Dio, or On the Conduct of His Own Life

seized by a love of philosophy and true education. For of necessity, from what I have said, there will be many fellow-lovers [rivals], from which there is also benefit. For now, since it is neglected, the danger is that it will be entirely extinguished, and that not even a spark will remain for those who might wish to kindle it. Have my vows for philosophy, therefore, just now been conceived? Or is it rather that it will be none the worse for philosophy, even if it withdraws from the company of men? For it has its own dwelling place with God, around whom, even while it tarries here, it spends the greatest part of its labor; and as often as the earthly seat does not receive it when it descends, it remains with the Father, rightfully claiming this for itself, ^A *Non mihi vestro opus; ipsa Jovis solo me dignor honore.* [Not for me is your work; I deem myself worthy of the honor of Jove alone.] Human affairs, however, whether it be present or absent, become worse or better, and thoroughly happy or miserable. For these reasons, therefore, and for philosophy, I have conceived these vows. May God grant that I become master of that prayer which, when Plato uttered it, he did not attain. May I see you having joined philosophy to the empire! And no one will hear me speaking any further about the kingdom. For verily, it is now the time to keep silent, since in this one thing I have embraced everything. ^B And if this happens, I have given what I was striving for from the beginning, when I promised in my discourse to show you a certain representation of a king. For in truth, Speech is a certain shadow of the thing; but I, in turn, was asking from you the thing itself, animated and vital. Which indeed, I hope, I shall shortly see hereafter; and you will display to me the very work of the king, unless these sermons of mine should hover outside your ears; but may they rather flow in, and enter into the inner recesses of your soul. Yet I do not think that philosophy was impelled to that exhortation without some divine inspiration, God plainly ministering in this matter, who, as can be conjectured with no effort, applies himself more zealously to the amplification of your affairs. I, however, not undeservedly, will be the first to perceive some benefit from the fruit of my own seeds, if I shall one day experience that you are such an emperor as I fashion you to be, when I confer further and back with you regarding the things which the cities demand. ^C

A MONITOR TO THE FOLLOWING TRACT

Seek the subject matter of this book from Epistle 154, from which you will understand that it was written against certain ignorant men, averse to the Muses, who, because they themselves were devoid of all humanity and of the liberal arts, condemned the study of them in Synesius; charging him with this fault, that he scattered many things here and there in his writings about poets and other more elegant authors. Furthermore, they carped at him because he possessed copies that were less than perfect. Therefore, in this book he clears away both charges, and defends the cause of the liberal arts especially, and of more refined learning, with equal sweetness and copiousness of erudition.

FROM PHILOSTRATUS, ON DION

^A I know not by what name Dion of Prusa should best be called, given his excellence in all things. For he was, as the saying goes, a horn of Amalthea; and as for his faculty of speech, he is to be ranked with the most eloquent. He imitated the rhetorical style of Plato and Demosthenes; and in his own particular genre of expression, he responds to them with a certain candor and a refined simplicity, no less than the strings of a musical instrument harmonize with one another. The finest and most praiseworthy quality in the orations of Dion is his regulation of the affections. For as often as he rebukes unruly and insolent republics, he appears neither scurrilous nor ill-tempered, but rather like someone tempering the ferocity of horses with a bridle ^B rather than a whip. And when he sets himself to praise cities that are well-governed, he does not seem to excite or puff them up with pride, but rather to restrain them, as if they would quickly perish should they degenerate into a different state. But he also maintained a manner of philosophizing that was not the common kind, nor prone to irony, but one that pressed forward with gravity, while being tempered by a certain seasoning of innate humanity. That he was also capable of writing history, his *Getica* makes clear. For indeed, he had traveled among the Getae when he was wandering. But as to the *Euboicus* and the *Encomium of the Parrot*, and whatever else Dion composed on less serious matters, let no one judge these to be trivial or slight, but rather consistent with the aim of a sophist. For it is the part of a sophist to apply earnestness even to such topics. Having lived during the times ^C when Apollonius of Tyana and Euphrates the Tyrian were professing philosophy, he was on familiar terms with both, though they differed from one another in their method of philosophy. I would not deem his departure to the Getae to have been an exile, since he was not deported by the order of the emperor; yet neither was it a mere journey, since he had been pulled away from his customary association with men and had withdrawn himself from the eyes and ears of all, doing one thing in one land and another in another, because he feared the Roman tyranny, by which all philosophy was being driven out. 34 Furthermore, while he labored to support himself by planting trees, or by digging ^D the soil, or by drawing water for baths and gardens, and many other such tasks for the sake of his livelihood, he was by no means neglectful of his studies; rather, he sustained himself throughout that whole time with two books: these were Plato’s *Phaedo* and Demosthenes’ oration *On the False Embassy*. Eventually, when he would frequent the military camps, in which he was wont to toil, and noticed the soldiers planning* sedition because of the slaughter of the tyrant, he did not hold back; but leaping up naked onto a high altar, he began his speech in this way:

not to be neglected by him, especially when such great consternation and perturbation had arisen; but leaping suddenly, naked, upon a high altar, he began his speech in this manner:

"The wily Ulysses cast off his tattered rags." ^A When he had said these things, and had made it plain that he was not a beggar or a man of that sort, such as they had imagined, but that he was Dio the wise, he inveighed most fiercely against the tyrant, and taught the soldiers to adopt a wiser course and to act in accordance with Roman customs. Indeed, the man's power of persuasion was such that it could enchant even those who were not well-versed in Greek literature. Trajan the Emperor, for instance, placing him upon the golden chariot in Rome, upon which emperors ride in triumph after wars are finished, would often turn to Dio and say: "What it is you are saying, I do not know, but I love you no less than I love myself." ^B Furthermore, among the things found in the orations of Dio that are artful and sophistic, the most significant are the vivid illustrations of subjects in his discourse; for although he uses these quite frequently, he is effective and powerful, and not unlike the nature of the things he proposes to himself.

