dis- 
 armed the satirist, together with a serio-comic " poor- 
 devil " misery inevitable to his position which excited 
 pity as well as contempt. Few readers can lay down 
 the "Phormio" of Terence without a kindly feeling 
 towards its unabashed and ingenious hero. 
 
 Simo, the Parasite of Lucian's Dialogue, makes open 
 profession of his vocation, like Phormio. The friend 
 with whom the conversation is carried on, knowing 
 that Simo's private means are small, is curious to know 
 by what trade or employment he gains his living, since 
 he cannot make out that he follows any. Simo assures 
 him that there is a school of art in which he is a per- 
 fect master, and which never allows him to be in 
 want. It is the art of Parasitism. And he proceeds 
 to prove, by an argument in the catechetical style of 
 Socrates and Plato, that it is an art of the highest and 
 most perfect kind. It falls quite within the definition 
 of art as given by the philosophers "a system of 
 approved rules co-operating to a certain end, useful to 
 society." As to the usefulness of the end, nothing is 
 so useful nay, so absolutely needful as eating and
 
 140 LUCIAN. 
 
 drinking. It is not a gift of nature, but acquired, 
 therefore an art, if the schoolmen be right in their 
 technical distinctions. It is also most practical, which 
 is the essence of a perfect art : other arts may exist 
 in their possessor in posse, yet be seldom or never in 
 operation ; whereas this must be always at work for 
 when the parasite ceases to get his dinners, there is 
 an end, not only of the art, but of the artificer. It 
 excels all other arts also in this, that whereas most 
 arts require toil and discipline, and even threats and 
 stripes, in order to be learnt thoroughly which things 
 are manifestly contrary to our nature this art can be 
 studied pleasantly and cheerfully without any of these 
 disagreeable accompaniments. "Who ever yet re- 
 turned in tears from a feast, as many scholars do from 
 their masters 1 Who that is going to a good dinner 
 ever looks pale and melancholy, as those do who 
 frequent the Schools 1 " Other arts we pay to learn, 
 this we are paid for learning ; others require a master, 
 this may be learnt without. Other systems seem 
 vague; all give different definitions of wisdom and 
 happiness and that which is so indefinite can have 
 no real existence at all ; whereas the end and object 
 of Parasitism is distinct and obvious. And in this 
 alone of all systems the practice of the school agrees 
 with its professions. And whereas no parasite was 
 ever known to desert his art and turn philosopher, 
 many philosophers have turned parasites, and do so to 
 this day. Euripides became the dependant of Arche- 
 laus of Macedon ; and even Plato was content to sit 
 at the table of the tyrant Dionysius. If the testimony
 
 SATIRES CLV SOCIETY. 141 
 
 of the wise men of old is to be taken in evidence of 
 the value and antiquity of the art, look only at Homer, 
 a witness whom, the speaker hopes, every one will 
 admit. He makes some of his greatest heroes para- 
 sites old Nestor, always a guest at the table of the 
 King of Men, and Patroclus, who was nothing more or 
 less than the parasite of Achilles, and whom it took 
 the combined power of two mortal warriors and a god 
 to kill,* whereas Paris alone proved a match for his 
 master Achilles, as Achilles had for Hector. Listen, 
 he says, to the poet's own words touching this great 
 school of the table : 
 
 " Find me a joy to human heart more dear 
 Than is a people's gladness, when good cheer 
 Reigns, and all listening pause in deep delight, 
 When in mid feast the bard his song doth rear, 
 What time the board with all good things is dight." 
 
 And, as if this were not praise enough, he adds 
 again 
 
 " Methinks that nothing can more lovely be ! " t 
 
 By such ingenious arguments, not at all an unfair 
 burlesque upon the style of Plato and Aristotle, Simo 
 succeeds in convincing his friend of the superiority in 
 every way of the art which he himself follows with so 
 much success. His listener determines to come to 
 him for instruction, and hopes, as he is his first pupil, 
 that he will teach him gratis. 
 
 But besides this lower class of parasites, who sought 
 
 * Euphorbus, Hector, and Apollo. See Iliad, xvL 
 + Odyss., ix. 5, &c.
 
 142 LUCIAN. 
 
 a precarious dinner from day to day by making them- 
 selves agreeable or useful to their entertainers, the 
 great men of the day were in the habit of receiving at 
 their tables as daily guests, or even of entertaining 
 altogether as members of their household, often in 
 the really or professed capacity of tutors to their sons, 
 guests of a different stamp. The man of wealth and 
 position hardly thought his establishment complete, 
 unless it comprised some of the representatives of litera- 
 ture and science a philosopher or two, a poet, a rhet- 
 orician, or a historian. There was not necessarily 
 anything degrading in the arrangement to the recipient 
 of such hospitality. He might consider himself as the 
 rightful successor of the bard of olden times, whose 
 divine song was more than payment for his place at 
 the feast, and to whom, by prerogative of genius, the 
 highest seat at the king's board, and the best portion 
 from the king's table, was by all willingly accorded. 
 On such terms we may suppose that Plato, in spite of 
 Simo's sarcasm, lived at the court of Dionysius j and 
 with a scarcely less independent feeling, Horace would 
 tell us that he accepted the gracious welcome of Maece- 
 nas. But guests of the calibre of Plato and Horace 
 were few ; and men who had neither the munificence 
 of Dionysius nor the taste of Maecenas yet wanted to 
 have the Muses represented at their banquets. If 
 one was not a philosopher or a poet or play-writer 
 one's self, at least it was well, since such things were the 
 fashion, to be in the fashion so far as to have them in 
 the house. If it was as troublesome for the rich man 
 to do his own thinking for himself as the oriental
 
 SATIRES O.V SOCIETY. 143 
 
 would consider it to do his own dancing, it was desir- 
 able to have it done for him. A swarm of small 
 sciolists, and worse than mediocre poets, and litterateurs 
 of all varieties, rose to meet the demand, and sought 
 places at great men's tables. Conscious that their 
 services were scarcely worth the wages, they learnt to 
 be not too fastidious as to the circumstances under 
 which they were paid : while the patron, feeling that 
 after all he had not got the genuine article, was not 
 always careful to make the payment in the most 
 gracious manner. 
 
 With this in his mind, Lucian writes his bitter essay 
 " UPON HIRED COMPANIONS," cast in the form of a letter 
 to a friend who is supposed to be under some tempta- 
 tion to adopt that line of life. He draws a vivid pic- 
 ture of the humiliations and indignities to which the 
 Greek scholar is likely to be subjected who enters the 
 family of a wealthy nobleman at Rome, in the capacity 
 either of tutor to his children or humble literary com- 
 panion to the master himself. They are curiously 
 similar in character to those which, if we trust our 
 own satirists, existed in English society a century 
 ago. First, there is the difficulty of securing a proper 
 introduction to the patron. The candidate must be 
 early at the great man's door, and wait his leisure, 
 and fee the porter well ; must dress more expensively 
 than his purse can well afford, to make a good figure 
 in his eyes ; must dance attendance at his levee per- 
 haps for days, and at last, when he suddenly con- 
 descends to notice and address his humble servant, 
 nervousness and embarrassment will so overcome the
 
 114 LUC1AN. 
 
 unfortunate man, that he makes an absolute fool of 
 himself in the interview which he has so anxiously 
 desired, and leaves an impression of nothing but awk- 
 wardness and ignorance. 
 
 But, pursues the letter-writer, supposing that your 
 introduction is successful : supposing that the great 
 man's friends do not set him against you, that the lady 
 of the house does not take a violent dislike to you, 
 that the steward and the housekeeper are graciously 
 pleased to approve of you on the whole, still, what 
 an ordeal you have to go through at your very first 
 dinner ! 
 
 "My lord's gentleman, a suave personage, brings 
 you the invitation. You must win his goodwill, to 
 begin with : so, not to seem wanting in good manners, 
 you slip five drachmae into his hand, at the least. He 
 affects to refuse it. ' From you, sir ? Oh dear, no ! 
 on no account I couldn't think of it.' But he is 
 persuaded at last, and smiles with his white teeth as 
 he takes his leave. Well, you put on your best suit, 
 and get yourself up as correctly as you can, and reach 
 the door very much afraid of arriving before the 
 other guests, which is as awkward as coming last is 
 rude. So you take careful pains to hit the happy 
 medium, are graciously received, and are placed within 
 a few seats of the host, just below two or three old 
 friends of the house. You stare at everything as if 
 you had been introduced all at once into the palace of 
 Jupiter, and watch every detail anxiously all is so 
 new and strange ; while the whole family have their 
 eyes on you, and are watching what you will do next.
 
 SATIRES OJT SOCIETY. 145 
 
 Indeed the great man has even given orders to some of 
 the attendants to take notice whether you seem to 
 admire his wife and children sufficiently. Even the 
 servants of the other guests who are present notice your 
 evident embarrassment, and laugh at your ignorance of 
 the ways of society, guessing that you have never been 
 to a regular dinner-party before, and that even the 
 napkin laid for you is something quite new to you. 
 No wonder that you are actually in a cold sweat from 
 embarrassment, and neither venture to ask for drink 
 when you want it, for fear they should think you a 
 hard drinker, or know which to take first and which 
 last of the various dishes which are arranged before 
 you evidently in some kind of recognised sequence and 
 order. So that you are obliged furtively to watch and 
 imitate what your next neighbour does, and so make 
 yourself acquainted with the ceremonial of dinner." 
 
 "Such," says the letter- writer, after a little more 
 description of the same kind, "such is your first 
 dinner in a great man's house : I had rather, for my 
 part, have an onion and some salt, and be allowed to 
 eat it when and how I please." Then come the deli- 
 cate arrangements about salary. When one reads 
 Lucian's description of this, it is almost difficult to 
 believe that he had not before him one of those 
 modern advertisements for a governess, who is expected 
 to possess all the virtues and all the accomplishments, 
 and to whom " a very small salary is offered, as she 
 will be treated as one of the family." " We are quite 
 plain people here, as you see," says the pompous Roman 
 to the new tutor; "but you will consider yourself 
 
 A. c. vol. xviii. K
 
 H6 LUC1AN. 
 
 quite at home with us, I hope. I know you are a 
 sensible man : I know you have that happy disposi- 
 tion which is its own best reward, and quite under- 
 stand that you do not enter my house from any mer- 
 cenary motives, but for other reasons, because you 
 know the regard I have for you, and the good position 
 it will give you in the eyes of the world. Still, some 
 definite sum should be fixed, perhaps. I leave it to 
 you to name your own terms ; remembering, of course, 
 that you will have a good many presents made you in 
 the course of the year : but you scholars, as becomes 
 your profession, are above mere money considerations, 
 I know." At last it is agreed to leave the amount 
 of the tutor's salary to a friend of the family; and 
 the referee, a mere creature and toady himself, after 
 reminding the poor scholar of his extreme good 
 fortune in having made " such a valuable connec- 
 tion," names a sum which is quite ridiculously in- 
 adequate. 
 
 This is not the worst. The unhappy dependant 
 will soon find his treatment in the house very different 
 from his first introduction. "You must not expect to 
 have the same fare as strangers and others have : that 
 would be considered insufferable presumption. The 
 dish placed before you will not be the same as the 
 others. Their fowl will be plump and well fed : yours 
 will be half a skinny chicken, or a dry tough pigeon ; 
 a direct slight and insult. Nay, often, if the bill of 
 fare is scanty, and an additional guest comes in, the 
 servant will actually take the dish from before you 
 and give it to him ; whispering familiarly in your ear
 
 SATIRES CW SOCIETY. 147 
 
 ' you're one of the family, you know.' * While they 
 are drinking good old wine, you will be expected to 
 swallow some muddy vapid stuff: and you will do 
 well to drink it out of gold or silver goblets, that it 
 may not be plain to all, from the colour of the liquor, 
 how little respect is paid to you in the household. 
 Even of this poor stuff you will not be allowed your 
 fill ; for often, when you call for it, the servant will 
 pretend not to hear." 
 
 He warns him, also, that in such a household the 
 preceptor or the poet will be held of less account than 
 the flutist, or the dancing-master, or the Egyptian boy 
 who can sing love-songs. And after all, do what he 
 will, he will hardly please. If he preserves a grave 
 and dignified behaviour, he will be called churlish 
 and morose ; if he tries to be gay, and puts on a 
 smiling face, the company will only stare and laugh 
 at him. 
 
 If the town life of the unfortunate dependant is 
 full of such mortifications, matters do not mend much 
 when he accompanies his patron into the country. 
 " Amongst other things, if it rains ever so hard, you 
 must come last (that is your recognised place), and 
 wait for a conveyance ; and, if there is no room, be 
 
 * Lucian is not very original here. He had probably read 
 the fifth Satire of Juvenal, where, among other indignities 
 offered to the poor dependant, even the bread set before him is 
 of very inferior quality 
 
 " Black mouldy fragments which defy the saw, 
 The mere despair of every aching jaw, 
 While manchets of the finest flour are set 
 Before your lord." Gifford.
 
 148 LUCIAN. 
 
 crammed into the litter with the cook and my lady's 
 woman, with scarce straw enough to keep you warm." 
 And the writer goes on to relate a veritable anecdote, 
 told him, as he declares, by a Stoic philosopher who 
 had been so unfortunate as thus to hire himself out 
 into the service of a rich Roman lady. The story 
 reads almost like a bit out of Swift. Travelling one 
 day into the country in the suite of his patroness, 
 he found a seat allotted him next a perfumed and 
 smooth-shaven gentleman who held an equivocal 
 position in the lady's household, and whose bearing 
 might answer to that of the French dancing-master 
 of modern satirists ; not a very suitable companion 
 for the grave philosopher, who rather prided himself 
 on a venerable beard and dignified deportment. Just 
 as they were starting, the lady, with tears in her eyes, 
 appealed to his known kindness of heart to do her a 
 personal favour. Even a philosopher could not refuse 
 a request couched in such terms. " Will you then so 
 far oblige me," said she, " as just to take my dear little 
 dog Myrrhina with you in the carriage, and nurse her 
 carefully ] She is not at all well, poor dear in fact, 
 very near her accouchement ; and those abominable 
 careless servants of mine will give themselves no 
 trouble about me, much less about her." So, during 
 the whole journey, there was the little beast peeping 
 out of the grave philosopher's cloak, yelping at inter- 
 vals, and now and then licking his face, and making 
 herself disagreeable in divers ways ; giving occasion to 
 his companion to remark, with a mincing wit, that he 
 had become a Cynic philosoper instead of a Stoic for
 
 SATIRES ON SOCIETY. 149 
 
 the present." * Those who liked to make a good story 
 complete declared afterwards to the present narrator 
 that the philosopher, before they reached their journey's 
 end, found himself nurse to a litter of puppies as 
 well as to their interesting mother. 
 