SYNESIUS, DIO, OR CONCERNING THE CONDUCT OF HIS OWN LIFE

1. Philostratus the Lemnian, in describing the Lives of the sophists who flourished up to his own time, establishes ^C at the very beginning of his work two classes of them: one of those who are sophists by the very name of what they are called; and another of those who, while professing philosophy, were counted among the sophists on account of their singular eloquence in speaking. Among this number, he says, was Dio, and he lists along with him Carneades the Athenian, and Leon of Byzantium, and almost countless others who, while pursuing philosophy as their life's profession, adopted the sophistic style of speaking. To these he also adds Eudoxus of Cnidus, a man easily the leader of Aristotle's disciples, and especially skilled in that branch of astronomy which was flourishing ^D at that time. But as for our Dio, because of the distinguished ornaments of language—what he called his "golden" style, as it is also reported—let him be a sophist through and through in all his writings, if anyone thinks it proper to consider the cultivation of the voice a sophistic contest; and indeed, even this, a little later...

we shall examine. But as for his choice of life, Dio is not one of the same kind, nor is he to be ranked with these men, but rather with Aristocles, though he differs from him in his manner. For both of them fell away: but the one, being a philosopher and a very profound one, who went so far as to lower his eyebrows, degenerated into a sophist, ^A and not only did he not abstain from any kind of luxury, but he even reached the pinnacle of it; for he spent his whole life in defending the dogmas of the Peripatetics, and had published very many writings in Greek worthy of the study of a philosopher, yet he was so overcome by the desire for sophistic glory that, in his old age, he regretted the gravity of the morals he had always displayed as a young man, and he spent everything from Italy and the Asian theaters competing in declamations. And he would provide for ^B cottabus games and would bring in female lyre-players. And he would announce banquets for these events. But Dio, from an thoughtless sophist, was perfected into a philosopher; and having relied more on fortune than on his own intention, he accepted fortune

^A itself to be the narrator of his life. And there was a certain duality in the man’s life that needed to be related; rather than simply counting him among those around Carneades and Eudoxus—the subject of any one of whom, if you take it, is philosophy treated in a sophistic manner, that is, one delivered in a charming and skillful way, and bringing with it a great deal of "Aphrodite." For this reason, these men also were considered by those people, whom they delighted with the beauty of their words, worthy of the name of "sophist"; though they themselves, I think, would reject it with disdain [gr. though they would justly reject it], and would not care to accept it even if it were offered, since philosophy holds such a title in reproach, ever since Plato rose up against the name. But he [Dio] stood out brilliantly in both modes of life separately, and he contends with himself in his arguments, having published speeches arising from contradictory principles. It is therefore necessary, not least because of this very difference in his discourses, that the things concerning the man should not be passed over in silence. For what he subsequently adds as an excuse for himself—that he had written a speech in praise of a parrot, on the grounds that even these things should not be held in neglect by a sophist—can be seen as an argument convicting the man himself, who had previously claimed that he had been slandered by the allegation that, being a philosopher, he was wrongly being driven into the camp of the sophists. For his words are as follows: "The ancients called them sophists, not only those of the orators who were eminent and brilliant in speech, but also those among the philosophers who were endowed with fluency and richness of expression. It is necessary to speak of these first; since, although they were not sophists, having merely appeared to be so, they passed into this designation." Then he clearly enumerates the philosophers, among whom is Dio, and after Dio, others, at the last of whom he finishes, saying: "These things," he says, "we have had to say about that class of philosophers who were considered among the sophists." Stating the same thing in slightly changed words, that although they were not sophists, they nevertheless laid claim to the name for themselves. Yet in another place he says that he is in doubt as to in what part of the choir he should place this uncertain and ambivalent ^B man. Why, then, did you speak before? Why did you add that this is the case, but the other appears so? But for my part, I do not engage in petty caviling over contradictions; I grant that Dio, being a philosopher, might toy with the practices of the sophists, provided only that he is gentle and propitious in his wisdom, and that he has nowhere in any way harmed it, nor composed impudent and malicious discourses upon it. But this man, both in the greatest number and to the highest degree, has brought shame upon the sophists, as well as the philosophers and philosophy itself. For ^C as I suspect, having been allotted a nature possessing strength, his own art of rhetoric validated him 6, better persuaded to be living according to the common opinions than to live according to philosophy. Wherefore the discourse he composed against the philosophers was so highly refined, and he spared no artifice; and that which was directed toward Musonius—

Dion himself, not as though he were merely exercising his talents, but writing from his heart and in accordance with his own feelings. This I would not hesitate to affirm with complete certainty, and I would easily persuade another to believe it, provided he were endowed with the sagacity to detect dissimulation or truth in any given discourse.

2. ^B After he had turned to philosophy, then indeed the power of his nature manifested itself most clearly. For as if his nature had perceived its own proper task at a late hour, not little by little, but with full sails he was borne away from the sophistic profession; inasmuch as he treated even oratorical subjects no longer in a rhetorical manner, but in the political. If anyone is ignorant of the difference between the political man and the orator in this same subject matter, let him read with attention the epitaph of Aspasia and Pericles, that of Thucydides and that of Plato; for each is far superior to the other, when judged by its own canons. ^C Hence, it seems that Dio did not labor much over the technical theories in philosophy, nor did he apply his mind to natural doctrines, since he had been converted at a late age; but he did draw from the Stoa whatever concerns character, and he was more consistent therein than anyone of his time. He set himself to the task of admonishing men, both monarchs and private citizens, individually and collectively, and for this purpose he set himself to utilize the readiness of speech he had previously acquired. Wherefore it appears useful to me that every one of Dio's discourses should be inscribed as being "before exile" or "after exile," not in the way that some have already inscribed them—as if exile were only apparent in those alone—but in all of them without exception. ^D For thus we would be able to distinguish clearly his philosophical from his sophistic orations, and not fall into the error of encountering him, as if in a night battle, now attacking Socrates and Zeno with the invectives of the Bacchanalia, and demanding that they and their followers be driven from every land and sea as pests to cities and states; and now again crowning these same men, and putting them forward as an example of a noble and temperate life. Philostratus, however, acts thoughtlessly when he attributes the *Encomium of the Parrot* and the *Euboean* to this same pursuit, and provides the same defense for both, lest he should seem to have studied trifles of so little importance; but this is nothing else than leaning too much to the other side. For anyone who had counted him among those who cultivated philosophy for their whole life...

^A, it does not seem to me easy to approve any speech of Dio, inasmuch as he is even called a philosopher by him. Indeed, this speech is a sketch of a happy life, and a reading most worthy of both the poor and the rich. For it brings down the spirit puffed up by riches, showing that happiness consists in other things; and it raises up those who collapse in spirit because of poverty, and prepares them not to be abject: partly by a narrative of such a kind that it soothes the ears with a most sweet pleasure—which could even persuade Xerxes, I say that Xerxes who led an innumerable army into Greece, that a certain hunter living among the mountain regions of Euboea, eating millet, was happier than himself; and partly by the best precepts of life, by using which one is not ashamed of poverty, even if one is not about to avoid it. 39 Wherefore, it is more correctly subordinated by some to the last mentioned treatise *On Kingship*: in which, when he had proposed four kinds of life and spirits—the one dedicated to the pursuit of wealth, the voluptuous one, the ambitious one, and last of all the cheerful one joined with virtue—he wrote and informed [us] of all those things which correspond to one another with a certain similarity and proportion; but he put an end to the work, promising that he would publish the remainder as soon as possible, at whatever time the fates of the gods might grant.