 Scarcely less distasteful is the duty which belongs 
 to the literary companion of listening to his patron's 
 compositions, if he is a dabbler, as so many are, in poetry, 
 or history, or the drama, since one must not only listen 
 but loudly applaud his wretched attempts as an author. 
 Or, where the companion is expected himself to give 
 readings of his own to amuse the leisure of his patron, 
 the mortification may be even greater especially if, as 
 in the case just mentioned, the patron be of the softer 
 sex. " It will often happen that while the philosopher 
 is reading, the maid will bring in a billet from a lover. 
 Straightway the lecture upon wisdom and chastity is 
 brought to a stand-still, until the lady has read and 
 answered the missive, after which they return to it 
 with all convenient speed." t 
 
 * It is hardly necessary to repeat that the term " Cynic " is 
 derived from the Greek for " dog." 
 
 t Some readers will remember the anecdote told of Dr , 
 
 one of Queen Anne's chaplains. His duty was to read the 
 Church prayers in the anteroom, while the queen was at her 
 toilet within. Occasionally the door was shut, "while her 
 majesty was shifting herself," during which interval the doctor 
 left off, and resumed when the door was reopened. The other 
 chaplains had not been so fastidious ; and the doctor was asked 
 by one of her majesty's women, why he did not go straight on 
 with his reading : upon which he replied that he " would never 
 whistle the Word of God through a key -hole."
 
 150 LUC I AN. 
 
 The writer entreats his friend to have too much 
 self-respect to adopt a line of life so utterly distasteful 
 to any man of independent spirit. " Is there no pulse 
 still growing," he asks indignantly, " no wholesome 
 herbs on which a man may sustain life, no streams of 
 pure water left, that you should be driven to this 
 direst strait for existence ?" If a man will deliberately 
 choose such a life, he bids him not rail at his fate 
 hereafter, as many do, but remember those words of 
 Plato, " Heaven is blameless the fault lies in 
 our own choice." 
 
 It must be borne in mind that we here are reading 
 satire, and not social history, and that it would be un- 
 fair to judge of the common position of literary men in 
 the houses of the great from this highly coloured sketch 
 of Lucian's. No doubt there were still to be found hosts 
 like Maecenas wherever there were companions like 
 Horace. Few readers can have followed these extracts 
 from Lucian's description of the literary dependant of 
 his own day, without having forcibly recalled to them 
 Macaulay's well-known picture of the domestic chap- 
 lain of the days of the Stuarts. There is abundant 
 material for that brilliant caricature to be found, of 
 course, in the satirists and the comedy-writers of those 
 times, the Lucians of the day ; and they no doubt 
 could have pointed to the original of every feature in 
 their portraits. It does not follow that such portraits 
 are to be taken as fair representatives of a class. 
 But we must remember that the lively author we have 
 now before us did not profess to be writing history ; 
 and it is well not to forget in reading the English
 
 SATIRES ON SOCIETY. 151 
 
 historian's pages that we are following Oldham and 
 Swift. 
 
 THE MARVEL-MONGERS. 
 
 "We have seen the bitter and unsparing ridicule which, 
 not without a purpose, Lucian brings to bear against 
 the fables which passed under the name of religion in 
 his day. But, if he laughed at Greek mythology, he 
 hated the strange and outlandish superstitions which 
 he saw creeping in at Athens and at Eome. He threw 
 something of his own feeling into the remonstrance of 
 the " old families " of Olympus, when they saw dog- 
 headed monsters like Anubis, and apes and bulls from 
 Memphis, introduced into the sacred circle. We have 
 no need to depend upon satirists like Horace, or 
 Juvenal, or Lucian we need only go to the pages of 
 the historian Tacitus to learn how the superstitions 
 of Egypt and Asia were gaining favour with the aris- 
 tocracy of Rome. " Never," says Wieland, " was the 
 propensity to supernatural prodigies and the eagerness 
 to credit them more vehement than in this very en- 
 lightened age. The priestcraft of Upper Egypt, the 
 different branches of magic, divination, and oracles of 
 all kinds, the so-called occult sciences, which associ- 
 ated mankind with a fabulous world of spirits, and 
 pretended to give them the control over the powers of 
 nature, were almost universally respected. Persons of 
 all ranks and descriptions great lords and ladies, 
 statesmen, scholars, the recognised and paid professors 
 of the Pythagorean, the Platonic, the Stoic, and even 
 the Aristotelian school, thought on these topics exactly
 
 152 LUCIAN. 
 
 as did the simplest of the people. . . . Men be- 
 lieved everything and nothing." 
 
 It is in derision of this passion for the marvellous 
 that Lucian composed this Dialogue between two 
 friends, Tychiades and Philocles, of whom the former 
 may be taken to represent the author himself. Tychi- 
 ades wants to know why so many people prefer lies 
 to truth? "Well, replies his friend, in some cases 
 men are almost obliged to tell lies for the sake of 
 their own interest; and in war, lies to deceive an 
 enemy are allowable. But some people, rejoins the 
 other, seem to take a pleasure in lying for its own 
 sake ; and this is what puzzles him. Herodotus and 
 Homer, so far as he can make out, were notorious liars ; 
 and lied withal in such a charming way, that their lies, 
 unlike most others, have had immense vitality. 
 
 Philocles thinks something may be said in their 
 defence : they were obliged, in order to be popular, 
 to consult the universal taste for the marvellous. 
 Besides, if all the old Greek fables are to be set 
 aside, what is to become of the unfortunate people 
 who get their living by showing the antiquities and 
 curiosities ? 
 
 Be this as it may, Tychiades has been quite shocked 
 and astonished at what he has heard at a party lately 
 given by his friend Eucrates a grey-headed philosopher, 
 who at least ought to have known better. He was laid 
 up with gout; and the lying absurdities which his 
 friends and physicians were prescribing for him by 
 way of remedies were atrocious. A weasel's tooth 
 wrapped in a lion's skin though the doctors gravely
 
 SATIRES OiV SOCIETY. 153 
 
 squabbled whether it should not rather be a deer-skin 
 did any one ever hear the like ? And then the guests 
 had all set to work to tell the most marvellous stories 
 stories which go a long way to show how little 
 novelty there is in the inventions of superstition ; of 
 magic rings made out of gibbet - irons ; of haunted 
 houses iu which ghosts appeared and showed the way 
 to their unburied bones ; of a statue which at night 
 stepped down from its pedestal and walked about the 
 house, and even took a bath you might hear him 
 splashing in the water ; of a slave who, having stolen 
 his master's goods, was every night flogged by an invis- 
 ible hand you could count the wheals upon his back 
 in the morning ; of a little bronze figure of Hippocrates, 
 only two spans high (this is the doctor's story), who 
 is also given to nocturnal perambulations, and, small 
 as he is, makes a great clatter in the surgery, upsetting 
 the pill-boxes and changing the places of the bottles, 
 if he has not had proper honour paid to him in 
 the way of sacrifice during the year; of a colossal 
 figure terminating in a serpent Eucrates has seen it 
 himself before whose feet the infernal regions opened. 
 Eucrates' own wife, again, whom he had burnt and 
 buried handsomely, with all her favourite dresses too, 
 in order to make her as comfortable as possible in her 
 new state of existence,* had appeared to him seven 
 months afterwards " while I was lying on my couch, 
 
 * Probably founded on the story of Melissa's complaint to 
 her husband Periander, that she was cold in the Shades below, 
 because her clothes had only been buried, and not burnt, with 
 her. Herodotus, v. 92.
 
 154 LUC I AN. 
 
 just as I am now, and reading Plato on the immor- 
 tality of the soul " and frightened him terribly. 
 She had missed an article of her wardrobe one 
 of a pair of golden slippers to which she was parti- 
 cularly attached, and there was no rest for her per- 
 turbed spirit without it. Happily the slipper was 
 found next morning in the very place which the 
 lady had indicated, behind a chest, and was duly 
 burned ; and both husband and household had peace 
 afterwards. 
 