3. Therefore, if you take those, Diogenes and Socrates, ^C whose memory is famous in speech for all of them; and who seem to have been of an exceptional and surpassing nature, and the emulation of whom is not for just any man, unless one immediately adheres to some sect of philosophers: if you should seek such a way of life as follows common nature; which covers nothing that is not just, religious, content with its own industry, humane according to its means, and beneficial: no other life can be described as happy, except that *Euboicum*. Nay, he also commends the Essenes somewhere, a city truly blessed, which is situated by the Dead Sea, next to Sodom in the Mediterranean [part of] Palestine. For altogether, since he first grasped philosophy, and applied his zeal to the instruction of men, he has not brought forth any work lacking in fruit. But if anyone reads him more attentively, he will notice in his sophistic and civic propositions a varied kind of elocution in Dio, and not one. For in those he is carried along in a way supine, and with a magnificent display of beauty, ^D looking around himself like a peacock, and rejoicing as it were in the brilliance of his own oratory, as one who aimed at that alone, and had the eloquence of speech proposed to himself as an end. Let the description of *Tempe*, or the *Memnon*, be an example of this; in this, indeed, the oratory is even somewhat inflated and a little more arrogant. But in the books of later time you see nothing swollen, nothing proud or puffed up. For philosophy [drives] from the luxuriant tongue its delights, loving that weighty and orderly beauty, such as is the ancient [style], and which is according to nature, and appropriate to the subjects, which Dio attains after the very ancients through the things that are done...

^A in the custom of life, whether he runs through his speech or his disputation. That book which is called "Concionatorius" [the Public Speaker] and the one called "Senatorius" [the Senatorial] hold a specimen of this solid and properly convenient elocution. Or, if you prefer, whatever you might take from those orations which he delivered to the people and wrote according to his own judgment, on both sides you will easily recognize the ancient style of speaking, not derived from the more recent manner of speaking, which has added certain allurements of speech to natural beauty: such are the declamations which we mentioned earlier, the *Memnon*, and the *Tempe*, and that oration which was written against the philosophers; which, although it disguises the fact, is entirely suited to the theater and to wit, and you will not easily find another oratorical artifice among Dio that is more charming. ^B For which reason I marvel all the more at the state of philosophy, since not even any comedy is nobler than the *Clouds*. For Aristophanes did not work out any other with greater force and ability. Let this be an argument for you of the fact, that these things, convoluted and as it were twisted, are pronounced with a wonderful facility of flow.

Having melted wax, and then having taken a flea, He dipped both its feet into the wax. Thus killed, they stuck; then Persian [shoes] He put on it; with which loosened, it measured the space.

To Aristides, indeed, that oration which he wrote against Plato ^C in defense of the four men brought great name and fame among the Greeks. And that [work], indeed, is entirely devoid of artifice—to the point that you would not even ascribe it to any genre of rhetoric if you wished to judge it legitimately and according to the precepts of art—yet it consists of a hidden and recondite beauty, and a certain admirable charm, which somehow or other delights through the variety of names and words. Dio, in like manner, was vigorous in that oration especially which he published against the philosophers, whatever that "vigor of oration" might be called by the more recent [authors]: that is, he used a structure of oration more ambitious than it is fitting for a stable and solid man to use; and yet in that genre he seemed most to excel for that reason, nor did he deviate so much from the ancient rhetoric even in those places where he clearly seems to depart from his own custom, so that it could escape notice that it is Dio, ^D while he touches upon the unconventional with caution, and seemed ashamed when he brought forward something somewhat daring and youthful.

DION. NOTES BY PETAVIUS.

(7) Regarding *things said and things known*. I distinguish *things said* from *things known* so that the former may be orations either delivered extempore or meditated, but spoken; while the latter are strictly written and prepared, but not [orally] delivered.

(8) Regarding *allurements of speech*. The frequent use of this [term] in this author signifies adding something, innovating, and changing. Thus below [he says] "to add" to books, and elsewhere "allurement of beauty."

(9) Regarding *Aristides and the oration against Plato*. It exists in volume III of the works of Aristides, written against Plato in defense of Miltiades, Themistocles, Pericles, and Cimon.

(10) Regarding *what they call the "acme"*. A double rhetorical genre is distinguished. The first is *archaic*, proper to the ancient orators, to which is attributed "the steady," that is, solid and stable elocution, and one consonant with the proposed subjects, yet minimal and not affected; the other was the genre of the more recent sophists, [the result of which] is that "acme," namely, the vigor of the oration, and an affected charm of speaking, which adds a cosmetic to natural beauty; the whole of which is this [latter type]. The former Dio embraced; his style of speech is simple and easy, but admirable in expressing things; yet he turned aside to the latter—but cautiously and religiously—while, with the facundity of his genius exulting, he spreads himself out a little more abundantly.

(11) Regarding *daring and youthful*. This is the proper character of him and of subsequent eloquence. "Daring" and "youthful" is said of that which is more insolently affected. Philostratus on Aristides: "He teaches us in which sorts of subject he is most [at home], how one might safely handle daring and tragic concepts." Whoever shall utter something thus daring.

and ^A transgresses in a way that is beyond measure, he seems to do so cautiously and circumspectly, and to be suffused with a certain shame when he has employed something more daring or insolent; so that he might even be accused of timidity if compared with the audacity of the orators that prevailed later. But in the greatest part of his writings, and in almost all of them, he is to be placed immediately after those ancient and most grave orators, a man who, whether before the people or before a private individual, is of all men the most apt for speaking. For there is in him both a chastened rhythm of speech and a gravity of character such as befits a censor and moderator of a whole city that is foolishly disposed.

Just as we have said that the interpretation is not entirely of one kind, nor yet unrecognizable—for it is Dio [who is] both, now appearing as a rhetorician, now as a politician—so too, whoever, not without judgment, might turn over any of his books, will recognize in the two aforementioned classes of subjects that they belong to the same Dio. Even if you might take up the slightest work in your hands, you will perceive in it that Dio is most keen and skillful in inventing arguments through oratorical faculty for any subject whatsoever. For in constructing arguments he has by far surpassed the sophists. ^B And if any other of the sophists possessed that faculty of invention, still, much interest lies in comparing it with his quick-wittedness and prudence. Furthermore, a certain wonderful form and, as it were, character is perceived in Dio's sentiments. Let the *Rhodiacus* and *Troicus* be proof of this, and indeed also the *Encomium of the Gnat*. For Dio also applied his mind seriously to handling trivial subjects, since he everywhere served his intellect: and you would not doubt that those [works] also belong to the same industry and faculty.