 Eucrates had another story to tell also, of something 
 which had happened to himself a story with which 
 we are tolerably familiar in more than one modern 
 form, but which it may be amusing to read here in an 
 older version. The narrator had the good fortune, 
 on a voyage up the Nile, to make the acquaintance 
 of a certain Pancrates, one of the holy scribes of 
 Memphis, who had learnt magic from the goddess 
 Isis herself. They became so intimate that they 
 agreed to continue their travels together, Pancrates 
 assuring his friend that they should have no need 
 of servants. 
 
 "When we got to an inn, this remarkable man 
 would take the bar of the door, or a broom, or a 
 pestle, put some clothes on it, mutter a charm over 
 it, and make it walk, looking to every one else's eyes 
 for all the world like a man : it would go and draw 
 water, fetch provisions and set them out, and make 
 an excellent servant and waiter in all respects. Then, 
 when its office was done to our contentment, he would 
 mutter a counter-charm, and make the broom become a
 
 SATIRES ON SOCIETY. 155 
 
 broom again, and the pestle a pestle. Now this charm 
 I never could get him to disclose to me, with all my 
 entreaties ; he was jealous on this one point, though 
 in everything else he was most obliging. But one 
 day, standing in a dark corner, I overheard the spell 
 it was but three syllables without his knowing it. 
 He went off to market after giving the pestle its 
 orders. So next day, when he was gone out on 
 business, I took the pestle, dressed it up, and bid it 
 go and draw water. When it had filled the pitcher 
 and brought it back, " Stop ! " said I ; " draw no more 
 water ; be a pestle again." But it paid no attention 
 to me, but went on drawing water till the whole house 
 was full. Not knowing what on earth to do (for 
 Pancrates was sure to be in a terrible way when he 
 came back, as indeed fell out), I laid hold on a 
 hatchet, and split the pestle in two. At once both 
 halves took up a pitcher apiece, and began drawing 
 water. So instead of one water-carrier, I had two. 
 In the middle of it all, in came Pancrates, and under- 
 standing how matters stood, changed them back into 
 wood again as they were before. But he went off and 
 left me without a word, and I never knew what be- 
 came of him." 
 
 They afterwards went on to tell so many horrible 
 stories, that Tychiades left them in disgust; and 
 he declares to his friend that even now he has 
 nothing but goblins and spectres before his eyes 
 ever since, and would give something to forget the 
 conversation. 
 
 A passage occurs in this Dialogue worthy of remark,
 
 156 LUCIAN. 
 
 as containing, in the opinion of some, one of the few 
 notices of Christianity which occur in contemporary 
 heathen writers. One of the party at which the nar- 
 rator was present speaks of having been an eyewitness 
 of certain cures worked upon " demoniacs " by a person 
 of whom he speaks as "that Syrian from Palestine, 
 whom all men know." " He would stand over those 
 possessed, and ask the spirits from whence they had 
 entered into the body ? and the sick man himself 
 would be silent, but the devil would reply, either in 
 Greek or some barbarous tongue of his own country, 
 how and from whence he had entered into the man. 
 Then the exorcist, using adjurations, and, if these 
 had no effect, even threats, would expel the spirit." * 
 It has been thought that here we have a record 
 of healing wrought by some one of the successors 
 of the Christian apostles. It must be observed, 
 however, that the cure is here expressly said to have 
 been performed " for a large fee," and that we have 
 distinct mention in the Acts of the Apostles of 
 professed exorcists who were not Christians. 
 
 The "SATURNALIA," and the piece called " 
 may also be classed with the preceding. In the first, 
 the author takes occasion of the well-known annual 
 festival, kept in remembrance of the " good old times," 
 at which so much general licence was allowed even to 
 slaves, to deal some good-humoured blows at the follies 
 of the day ; and at the same time to introduce Saturn 
 
 * " The Marvel-Mongers" (Philopseudes), 16
 
 SATIRES ON SOCIETY. 157 
 
 himself as a poor gouty decrepit old deity, quite out of 
 date, and to remark upon Jupiter's unfilial conduct in 
 turning him out of his kingdom. In the latter Dia- 
 logue, a Platonic philosopher named Nigrinus (whether 
 a real or imaginary personage is not certainly known) 
 contrasts the pomp and luxury of Roman city life with 
 the simpler habits of the Athenians.
 
 CHAPTEE VI. 
 
 LUCIAN AS A ROMANCE-WRITER. 
 
 can readily see, from the spirit and vivacity of 
 Lucian's Dialogues, what an admirable novelist he 
 would have heen ; especially if he had chosen the style 
 which has of late become deservedly popular, where 
 nice delineation of character, and conversation of that 
 clever and yet apparently natural and easy kind in 
 which " the art conceals the art," form the attraction 
 to the reader, rather than exciting incidents or elabor- 
 ate plot. But this kind of literature had yet to be 
 born. Lucian has left us, however, two short romances, 
 if they may be so called, which it would be hardly fair 
 to compare with modern works of fiction, but which 
 show that he possessed powers of imagination admit- 
 ting of large and successful development if his own 
 age had afforded scope and encouragement to literary 
 efforts of that kind. It must be remembered that the 
 modern novel, in all its various types, is the special 
 product of modern society ; the love - tales which 
 so largely form its staple, and the nice distinctions of 
 character on which so much of its interest depends, 
 spring entirely out of the circumstances of modern
 
 LUCIAN AS A ROMANCE-WRITER. 159 
 
 civilisation, and could have no place in Greek or 
 Eoman life in the days of Lucian. Yet he may fairly 
 claim to have furnished hints, at least, of which later 
 workers in the same field have taken advantage. 
 
 One of these tales Lucian has entitled " The Veraci- 
 ous History." Even here he preserves his favourite 
 character of satirist ; for he glances slyly, both in the 
 opening of his story and throughout it, at the stories 
 told by the old poets and historians, which he would 
 have us understand are often about as " veracious " as 
 his own. His old quarrel with the pretenders to 
 philosophy breaks out also from time to time in the 
 same pages. He introduces his story (which is the 
 account of an imaginary voyage made into certain un- 
 discovered regions) by a kind of preface, of which the 
 following is a portion. 
 
 " Ctesias, son of Ctesiochus, of Cnidus, has written 
 an account of India, and of the things there which he 
 never either saw himself or heard from any one else. 
 So also lambulus has told us a great many incredible 
 stories about things in the great ocean, which every- 
 body knew to be false, but which he has put to- 
 gether in a form by no means nnentertaining.* So 
 many others besides, with the same end in view, have 
 related what purported to be their own travels and 
 adventures, describing marvellously large beasts and 
 savage men, and strange modes of life. But the ring- 
 
 * Ctesias's ' Indica, of which Photius gives an abridgment, 
 though to some extent fabulous, is not so contemptible as Lu- 
 cian represents. lambulus, whose account of India Diodorus 
 Siculus adopts, seems to have indulged in pure fiction.
 
 160 LUC I AN. 
 
 loader and first introducer of this extravagant style 
 is that Ulysses of Homer's, telling his stories at the 
 court of Alcinb'us, about the imprisonment of the 
 winds, and the one-eyed Cyclops, and the man-eaters, 
 and suchlike savage tribes ; and about creatures with 
 many heads, and the transformation of his comrades 
 by magic potions, and all the rest of it, with which he 
 astonished the simple Phseacians. When I read all 
 these, I do not blame the writers so much for their lies, 
 because I find the custom common even with those 
 who pretend to be philosophers. All I wonder at is, 
 that they should ever have supposed that people would 
 not find out that they were telling what was not true. 
 Wherefore, being myself incited (by an absurd vanity, 
 I admit) to leave some legacy to posterity, that I may 
 not be the only man without my share in this open 
 field of story-telling, and having nothing true to tell 
 (for I never met with any very memorable adventures), 
 I have turned my thoughts to lying ; in much more ex- 
 cusable fashion, however, than the others. For I shall 
 certainly speak the truth on one point, when I tell 
 you that I lie ; and so it seems to me I ought to escape 
 censure from the public, since I freely confess there is 
 not a word of truth in my story. I am going to write, 
 then, about things which I never saw, adventures 
 I never went through, or heard from any one else ; 
 things, moreover, which never were, nor ever can be. 
 So my readers must on no account believe them." 
 
 The adventures of the voyagers " from the Pillars of 
 Hercules into the Western Ocean " are indeed of the 
 most extravagant kind. They have all the wild im-
 
 LUCIAX AS A ROMANCE-WRITER. 161 
 
 possibilities without much of the picturesqueness of 
 an Eastern tale. A burlesque resemblance is kept up 
 throughout to the kind of incident which, in the 
 mouths of the old bards, had passed for history. "We 
 read how they came to a brass pillar with an almost 
 illegible inscription, marking the limit of the travels of 
 Hercules and Bacchus, and found near it on a rock 
 the prints of two footsteps, one " measuring about an 
 acre " plainly that of Hercules ; the smaller one, of 
 course, belonged to Bacchus : how they found rivers 
 of native wine, a manifest confirmation of the visit 
 of the latter god to those parts : and how a whirl- 
 wind carried them, ship and all, up into the moon, 
 where they made acquaintance with Endymion, and 
 saw the earth below looking like a moon to them, 
 which shows that Lucian was not so far wrong 
 in his astronomy. How their ship was swallowed 
 by a sea-monster, and they lived inside him a year 
 and eight months, carrying on a small war against 
 a previous colony whom they found established 
 there : and effected their escape at last by lighting an 
 enormous fire, so that the monster died of internal 
 inflammation. After this they made their way to that 
 hitherto undiscovered country, the ' Island of the 
 Blest,' when they were bound in fetters of roses, and 
 led before Ehadamanthus, the king. We have a glow- 
 ing description of the city, with its streets of gold and 
 walls of emerald, temples of beryl and altars of ame- 
 thyst ; where there was no day or night, but a per- 
 petual luminous twilight ; where it was always spring, 
 and none but the south wind blew ; and where the vines 
 A. c. vol. xviii. L
 
 162 LUCIAN. 
 
 ripened their fruit every month.* There they found 
 most of the heroes of Grecian legend and of later 
 history. Philosophers, too genuine philosophers 
 were there in good number. And here the satirist 
 quite gets the mastery over the story-teller. Plato 
 was remarked as absent he preferred living " in his 
 own Republic, under his own laws," to any Elysium 
 that could be offered him. The Stoics had not yet 
 arrived, when these voyagers reached the island, though 
 they were expected ; Hesiod's ' Hill of Virtue, 't which 
 they all had to climb, was such a very long one. Neither 
 were the Sceptics of the Academy to be seen there ; 
 they were thinking of coming, but had " doubts " about 
 it doubts whether there were any such place at all ; 
 and perhaps, thinks Lucian, they were shy of encoun- 
 tering the judgment of Rhadamanthus, having a pro- 
 found dislike to any decisive judgment upon any sub- 
 ject whatever. 
 
 The travellers would gladly have remained in the 
 Happy Island altogether, but this was not allowed. 
 They were promised, however, by Rhadamanthus, that if 
 during their further voyage they complied with certain 
 rules, which remind us of the old burlesque oath for- 
 
 * It has been thought that the writer must either have seen 
 or heard of the description of the New Jerusalem in the Revela- 
 tion. But figurative diction has always some featxires in 
 common ; and in this passage reminiscences of the Greek poets 
 are very evident. The ingenuity of some commentators has 
 discovered, not only here, but throughout this "Veracious 
 History," an intentional travesty of Scripture. But such an 
 idea is surely fanciful. 
 
 f See p. 121.
 
 LUCIAN AS A ROMANCE-WRITER. 163 
 
 merly sworn by travellers at Highgate such as " never 
 to stir the fire with a sword, and never to kiss any 
 woman above two-and-twenty " * they should in good 
 time find their way there again. Just as the writer is 
 taking his leave, " Ulysses, unknown to Penelope, 
 slipped into his hand a note to Calypso, directed to 
 the island of Ogygia." The note, in the course of their 
 subsequent wanderings, was duly delivered, and Calypso 
 entertained the bearers very handsomely in her island; 
 asking, not without tears, many questions about her old 
 lover ; and also whether Penelope was really so very 
 lovely and so virtuous 1 to which, very prudently, says 
 Lucian, " we made such a reply as we thought would 
 please her best." 
 
 They meet with some other adventures, tedious to 
 our ears, sated as they are with fiction in all shapes, 
 but probably not so to the hearers or readers to whom 
 Lucian addressed them. But either he grew tired of 
 story - telling, or the conclusion of this "Veracious 
 History " has been lost ; for it breaks off abruptly, 
 
 * This latter caution bears a curious similarity to one of 
 the parting injunctions which Perceval (or Peredur), when 
 setting out from home in quest of adventures, receives from his 
 mother, and which appears with little variation in the Welsh, 
 Breton, and Norman legends to kiss every demoiselle he meets, 
 without waiting for her permission ; it is, she assures him, a 
 point of chivalry. He carries out his instructions, according to 
 one raconteur, by kissing the first lady he falls in with "vingt 
 fois," in spite of her resistance, pleading his filial obligation : 
 " Ma mere m'enseigna et dit 
 Que les puceles saluasse 
 En quel lieu que je les trovasse. 
 
 Cbrestien de Troyes.
 
 164 LUCIAN. 
 
 leaving some promises made in the early portion un- 
 fulfilled. 
 
 De Bergerac, in his 'Voyage to the Moon' and 
 * History of the Empire of the Sun,' Swift, in his 
 ' Gulliver's Travels,' Quevedo, in his ' Visions,' and 
 Rabelais, in his ' History of Gargantua and Pantagruel/ 
 are all said to have borrowed from this imaginary voy- 
 age of Lucian's. But they can have taken from him 
 little more than crude hints, and Swift at least owes 
 a much larger debt to De Bergerac than to Lucian. 
 
 Lucius, or THE Ass, is another short essay in fiction, 
 complete in itself, and approximating more closely to 
 our modern idea of a story. It relates the transforma- 
 tion of the hero into an ass, through the accidental 
 operation of the charm of a sorceress, and his restora- 
 tion, after a variety of adventures in his quadruped 
 form, into his own proper shape by feeding on some 
 roses. It is not certain whether the story is original, 
 or merely an abridgment in our author's own style 
 from a tale by one Lucius of Patrae. The " Golden 
 Ass " of Apuleius (written probably at about the same 
 date) seems to be founded either on this piece of 
 Lucian's or on the common original, but Apuleius 
 extends the tale to greater length. The experiences 
 of Lucius in the person of the ass, while retaining all 
 his human faculties, are fairly amusing, but not tempt- 
 ing either for extract or abridgment. The piece is 
 chiefly interesting as one of the few surviving speci- 
 mens of an ancient novelette. 
 
 Shorter, but much more amusing, is the pleasant
 
 LUCIAN AS A ROMANCE -WRITER. 165 
 
 little sketch, cast in Lucian's favourite form of a 
 Dialogue " THE COCK AND THE COBBLER." 
 