4. These things came to me to say about Dio, in view of the son who will one day be born to me: for in the meantime, while I run through his various monuments, my mind has prophesied I know not what. I therefore now experience paternal affections, and I wish soon to converse familiarly with my son, and to suggest those things which I hold regarding each work and author, so that he may hold certain men as very dear friends, each recommended by me with his own selection and judgment. Among these let Dio of Prusa be reckoned, a man singular both in faculty of speaking and in judgment. This [author], therefore, approved and praised by me, he shall receive, so that, after the leaders of the nobler philosophy, he may at length taste the political writings of Dio, and may consider them placed on the borderland between those primary rudiments and a more solid discipline. And truly it is excellent, O my son, after ^D you have worked hard at accurate precepts of doctrine and have exaggerated your judgment or have, as it were, constipated your mind with the most grave dogmas and sentiments; if ever there should be a need for diversion, not to fly immediately to some comedy, or to an oration equipped with mere rhetorical devices: for this would lack a congruous order, and it would be far from the mean to surrender oneself to inertness: but little by little...

you shall apply the ^A ascent—or, if you prefer, the advancement—in these readings, and to your brothers as well. Thus would you act most excellently, traversing the most beautiful course, alternating between play and serious study in your books. For I claim that the philosopher ought not to be anything evil, nor boorish, but rather initiated into the Graces and be truly Greek—which is to say, capable of engaging with people, being ignorant of no reputable writing. For it seems that no other thing was the prelude to philosophy than an inquisitive desire for knowledge; and in children, a myth-loving nature is a promise of the philosophical end. And ^B truly, what art or science of arts is that—or what science whose definition includes the task of overseeing all others—if it does not discern them, look down upon one from a vantage point, scrutinize another that advances, and have them all as its retinue, just as it befits a queen? Does not the very name signify that the Muses are together (13)—whether the gods so named them, or men using the reputation of the divine? They are a chorus, precisely because of this gathering; yet not one of them is apart from the others, nor does any one of them display her own work at a banquet of the gods, nor does she possess an altar or temple among men. Although some, by a deficiency of nature, already fragment what cannot be torn asunder, and one person has become master of one part and another of another, philosophy is that which is poured into all. And this is signified by the fact that Apollo is always immediately present with the harmony of the Muses.

^C 5. This discourse calls him an artisan and a man of science who cuts off and singles out any one branch of knowledge, addicting himself to one god or another; but the philosopher is he who has been tempered by the harmony of all, and has gathered that whole multitude into a single body. Or is even this not enough? There is also need for the addition of such a function as might be peculiar to him, and yet more sublime than the chorus of the rest: just as rumor says of Apollo, that he now leads the group of the Muses, initiating the rhythm for the assembly, and now sings by himself alone—and that would be the sacred and ineffable melody. And our philosopher will abide with himself and with God through philosophy, ^D and will abide with men through the lower powers of discourse. He will take his stand as a lover of letters; but he will judge as a philosopher, in every single instance and over everything. But these rigid (14) and arrogant men, who despise rhetoric and poetry, do not seem to me to be such even willingly; rather, due to a poverty of nature, they are not capable even of small things; you would sooner see their hearts than what is within their hearts, as their power of speech has failed.

^A Indeed, I would not wish to place any trust in them, nor would I say that any secret thing is hidden by them, just as the Vestals hide the fire—first, because it is not right that he should be wise in great matters who cannot even manage small ones; second, just as God has set forth visible images of his own invisible powers—the bodies of the Ideas—so a soul distinguished by beauty and endowed with a generative fruitfulness for the best things possesses a power that diffuses itself even to external things. For nothing that is divine can be a finality. But if he who possesses all-encompassing learning, and has acquired the faculty of influencing human society as he wishes, is more suited to covering over sacred and non-profane matters, he must needs be in a more unfair condition who has not been initiated into the circle of the liberal arts, nor celebrated the orgies of the Muses. ^B For it is necessary that one of two things befall such a man: that he either be silent, or reveal those things which silence is commanded to cover. For he will either take the matter of his discourse from the misfortunes of his fellow citizens, and thereby make himself importunate to men—which is intolerable to a free man—or he will live at leisure, he who makes himself out to be a prince and coryphaeus of philosophy. Perhaps he would not wish to, even if he could; certainly, he could not, even if he wished to. I admire Proteus the Pharian especially, because, while he was wise in great things, he nevertheless held out certain sophistical marvels, and encountered those who approached him in all sorts of forms. For they would depart wondering at the tragedy surrounding him, so as not to seek out the truth regarding the matters in which they were engaged. ^C Let there be a vestibule of the temple for the uninitiated; but he who is altogether haughty does not hide so much as he provokes, and stirs up the natural greed within those who are meddlesome concerning secret matters. And if Ixion had not chosen the cloud in place of Hera, and had not been content to be joined with a phantom, he would never have intentionally refrained from that absurd pursuit.

6. It is necessary, therefore, to provide a discourse for the discourse, the lesser in place of the greater. It is indeed excellent and fitting that this same discourse be such that the common folk, when they meet it, may pause and embrace it with great joy, and think no other is more ancient: but he who has shared in a divine nature, raising himself from here, will perceive that other one as well. And to him who is impelled by God, we shall open the inner sanctums of the temple. Nor did Menelaus truly fail to recognize the real Proteus. ^D For he was a Greek, and a worthy son-in-law of Zeus, who did not encounter him first on trivial accounts. For the fire, and the tree (15), and the beast, were certain arguments concerning animals: He showed the origins of every nature, Changing sacred matter into manifold forms.

DION. PETAVIUS'S NOTES.

(15) For the fire, and the tree. Orpheus in his hymn to Proteus: — Showing the origins of all nature, Changing sacred matter into manifold forms. Heraclius, whoever he may be, the author of the Homeric Allegories, clearly teaches that the elements are signified by these animal figures.

^A There had been discussions about animals, plants, and those primary elements from which all things that exist are combined. But he, being by no means content with these, strove to investigate the more inward parts of nature. It is, therefore, purely divine for someone to be self-sufficient in a way that allows each person to enjoy it as they are able. But if a person who has attained the heights remembers that he is also a human being, he will be able to adapt himself to the measure of each person. Why, then, should anyone disavow the Muses, through whom it is possible to please human beings, and to keep divine matters unblemished, while using them as a covering? But if our nature is manifold, it will surely grow weary of a life spent in contemplation; it will therefore let go of such greatness and descend. For we are not purely intellects, but intellects within an animal soul. And so, for our own sake ^B (16), we must adopt more humanistic discourses, which contrive a reception for our nature as it descends. For it is desirable, when one has strayed near [to the earth], to make amends to the psychic constitution which is in need of sweetness, so as not to fall too far (17), nor to live according to all the manifold variety of nature. For God made pleasure as a clasp for the soul, by which it tolerates the persistence of the body. Such, then, is the beauty found in discourses. It does not sink down toward matter, nor does it immerse the intellect in the lowest faculties, but it allows it to breathe again after the shortest time, and to return to its own essence. For in such a life there is both an "above" and a "below." But he for whom it is not possible to enjoy pure pleasure (for the nature must have something gentle), what will he do? Whither will he turn? Is it not toward things ^C of which it is not even worthy to speak? For they will by no means treat nature with contempt, nor will they say that they can remain untroubled in contemplation, claiming to be without passion—gods clothed in flesh. But if they should say this, let them know that, instead of being gods or wise and divine men, they prove to be vainglorious and arrogant, having gone far astray. They would have done better to distinguish well what is appropriate to each order. For impassibility is found [only] in the nature of God; but men (18), by exchanging vice for virtue, become moderate; and the avoiding of excess is the very struggle of the wise man.