 The Cobbler is our old friend Micyllus, who is 
 awakened one morning -much earlier than he likes by 
 the crowing of his cock, whom he declares he would 
 kill if it were not too dark to catch him. The Cock 
 remonstrates : he is only doing his duty ; and if his 
 master will not get up and make a shoe before break- 
 fast, he is very likely to go without. Micyllus is very 
 much startled at the prodigy of a cock's finding a 
 human voice ; upon which the bird remarks that if 
 Achilles's horse Xanthus could make a long speech, 
 and in verse too, and the half-roasted oxen in the 
 Odyssey could low even on the spit and there is 
 Homer's excellent authority for both * surely he 
 may say a few words in humble prose. Besides, if 
 his master wants to know, he has not always been a 
 bird he was a man, once upon a time : Micyllus has 
 surely heard of the great philosopher Pythagoras, and 
 his transformations 1 Yes, Micyllus has heard all 
 about it and a great impostor he was. " Pray, don't 
 use violent language," replies the Cock ; "I am 
 Pythagoras or rather, I was." He proceeds to ex- 
 plain how many and various transmigrations he has 
 already gone through ; he has been a king, a beggar, 
 
 * It will be observed that Lucian is continually jesting upon 
 the marvels related by Homer, and affecting to be shocked at 
 them as palpable lies. But his very familiarity with the poet 
 is proof sufficient of his real appreciation of him. Like the old 
 angler, he puts him on his hook, but still "handles him ten- 
 derly, as though he loved him."
 
 166 LUCIAJV. 
 
 a woman, a horse, and a jackdaw; and never more 
 miserable than in the character of a king. Micyllus 
 expresses great surprise at this statement : for his own 
 part, riches are the one thing he has always longed 
 for; and the reason for his having been so angry 
 now at being awakened was that he was in the midst 
 of a most charming and interesting dream it was, that 
 he had inherited all the great wealth of his rich 
 neighbour Eucrates, and was giving a grand supper 
 on the occasion. He had thought he should now 
 le able to repay the insolence of his former acquaint- 
 ance Sinio, who from a cobbler like himself had be- 
 come suddenly a rich man, and would no longer recog- 
 nise his old associate. The Cock assures his master 
 that in his present poor estate he is really happier than 
 many of the wealthy and great ; and he will give him 
 proof positive of his assertion. One of the two long 
 feathers in his (the cock's) tail the right-hand one 
 has the miraculous power of opening locks, and even 
 making a passage through walls : he bids Micyllus pull 
 it out. The cobbler pulls out both, to make sure, at 
 which the Cock is very angry, until assured by his master 
 that with one feather he would have looked very lop- 
 sided. Armed with this talisman (the same which Le 
 Sage has borrowed for his 'Diable Boiteux'), the pair 
 fly through the sleeping city from house to house. They 
 visit amongst others Simo and Eucrates : they find the 
 former hiding his money, unable to sleep, in an agony 
 for fear of thieves ; and the latter cheated and be- 
 trayed by his wife and his servants. And the cobbler 
 goes back home a wiser and more contented man.
 
 CHAPTEE VII. 
 
 LUCIAN AND CHRISTIANITY. 
 
 THE notices of Christianity to be found in heathen 
 authors who were either contemporary with its great 
 Founder, or who wrote during the early ages of the 
 Christian Church, are so few, that even the slightest 
 has an interest beyond what would otherwise he its 
 historical importance. The rarity of such notices, and 
 their general brevity and indistinctness, is apt to surprise 
 us, until we recollect that Christianity did not for some 
 time make that impression upon the heathen world 
 which from our own point of view we might naturally 
 expect. The Christians were long regarded as merely a 
 sect within a sect, and that an insignificant and despised 
 one : even historians like Tacitus and Suetonius saw in 
 the " Christus " whom they both mention little more 
 than a ringleader of turbulent Jews. Superstitions 
 of all kinds and from all quarters were crowding in, as 
 we may see even from Lucian's own pages, upon the 
 ground which the priesthood of pagan Rome were 
 striving to hold by making the national religion so 
 " catholic " as to include the gods of as many other 
 creeds as they could. Men believed, as "Wieland says,
 
 168 LUCIAN. 
 
 " everything, and nothing." A new god or a new 
 superstition more or less made not much impression on 
 the popular mind. The very feeling to which St Paul 
 appeals at Athens, their readiness to adopt even an 
 " unknown God," is evidence of a latitudinarianism 
 in such matters which at once gave hope of toleration, 
 and opened a dreary prospect of indifference. And 
 indifference was, no doubt, the feeling with which 
 the Christians were widely regarded, unless when by 
 some misrepresentation of their doctrines they were 
 denounced as plotters against the throne or the life of 
 the reigning emperor, and the populace was hounded 
 on against them, as in more modern times against the 
 Jews, as atheists, sorcerers, and enemies of the state. 
 
 The attitude of Lucian towards Christianity has 
 been the subject of more discussion than that of any 
 other heathen writer. He has written an account of 
 the self-immolation of one Peregrinus or Proteus, about 
 whose character and antecedents the learned are not 
 quite agreed. If Lucian' s history of him is to be 
 trusted, he was a Hellespontine Greek, who, after a 
 youth of great profligacy, had, either from conviction 
 or more probably for selfish ends, become a Christian, 
 had held high office in the Church, and attained a 
 position of great influence in the body, combining the 
 pretensions of a Cynic philosopher with those of a 
 Christian priest. He had even suffered for his pro- 
 fessed faith, and been imprisoned by the governor of 
 Syria. But this imprisonment Lucian thinks he pur- 
 posely sought in order to obtain notoriety, which object 
 the governor was aware of, and disappointed him by
 
 LUCIA X AND CHRISTIANITY. 169 
 
 setting him free. He afterwards travelled, supported, 
 according to apostolic precedent, by his fellow-believers; 
 but being detected in some profanation (apparently) of 
 the Eucharist,* he threw off his profession, and returned 
 to his old profligate life. Expelled from Eome by the 
 authorities for his scandalous conduct there, he endea- 
 voured without success to excite the people of Elis to 
 revolt against the Roman Government ; and at length, 
 finding his popularity and influence on the wane, sought 
 to restore it by giving out publicly that he would burn 
 himself solemnly at the forthcoming Olympic games. 
 This intention, strange to say, he actually carried into 
 execution ; whether from an insane desire for posthu- 
 mous notoriety, or whether, hoping to be rescued at 
 the last moment by his friends, he had gone too far to 
 recede, is not at all clear from any version of the story. 
 
 Lucian was an eyewitness of this very remarkable 
 spectacle, of which he gives an account in the shape 
 of a letter to a friend, prefacing it with a short bio- 
 graphical sketch, touched in very dark colours, of a 
 man whom he considers to have been, both in his life 
 and death, a consummate impostor. These are the 
 passages in which he speaks of the Christians : 
 
 " About this time, Peregrinus became a disciple of 
 that extraordinary philosophy of the Christians, having 
 met with some of their priests and scribes in Palestine. 
 He soon convinced them that they were all mere chil- 
 
 * Lucian's words are, " I believe it was eating certain food for- 
 bidden among them." This may have reference to the " meats 
 offered to idols :" or he may very probably here, as elsewhere, 
 confound Christians with Jews.
 
 170 
 
 dren to him, becoming their prophet and choir-leader 
 and chief of their synagogue, and, in short, everything 
 to them. Several of their sacred books he annotated 
 and interpreted, and some he wrote himself. They 
 held him almost as a god, and made him their lawgiver 
 and president.* You know they still reverence that 
 great man, Him that was crucified in Palestine for 
 introducing these new doctrines into the world. On 
 this account Proteus was apprehended and thrown into 
 prison, which very thing brought him no small renown 
 for the future, and the admiration and notoriety which 
 he was so fond of.. For, during the time that he was 
 in prison, the Christians, looking upon it as a general 
 misfortune, tried every means to get him released. 
 Then, when this was found impossible, their attention 
 to him in all other ways was zealous and unremitting. 
 From early dawn you might see widows and orphans 
 waiting at the prison - doors ; and the men of rank 
 among them even bribed the jailors to allow them to 
 pass the night with him inside the walls. Then they 
 brought in to him there sumptuous meals, and read 
 their sacred books together ; and this good Peregrinus 
 (for he was then called so) was termed by them a second 
 Socrates. There came certain Christians, too, from 
 some of the cities in Asia, deputed by their community 
 to bring him aid, and to counsel and encourage him. 
 For they are wonderfully ready whenever their public 
 interest is concerned in short, they grudge nothing ; 
 and so much money came in to Peregrinus at that 
 
 * The Greek word here used (irpoffrar-ns) possibly means 
 bishop. St Cyril calls St Paul and St Peter by that name.
 
 LUCIAN AND CHRISTIANITY. 171 
 
 time, by reason of his imprisonment, that he made a 
 considerable income by it. For these poor wretches 
 persuade themselves that they shall be immortal, and 
 live for everlasting ; so that they despise death, and 
 some of them offer themselves to it voluntarily. Again, 
 their first lawgiver taught them that they were all 
 brothers, when once they had committed themselves 
 so far as to renounce the gods of the Greeks, and wor- 
 ship that crucified sophist, and live according to his 
 laws. So they hold all things alike in contempt, and 
 consider all property common, trusting each other in 
 such matters without any valid security. If, therefore, 
 any clever impostor came among them, who knew how 
 to manage matters, he very soon made himself a rich 
 man, by practising on the credulity of these simple 
 people." 
 
 We have in this passage a not very unfair account 
 of the discipline and practice of the early Christians, 
 taking into consideration that it is given by a cynical 
 observer, who saw in this new phase of religion only 
 one superstition the more. There is an evident and 
 not unnatural confusion here and there between Chris- 
 tians and Jews ; and it is not clear whether the " first 
 lawgiver " is a vague idea of Moses, or of St Paul, 
 or of Christ himself. But in the " widows " we plainly 
 see those deaconesses, or whatever we may term them, 
 of whom Phoebe at Cenchrea was one ; the " sumptu- 
 ous meals" are almost certainly the "love-feasts" of 
 the Church ; while in the reading of the sacred books 
 we have one of the most striking features of their 
 public worship. In the account of the prison-life of
 
 172 LUC I AX. 
 
 Peregrinus, impostor if he were, we seem to be reading 
 but another version of that of St Paul of the "prayer 
 that was made of the Church " for him of the good 
 Philemon and Onesiphorus, who "ministered to him 
 in his bonds," and those of " the chief of Asia who 
 were his friends." The whole passage, brief as it is, 
 bears token of having been penned by a writer who, 
 if not acquainted with the tenets and practices of the 
 Christians of those days from personal observation and 
 experience, had at least gained his information from 
 some fairly accurate source. 
 
 Such a passage was sure to exercise the criticism 
 of Christian scholars, and very conflicting theories 
 have been set up 1 as to its interpretation, as bearing 
 upon the author's own relations and feelings towards 
 Christianity. Some over-ingenious speculators, read- 
 ing it side by side with his bitter satire on the accepted 
 theology of Paganism, have fancied that they saw in it 
 evidence that Lucian himself was a Christian in dis- 
 guise. That after boldly and openly attacking Poly- 
 theism, and exhibiting it in the most grotesque cari- 
 cature, he cautiously, as one treading on perilous 
 ground, and still in a tone of half-banter, opens to 
 his readers a half-view of the new philosophy whose 
 ideal republic is a grander scheme than Plato's the 
 "simple people," the leading features of whose pol- 
 ity are " universal brotherhood " and " community of 
 goods." 
 
 Such a view was tempting, no doubt, to a clever 
 scholar, from the very paradox which it involved. 
 But, except as a paradox, it is hard to conceive its
 
 LUCIAN AND CHRISTIANITY. 173 
 
 having been propounded. It was much more natural 
 to take, as many honest theologians did take and 
 hotly maintain, quite the opposite view of Lucian's 
 feelings towards the new religion. And these could 
 certainly produce better evidence in support of their 
 opinion. They traced in the sceptical tone of his 
 writings the voice of an enemy to all forms of reli- 
 gion, true as well as false. They called him loudly 
 " atheist " and " blasphemer." Some of them in- 
 vented, and probably told until they believed it, a 
 story of his having met his death by being torn 
 in pieces by dogs as such impiety well deserved. 
 And one Suidas went so far as to express the 
 charitable hope and belief that his punishment did 
 not end there, but is still proceeding.* In the 
 passage which has been here quoted, they saw a 
 sneer at the holiest mysteries. Yet surely no 
 such interpretation is self-evident to any candid 
 reader. It is a cold, unimpassioned statement; half 
 serious and half satiric, as is Lucian's wont ; but 
 neither prejudiced nor malicious. "We have nothing 
 here like the bitterness of Fronto or Celsus, or the 
 stern anathema which Tacitus, ranking Christianity 
 among other hated introductions from the East, hurls 
 against it as an "execrable superstition." The tenets 
 of this obscure sect did seem to Lucian the man of the 
 
 * Suidas shall express himself in his own Latin, and if any 
 English reader does not understand him, he will have no great 
 loss: "Quare et rabiei istius poenas sufficientes in praesenti 
 vita dedit, et in futurum lucres aeterni ignis una cum Satana 
 erit." Life of Lucian, prefixed to Zuinger's edit., 1G02.
 
 174 LUCIAN. 
 
 world " extraordinary ; " nothing more or less, what- 
 ever irony some may find in the word. Even the term 
 "crucified sophist," however offensive to our ears, 
 had nothing necessarily offensive as used by the 
 writer. The clever Greek has no special sympathy 
 with the " simple people " who were content with bad 
 security for their money, and proved such an easy 
 prey to any designing adventurer; but all his con- 
 tempt and wrath is reserved for the impostor who 
 cheated them. On him, and not on the Christians, 
 he pours it out unsparingly. Here is his account 
 of Peregrinus's last moments. The great games were 
 over, but the crowd still lingered at Olympia to see 
 the promised spectacle. It was deferred from night 
 to night, but at last an hour was appointed. At- 
 tended by a troop of friends and admirers (a criminal 
 going to execution, says the merciless narrator, has 
 usually a long train), Peregrinus approached the pile, 
 which had been prepared near the Hippodrome. 
 
 " Then the more foolish among the crowd shouted, 
 ' Live, for the sake of the Greeks ! ' But the more 
 hard-hearted cried, ' Fulfil your promise ! ' At this 
 the old man was not a little put out, for he had 
 expected that they would surely all lay hold on 
 him, and not let him get into the fire, but force 
 him to live against his will. But this exhortation 
 to ' keep his promise ' fell on him quite unex- 
 pectedly, and made him paler than ever, though his 
 colour looked like death before. He trembled, and 
 became silent. . . . When the moon rose (for 
 she, too, must needs look upon this grand sight)
 
 LUCIAN AND CHRISTIANITY 175 
 
 he came forward, clad in his usual dress, and followed 
 by his train of Cynics, and specially the notorious 
 Theagenes of Patrse, well fitted to play second in 
 such a performance. Peregrinus, too, carried a torch ; 
 and approaching the pile a very large one, made 
 up of pitch-pine and brushwood they lighted it at 
 either end. Then the hero (mark what I say) laid 
 down his scrip and his cloak, and the Herculean 
 club he used to carry, and stood in his under gar- 
 ment and very dirty it was. He next asked for 
 frankincense to cast on the fire ; and when some one 
 brought it, he threw it on, and turning his face to- 
 wards the south (this turning towards the south is 
 an important point in the performance) he exclaimed, 
 * Shades of my father and my mother, be propitious, 
 and receive me ! ' When he had said this, he leaped 
 into the burning pile and was seen no more, the flames 
 rising high and enveloping him at once." 
 