^D 7. Now I have noticed barbarians who are noble men from both lines of descent, who, while having professed contemplation, and for this reason being withdrawn from civic life and

the communion of men, as though eager with every impulse to loose themselves from the partnership of nature, have had for themselves solemn chants, sacred symbols, and certain fixed approaches to the Divine. All these things cut off ^A the return to matter; they live apart from one another, so that they may not see or hear anything pleasant.

For they do not eat bread, nor drink the wine of Bacchus. If one were to say this of them, he would not stray far from the truth. But yet, not even these men, having risen so brilliantly against nature, and being, as we might say, most worthy of obtaining the best life, enjoy it without fatigue; but even they are recalled by their frail nature, after having been established a little while in the happy state of their essence; and they do not, of course, keep their mind above for the whole time, nor are they sated with the intelligible beauty, to those for whom it has been granted to be able to attain it. ^B For I hear that this does not happen to all of them, nor even to the majority, but to fewer than the few, to whom the first impulse was inspired from above; and they remain in it, as much as human nature can hold, not being swayed by any counter-pull of nature.

For many are thyrsus-bearers, but few are the Bacchants. Yet not even these endure this Bacchic frenzy constantly; but now they remain in God, and now in the world and in their bodies; and they know that they are men, small parts of the world, having lesser lives subjected to them, which they suspect and forestall, so that they might not move and rise up. ^C For what do these baskets mean to them? And what are these things they are engaged in weaving? Unless, first of all, they were at that time men, that is, sometimes turning themselves to these lower things. For they cannot be at leisure for contemplation and for this art of weaving at the same time; then, unless they feared for themselves from idleness, which our nature, which provides very many inducements for movement, cannot endure. So, in order that they might not do anything else, they have prescribed for themselves the occupation of these things, and in that way they rouse their nature. For they take delight in the completed work, and all the more as they finish ^D more and more elegant things. For it is necessary for us that some part should be occupied with these lower things; yet in such a way that it is less strong, so that it might not weigh more than is right or cling too tenaciously. And yet the Greco-Barbarian is much more constant in keeping his purpose: for wherever his impulse has seized him, he is vehement and most persistent.

^A And he is of a more gentle composition; so that he might even relax the sooner. I for my part would wish that it might be for our nature to be always stretched toward contemplation. But since this has been proven to be both impossible and manifested as such, I would wish, for my part, to be held in part by the best things, and in part, descending into nature, to grasp some delight and to anoint life with cheerfulness. For I know that I am a human being, and not God, so that I might be impervious to every pleasure; nor a beast, so that I might indulge in the pleasures of the body. It remains, therefore, to seek something of what is in the middle. What, then, could be prior to the occupation in and about discourses? What pleasure is purer? What affection is more free from passion? What is less attached to matter? What is more undefiled? ^B By this, then, I again prefer the Hellene to the Barbarian, and deem him wiser, because, when it is necessary to descend, the one stands in the nearest place; for it stands in knowledge. And knowledge is a transition of the mind: hence it has come to one reason from another, through which also it has progressed. What, then, could be more akin to reason? Or what navigation more suitable to the mind? For wherever reason is, there also is the mind; if not, at least some cognition, or an understanding of the mind in lower things. For here too there are what are called speculations and theorems, tasks of a lesser mind, namely rhetorical, poetical, natural, and mathematical; yet all these things adorn that eye (21), and remove the rheum, and awaken it, gradually accustoming it to what is seen; so that one might at some time take heart even for a more advanced spectacle, and not blink quickly after gazing at the sun. ^C Thus, then, the man who is a Hellene, even in the things in which he takes pleasure, exercises his purpose, and from his discipline gains profit for his primary object. For to judge, and to compose a discourse or a poem, is not apart from the mind; and to purify and chisel the diction, and to discover (22) the heading and to arrange it, and to recognize it when arranged by another—how can these be trivial matters and playthings? But those who have walked the other path, which is deemed adamantine (let it be assumed, which is what is the case, that some of them attain the end), yet to me they do not seem to have walked a path at all. For how, in which no progress appears little by little, ^D neither first nor second, nor any order? But it resembles, according to them, a thing of Bacchic frenzy and a manic and god-possessed leap, and not having run to the final point, and not having acted according to reason, to have become something beyond reason. For it is not as it were a command of knowledge, or a transition of the mind, the thing being one in another; but, as I may conjecture by a small comparison, just as Aristotle deems those who are being initiated...

DION. PETAVII NOTES.

learn not what one must do, but rather to suffer and to be affected, becoming clearly ^A suitable, then the aptitude itself is without reason; and if reason does not prepare it, this is even more the case. For these, therefore, the descent is immediately to some small deed, and this is direct and very far off, and it resembles a fall, just as we liken the ascent to a leap. For those whom reason has not led forth, it will not receive upon their return. How, then, could you reconcile these things with one another: to be now in contact with the first principle, and now to have turned to trifles and to matters of discourse? But man, according to his middle and ruling power, is logical and is called such—a power which they have never exercised, at least as far as they appear. The end, therefore, and that which ought to be realized, is common to both, and if we should attain it, we would in no way differ from one another.

^B 8. But as for the intermediate stages, our philosopher is far more circumspect; for he fortifies a path for himself and ascends step-by-step, so that he may achieve something from himself; for in progressing, it is likely that he will encounter the Beloved somewhere. And even if he does not attain this, he has still made progress, and this is certainly not insignificant, but he will excel other mortals by as much as those do the cattle. For this reason, more of our sort will arrive at the goal, because their approach is congruent with nature; but in that other way, this is by no means the case, unless perchance there should be an innate nobility of soul which derives its first origin from above, or some singular kind of mind which is ^C sufficient unto itself, so as to be moved from within. Such was Amus the Egyptian, who did not discover letters, but judged them to be necessary. So much of mind did he possess. But one of such a kind, even without the philosophical method, will resolve matters more quickly. For natural ability is sufficient, and much more so if someone wishes to whet and provoke it. For as for augmenting the internal seeds, and exciting some great conflagration, even if he has received the smallest spark of discourse, he effectively brings it to fulfillment, and indeed ^D this is the sort of thing that the Greeks’ instruction promotes and fans, and what is within them it—

(23) *Drawn from above*: This means that its first beginnings and as it were its foundations were sent down from heaven: for that is what it signifies among Christian writers. Arrian, *Dissert. Epict.*, cap. 13. How rare that nobility of character is, Aristotle declares in *Eth. X*, cap. ult., with these words: [...] (24) *Such was Amus the Egyptian*: Mention is made of this most holy man by Socrates and Sozomen. But what was finally discovered by him, a certain scholion explains, which seemed good to transcribe from the margin of the Medicean manuscript: [...] Not dissimilar things are also asserted by Augustine, *De doctrina Christiana*, regarding Anthony, who is declared to have possessed the divine Scriptures without any knowledge of letters, by hearing them and holding them in memory, and by prudently meditating, to have understood them.

^A And there, the end is attained only by those who are blessed from within; yet the race of such souls is rarer, surely, than that of the phoenix, by which the Egyptians measure their cycles. But the majority of men would labor in vain and wear themselves out, hunting for the intelligible essence without a mind, and especially those whom the primary nature did not impel toward this life. For these few might profit from such an impulse; or rather, I consider the impulse itself to be a mark of a soul that has been set in motion. ^B But the many have not even been moved from within, nor are they aroused to a mind by the second voyage, as it is called, through leisure and quiet. Instead, like others who pursue what is esteemed, they have zealously adopted a noble sect, being of all varieties of backgrounds, and each settling into it according to their need. Concerning these, I clearly argue that they would labor and fret in vain, for they possess neither an innate nor an acquired mind. Indeed, it arguably is not even permitted to think that God dwells in any other part of us than the mind. For this is the temple that befits God. ^C For this reason, the wise men of both the Greeks and the barbarians have taught that the purgative virtues should be pursued, fencing off the entire business of the nature so that it might provide no obstacle to the intellects. This was the intent of those who first established each philosophy. But others confirm the virtues by custom rather than by reason, and they acknowledge three of them; for they do not admit prudence—though they do indeed acknowledge temperance, if we allow that temperance exists according to their view. But it does not exist, unless one introduces some degree of taking them up and securing the virtues together, because of the necessary interconnectedness. ^D Yet they think that they must be temperate, not because they know that one must be temperate, but because they have received a commandment, as if it were an unassailable law, which the one who gave it knows to be necessary, while another gives it for the sake of the thoughts, and because it is useful for the ascent to have nothing of the material within one to be cleansed. But they abstain from sexual unions, for the sake of the thing itself.

^A, and consider that to be the greatest which is the least, and hold the persuasion that the preparation itself is the end. We, however, admire the virtues as the elements of the whole of philosophy. For we greatly approve what is in Plato, that it is forbidden for the impure to handle pure things. Furthermore, the virtues purge by washing away what is alien. But if the soul were indeed good by itself, it would only need cleansing, and would turn out to be good, as it already existed alone. But it is not good at all; for it would never have been able to exist in evil; rather, it is good-like, and holds a middle nature. Virtue, therefore, brings it back when it is inclining toward worse things, and, having dissolved the stain, makes it middle once again. We must definitely also advance toward the Good; but this happens through reason. For "intellect" (*nous*) is a name conjoined with the intelligible objects. As if the end were to look toward heaven, it is not enough not to be bowed down toward the ground, but after the intermediate settlement of the vision, it is necessary besides to turn toward the things above. And indeed, from the virtues one may acquire for himself the utility of being liberated from every affection of matter. But the soul must also be carried higher: because not being evil is by no means enough; but it is necessary also to be godlike: which indeed seems to be nothing else than having withdrawn from the association of the body, and those things which pertain to the body. This, however, is just the same as turning oneself toward God by the benefit of the mind.

^B 9. We, therefore, honoring the virtues, know in what order each one rejoices; namely, that which the first principles of the elements hold for the knowledge of the whole book. For these are the first to occur to those who are being raised up to the mind; yet we do not attain all things through the possession of the virtues, but we have removed that which was an impediment, and we have thus far prepared those things without which it is not even lawful to hope that the end can be achieved. And by this method, being in no way despairing, we strive next, with the help of the mind, in the order which the most ancient and most blessed men devised, toward the end: and I do not know if we, having sought it diligently, shall finally attain it; certainly, he will stumble into it with difficulty who has never been captivated by the love of it, nor has sufficiently explored whether it is to be sought. Yet they discharge themselves excellently from these tasks who consist in this, and inquire nothing else more curiously; for they will not have been evil, inasmuch as they have been purged. But to those to whom it occurs that the common people excel, who have learned ^C by chance that reason is the good of man, and then have disparaged all education, by which the mind is invigorated; they are moved by themselves to strange movements, and they pride themselves, indeed, toward philosophy; but whatever hearing of something false (*parakousma*) ^D may fall upon them, this they rely upon—not by their own vision, but from the history of rumors.

DIONYSII PETAVII NOTES

(30) That "whatever hearing of something false may fall upon them." Cornarius renders it "false dogma," not rightly, as appears from what follows. For if it is a false dogma, how is it rendered depraved by their additions? Nor am I ignorant that "hearing something else" is sometimes taken for a false and perverse narrative, as in Dioscorides in the Preface: Where the most learned interpreter Ruellius

^A has not sufficiently expressed it, using only the name of narrative; for he ought to have added "of a false or perverse narrative." Plutarch, *De Iside et Osiride*: Where I restore the passage (XIX). But in truth, it is never taken simply as a narrative received from another.

By additions they have made it evil and malignant, blind offspring, not worthy ^A of being called "intellect," nor even "discursive reasoning," but rather the fruits of an absurd opinion and an erring phantasy. You might see these men ridiculously disposed, or rather most wretchedly. For it is fitting that we, being human, should not laugh at the calamities of men, but rather lament them. Alas for such discourses! Alas for such dogmas! ^B For if rams were to desire to philosophize, I know not what pursuit they would embrace apart from these. But let us thus address them (for we say this deservedly): O most audacious of all mortals, if we understood that you had happily attained that nobility of soul which Amus, or Zoroaster, or Hermes, or Antonius possessed, we would not think you needed correction or to be led through instruction, as being endowed with an exceptional magnitude of mind, for whom conclusions are themselves like propositions. But if we ever encountered such a man, we would follow him with religious worship and veneration. We, however, perceive you to be inferior to our common nature, and not so much keen-witted ^C as dense and dull. Justly, therefore, do we think you should be corrected, and whatever of the best we have thought out, we shall set before you. Either, therefore, persist in the primary elements of knowledge (for these were handed down by divine men), and thus you will be in a middling state according to Plato, no longer unskilled, yet not yet wise, assigning priority to correct opinion without reason and demonstrations. For no discourse will ever allow that which is true to be thought unskilled, nor that which is irrational to be wise. Loving this order, you would have acted with moderation, and would be blameless before God, and blameless also before men; nay, you would even obtain just praise. For a common man, indeed, it is enough and more than enough to know that a thing is. But if you do not remain in your place, ^D but continue to desire what is beyond, and inquire curiously as to why a thing is, you would do well indeed, because a love of that sacred thing, wisdom, has seized you. But beware lest you seek to acquire this thing only among yourselves. For you are unrefined, and not sufficiently exercised; and you are in danger of falling into some abyss of prattle (or, into that of love of wealth), and being corrupted; an outcome which Socrates himself feared, and he did not conceal this suffering from his friends, Parmenides and Zeno. And yet, that man was Socrates; but you, as you are—yet the audacity is terrible, that you dare to leap into ineffable dogmas, and this in vulgar turns of phrase. The offspring of Cadmus, it is said, once brought forth armed men, the "sown ones"; but as for "sown" theologians, no fable has ever yet spun such a wonder. For the truth is not a thing laid out, nor cast down, nor to be captured by hunting. What then? Here let philosophy be called an ally; and let them prepare to endure all that long course, ten thousand cubits in length, while being instructed, and