 Lucian goes on to say, that when the followers of 
 Peregrinus stood round weeping and lamenting, he 
 could not resist some jokes at their expense, which 
 very nearly cost him a beating. On his way home 
 he met several persons who were too late for the 
 sight ; and when they begged him to give them an 
 account of it, he added to the story a few touches 
 of his own : how the earth shook, and how a vulture * 
 was seen soaring out of the flames, and crying, "I 
 have left earth, and mount to Olympus ! " These 
 
 * The vulture among birds was the general scavenger, as the 
 dog among beasts ; and Lucian perhaps imagines the soul of 
 the Cynic naturally taking that form.
 
 176 LUC I AN. 
 
 little embellishments of the fact were, as he assures 
 his friend, repeated afterwards as integral parts of the 
 story. Some time afterwards he had met " a grey- 
 haired old man, whose beard and venerable aspect 
 might have seemed to bespeak a trustworthy witness," 
 who solemnly declared that he had seen Proteus after 
 his burning, " all in white, wearing a crown of olive ; " 
 nay, that he had not long ago left him "alive and 
 cheerful, walking in the Hall of the Seven Echoes." 
 
 This portion of the narrative has also given rise 
 to considerable discussion. Those who could see in 
 Lucian nothing but a scoffer, asserted that the whole 
 story was fictitious, and that his sole intention was to 
 ridicule and caricature the deaths of Christian martyrs. 
 They noted in this account of the last moments of 
 Peregrinus many circumstances apparently borrowed 
 from the deaths of the famous martyrs of the times. 
 The previous attempts at rescue and the bribing of the 
 jailors have their exact parallels in the case of Igna- 
 tius, and the Christians in their dreams saw him 
 walking about in a glorified shape ; the " olive-crown " 
 might be an embodiment of that " crown of victory " 
 of which he spoke at his death, or "the crown of 
 immortality " which Polycarp saw before him ; the 
 stripping and " standing in the under garment only " is 
 related of Cyprian at his martyrdom ; and Lucian's 
 vulture seems but a parody of the dove which the 
 imaginative piety of Christian legend saw rising from 
 the funeral-pile of Polycarp.* The very year (A.D. 165) 
 
 * The dove is omitted in the account given by Eusebius.
 
 LUCIAN AND CHRISTIANITY. 177 
 
 of Polycarp's death, which we are distinctly told " was 
 discussed everywhere among the heathen," seems pos- 
 sibly to correspond. Bishop Pearson appears to have 
 considered the whole account as nothing more than 
 a kind of travesty of the martyrdom of Ignatius, and 
 in this idea he has been followed by many German 
 scholars. It has been conjectured that possibly Lucian 
 may have intended to satirise the contempt of death 
 which he speaks of as a characteristic of the Christian 
 sect, and that positive desire for martyrdom which we 
 know from other authorities to have prevailed among 
 some of them to a morbid degree, as a new development 
 of Cynicism. 
 
 But there seems no good reason to doubt the main 
 accuracy of the account given by Lucian, or to attribute 
 to him any sinister motive in telling the story as he doea 
 The extraordinary fact of this self-immolation of Pere- 
 grinus is related, though briefly, by Christian writers 
 by Tatian, Tertullian, and Eusebius. Aulus Gellius, 
 indeed, speaks of having known him in his earlier 
 life, as living in a cottage in the suburbs of Athens, 
 " a grave and earnest man," to whose wise discourse he 
 had often listened with much pleasure. But a consum- 
 mate impostor such as Lucian describes may well have 
 succeeded in imposing upon the Roman antiquarian 
 as upon the officers of the Christian Church.* He had 
 
 * SeeNoct. Att., xii. 11. Wieland, all whose remarks on 
 Lucian deserve respect, thought his portrait of Peregrinus mani- 
 festly unfair, and wrote a kind of novelette, cast in the form 
 of a Dialogue between Lucian and Peregrinus in Elysium, in 
 which the latter gives a very different account of his life from 
 
 A. c. voL xviii. M
 
 178 LUC I AN. 
 
 probably, as Eusebius relates of him, joined that com- 
 munity for a time, most likely for his own ends, though 
 he may not have held the high position among them 
 which is here ascribed to him. On the motives which 
 led him to the extraordinary act which closed his life, 
 Lucian must have had better opportunities of judging 
 than are open to us ; and he plainly considers that he 
 was actuated at first by a fanatical desire for notoriety, 
 and possibly forced at the last to carry out his announce- 
 ment against his will. It might have required more 
 courage to draw back, in the face of public ridicule and 
 certain exposure, than to brave death amidst the ap- 
 plause of the crowd. 
 
 The abuse showered upon Lucian by Christian 
 writers as a "blasphemer" and an "Antichrist" is 
 due partly to his having had ascribed to him a Dia- 
 logue called " Philopatris," in which the Christians are 
 maliciously accused of prophesying misfortunes to the 
 state, and which bears internal evidence of having 
 been written by one who had been at some period a 
 member of a Christian church. As the author of this, 
 they charged him with worse than infidelity apostasy 
 from the faith, and treason to his former associates. 
 But it has been pretty clearly proved that this work is 
 of much later date, and could not possibly have come 
 from the hand of Lucian. It is true that in his ac- 
 count of the pseudo-prophet Alexander, the only other 
 occasion on which he mentions the Christians by name, 
 
 the version here presented to us. There is a good notice of this 
 little work of Wieland's in W. Taylor's ' Historic Survey of 
 German Poetry,' ii. 482.
 
 LUCIAN AND CHRISTIANITY. 179 
 
 he has classed them with " atheists and Epicureans ; " * 
 but this is only so far as to show that they were all 
 equally incredulous of the pretended miracles of that 
 impostor. 
 
 Of the new Kingdom which had risen Lucian had 
 in fact no conception. What opportunities he may 
 have had, or may have missed, of making acquaintance 
 with it, we cannot tell. Its silent growth seems to 
 have been little noted by him. The contempt for 
 death and indifference to riches professed by this new 
 sect would seem to him only echoes of what he had 
 long heard from the lips of those Stoic and Cynic pre- 
 tenders whom he had made it his special business to 
 unmask ; the vagrant preachers of this new faith, sup- 
 ported by contributions, were confounded by him with 
 the half-mendicant professors of philosophy whom he 
 had known too welL He did not care enough about 
 the Christians to hate them much. Their refusal to 
 sacrifice to the national idols the great testing-point 
 of their martyrs under the reigning emperors could 
 have been no great crime in the eyes of the author of 
 the "Dialogues of the Gods." Fanaticism in that 
 direction was no worse than fanaticism in the other. 
 His chief attention seems to have been concen- 
 trated on that remarkable revival of paganism which 
 began under Hadrian and the Antonines, against 
 which he protests with all the force of a keen 
 intellect and a biting wit. But, far from being the 
 enemy of Christianity, he was, however unintentionally 
 
 * " Alexander," 38.
 
 180 LVCIAN. 
 
 and unconsciously, one of its most active allies. He 
 fought its battle on a totally different ground from its 
 own apologists, and would have been astonished to 
 know that he was fighting it at all ; but he was weak- 
 ening the common enemy. He did the same service 
 to the advancing forces of Christianity as the explo- 
 sion of a mine does to the storming party who are 
 waiting in the trenches : he blew into ruins the forti- 
 fications of pagan superstition, already grievously 
 shaken. He did not know who was to enter in at 
 the breach ; but he had a strong conviction that the 
 old stronghold of falsehood ought at any cost not to 
 stand. 
 
 END OF LUC1AN 
 
 WILLIAM BLACKWOOD AND SONS, EDINBURGH. 
 
 79
 
 II