ptured by hunting. What then? Here let philosophy be called an ally; and let them prepare to endure all that long course, ten thousand cubits in length, while being instructed, and ^A prepare to grasp both the disciplines and the rudiments of the disciplines. For, first of all, rusticity must be cast off, and the lesser mysteries must be beheld before the greater, and one must join the dance before one carries the torch, and one must carry the torch before one becomes a minister of the sacred rites. Will you not therefore willingly endure labors upon labors? But not even great things are attained without dusting. Yet if you had approached the matter at the proper time, you would have derived some pleasure from it, such as those who make progress are accustomed to perceive. But you are ashamed of late learning; while for there to be such a thing is not disgraceful; but ignorance is a far greater disgrace; established in which, you are not content with it simply: for long ago you would have attained a moderate state, knowing nothing and professing to know nothing, which is to be skilled by half; for this at least you would know, that there is no knowledge of anything in you. But you magnificently bring upon yourselves a double ignorance; for, filled with arrogance and pride in place of wisdom, and setting yourselves to teach before you have learned, I say it again: Alas for the words! Alas for the doctrines! What monsters they are that are bred ^B among you, disjointed and many-headed, such as they say once rose up against the gods. And what, one might say, is this, if not to tear apart the whole divine nature with absurd suppositions about it? This would by no means happen if you had not departed from the state of the unlearned and ignorant; but the success of that matter was assuredly placed in moderation. Since Icarus disdained the use of his feet, he suddenly fell from both air and earth: the one he had despised, the other he had not reached.

10. These things are said not so much against those who follow the other way of life, as against those among us who, with folly, speak magnificently, and who have given this book the opportunity to assist the liberal disciplines; how much any one would wish to pay for these arrogant and insipid men, they would surely cost a great deal if they were exchanged at three for an obol. But I, for my part, feel the greatest gratitude toward learned and elegant poets, and toward excellent orators, and to anyone who has composed a history worthy of human speech: and in short, I wish that no one of those who has contributed to the common utility of the Greeks anything that was excellent should go unhonored, ^C because they took us as children and nursed us, and while we were yet weak in mind, they tended us, giving us the benefit of their teachings [or: of their care].

ept. ad artes*: Καὶ τούτῳ οὐκ αἰσχρὸν τὸν μὲν οἰκέτην δραχμῶν εἶναι μυρίων ἄξιον, αὐτὸν δὲ τὸν δεσπότην αὐτοῦ μηδεμιᾶς, καὶ τί λέγω μηδεμιᾶς, οὐδ' ἂν προῖκά τις τὸν τοιοῦτον λάβοι. ^A For no one could have accepted such things in their unmixed state, both on account of their bitterness and the tenderness of the senses at that time. Having thus braced them, and passed them on from one person to another, they surrendered them to the sciences; and these, in turn, prepared them to be able to reach for the peaks. And when they have arrived there, whenever they perceive that their souls are covered in sweat and our nature is giving up, they gently summon them back again. And Calliope, taking them up while they are full of dust, grants them rest by leading them to flowering meadows, so that they may not be worn out by the toil, and sets before them a feast of Attic flourishes and poetic seasoning; by which she first charms the original [stiffness], then secretly stimulates it, ^B and little by little turns it back; and finally, she trains them for the struggle again. But whoever does not consider the Muses a mere preliminary, but thinks that the very power of wisdom resides in them, and does not wish to understand even if they hint at or signify something profound, but instead admires only the superficial beauty that lies before him, and gapes at it, and is held captive by it—not even he has done anything terrible, but many good things may indeed come to him, as a man of musical and graceful taste. For even if we do not admire the swans as we do the eagles, which are carried high above all that can be seen, still we are wonderfully delighted by the sight and the song of the swans; and as far as I am concerned, may none of the swans ever sing their final song. But if those are royal, and dwell near the scepters of Zeus, and some child of Zeus has been allotted them, they are not excluded from the tripod. ^C But to be both an eagle and a swan, and to possess the advantages of both, is denied to birds by nature, but granted by God to man, to whom He has given both to excel in speech and to be able to attain philosophy.

11. The case has been pleaded against those uncultured men who are also estranged from the Muses, who maliciously seek to escape the reproach of their own ignorance by taking refuge in slander of things they do not know. If, however, anything too serious has been said beyond our initial promise, ^D not a little of what is serious sometimes escapes from those who are playing. Although it is possible for something to be done in such a way that it is not practiced out of habit, if we are playing for the most part, we do not wander entirely away from the subject. For we insert serious matters into our pleasantries; the occasion for which arose from the fact that we wished to speak some testimony to the credit of Dion.

NOTES OF DIONYSIUS PETAVIUS

^A and all kinds of courses. For the impulses of children are indefinite. Such is the field, likewise freedom, and the writing of speeches that are not to be declaimed against the water clock. For I once saw a judge of capital cases, who, having measured out the interval of speaking for those pleading their cause, consumed a part of the measured time himself by sleeping, and another part by watching in vain, and was very far removed from the matter at hand; ^B yet the orator spoke nonetheless, as one who must necessarily be silent before long. But he leaves me free, nor does the anxiety of a set time press upon me, since I am neither preparing to speak before so inept a judge, nor am I about to enter a theater, which is far more unfair than the forum, with the doors beaten upon all around, and having promised urban youths some most delightful performance. For most miserable is the condition of those who parade their speeches in theaters. For who has to satisfy such diverse judgments of men, does he not seek out such things as human powers are unable to attain? Truly, therefore, that man is a popular orator, a public slave, beholden to all, whom it is in the power of anyone to treat in the worst way. For if some ridiculous person approaches, it is all over for the sophist; if, indeed, a grim and sullen auditor, he also holds him in suspicion. For a sophist is, whatever kind of speech he puts forth, one who begs for opinion instead of truth. And the one who focuses his mind deeply is also troublesome to him, as if he were studying to catch some handle for censure. And no less he who turns his head around, as if finding the things being displayed disgusting. And yet he experiences harsh masters ^C quite undeservedly, he who has spent very many sleepless nights, and has been worn down and exhausted for many days; and he has near about distilled his very soul with hunger and anxiety, so that he might select something excellent; and he comes bringing a hearing that is charming and sweet to his haughty favorites, for whom he fares poorly, though he considers himself healthy. But he has even bathed before the mistress, and has met her, in clothing and demeanor of an elegant kind, so that he might also be a beautiful spectacle. And he smiles at the theater, and feigns joy, but his soul is strained. Since he has also consumed tragacanth, in order that he might utter a flow and well-sounding speech. This, indeed, not even the most solemn of them would pretend, unless it were of great concern to him, and he had been busy with things regarding his voice, he who even in the middle of the display turned around and asked for his oil flask ^D (38), and the attendant handed it to him—for he had prepared it long before—and he gulps it down and gargles, for the sake of attacking the youths... [index: entries preserved]

^A in the assembly. ^B Yet the wretched man does not realize that he is not even pleasing to his hearers; rather, they would wish him to cease—for they would laugh. They would wish, too, that his mouth alone, like a statue's, were gaping open (40), and his hand, and that he were thereafter more silent than a statue; for they would have long since been relieved, had they been able. But I, for my part, sing for myself, and I sing to these cypress trees; and this water of mine flows on a divine course (or, "through the courses"), unmeasured, and not stored according to a clepsydra (41), which some public servant might distribute. But if I do not stop as yet, I shall stop presently; or if not, then after a very long time; still, I shall certainly not continue singing into the night. But even when I have stopped, it flows, and it will grow and flow by night, and by day, and unto the next year, and always. Why, then, must I be a slave to a time limit, when I am free to take my fill of self-rule and to spin out my words as I think they should be spun? I am not judged by the negligence of my audience, but I set myself as the measure. For to me, God gave this life—to be masterless and free; and I have not acquired three or two disciples of my own, for whom I would need to travel to a designated place and discourse about the matters laid before them. For I knew that I was curtailing much of my freedom,

DION. PETAVIUS’S NOTES

and the throat must be coated with sweet medicine so that theatrical movements might be heard in the church, and songs; but with fear, in the work, and in the knowledge of the Scriptures. Nor did they rely only on the allurements of the voice, but also on a certain kind of food. Isidore, *De eccles. off.*, c. 12, says that singers were formerly called "bean-eaters," because they used legumes to cure the voice.

...*lib. 1, ep. 13*: Although they go sluggishly to listen, many sit in the stations and waste time listening to stories, and continually ask to be told whether the reciter has already entered, has finished his preface, or has read a great part of the book: then, at length, they come slowly and hesitantly, and yet they do not stay, but leave before the end, some stealthily and secretly, others openly and freely. Synesius uses the same [terms]... For "to gape" is to open the mouth: "to extend" is the same as to raise and stretch out the hand.

...Everyone has heard that the clepsydra was a certain vessel used for judicial purposes. But it is not equally well-known what its form was. For anyone would have falsely persuaded himself that it was similar to our own, with which we divide the intervals of the hours. For the ancients’ clepsydra did not consist of two vessels, but of one only, and the water in it was not perpetual, but was such as was poured in and transmitted piece by piece, received, as I suppose, in a vessel placed below; or at any rate, that which was new for individual cases and was poured out, having been weighed. Now, on one side, there was a thin and narrow hole: on which side, that is, the orifice was fashioned like a neck in turn, through which the water would flow drop by drop, as Apuleius writes in *Metamorphoses*. But on the other side, there was not one hole, but many, through which the water was poured in. Hence, the name of "clepsydra" was transferred, as I think, to those vessels which we use for watering the small garden beds; the orifices of which have an equal single hole, [while] in the bottom it flows out through several. From this, the verses of Empedocles receive light and in turn provide it—verses which are praised by Aristotle, *lib. De respir.* c. 7:

"Just as when a child, Playing with a water-clock of glistening bronze, Whenever she places the tube’s passage upon her comely hand And dips the soft, silvery body into the water, No rain enters into the vessel, but it [stays], A mass of air having fallen inside upon the thick holes."

...the passage of the tube, the thick holes... Clepsydra [is] a fountain, or that which was previously called *empedon*. It also signifies the vessel; and it has drains extending into the Phalerian district as a clock, a device of a sort in which the hours are measured... It signifies also the vessel, a clock, or the court.

"The mind flies during the night concerning the clepsydra"—instead of "concerning the court"—and so [he struck] the orator. "Necessity," the judicial clepsydra. But some think that *ananke* also refers to a judicial vessel, as Aristophanes says in the *Wasps*, where the [XXI] scholium, for the true meaning of the name, the scholiast adds that when all the water had flowed out, the orator was struck by the attendant with a rod (for so I understand these things, lest by speaking he consume time and take it away from the others). Another thing which pertains to the same word, I shall add, worthy of no less observation. Hesychius writes that the clepsydra was called by another name. Pollux speaks hesitantly, *lib. VIII*: [original-script column: see facsimile]

^A but first I should have a need to examine the book 42.

The Philosophers' Books and the Grammarians

^D

Dion Petavius' Notes

43 *Phuontai men gar epi logois*, etc. See Plato in the *Theaetetus*.

^A 13. This is the life of the master. Let us exclude from this discourse anyone who, either by nature or by the difficulties inherent in the matter, has turned out to be exceptional—if indeed one or two such exist. For it could happen even in that case, and in every individual practice, that some appear superior, so as not to be caught by the passions that naturally attach to and sprout alongside it. For truly, once a master ^B has attached to himself those who are to admire him, he will not accept anything from anyone who says anything else. There is a risk of being looked down upon, and of seeing the young lads flying away. For if he does not differ [from the others], he has destroyed his premise; yet he must be maintained as a master. It is therefore fated for the man who is a master to be also envious, which is the greatest and most material of the passions. And he will pray ^C that no one in the city becomes wise; for if someone does, he will damage his reputation, so that he alone may be looked upon. He will sit there like a vessel filled to the brim, which can no longer contain anything more. He holds nothing good, being a malicious and envious man. How then could anyone be delivered from a man to whom it is not permitted to become better? But Socrates even offered himself to Prodicus, so that he might profit if he were able, ^D and allowed Hippias to say something, and went to Protagoras, and introduced the wealthiest of the young men to such a class of sophists. For Socrates did not pretend to be wise; for he *was* wise. And the young men, if they had paid attention, could easily have known who was the teacher, Protagoras, and who was the learner, Socrates. But even Glaucon and Critias debated with him in similar fashion; and not even Simon the cobbler considered it right to yield entirely to Socrates, but disputed the account of every logical point. And Cleitophon even insulted him in the presence of Lysias the sophist, as did the company of Thrasymachus.

^A Socrates, however, was not at all angered by these things, and Cleitophon judged him wrongly in thinking so. It was enough for Socrates that Phaedrus happened along, and he followed Phaedrus as he led the way outside the city; he patiently listened to the tedious discourse, and in return set forth another one for him, so as to grant a favor to Phaedrus. So easy-going was he, and he did not put on airs before men. Such, indeed, was Xanthippe—alas, for the contempt!—in how she treated Socrates. Yet nothing of this prevented him from dwelling most happily in that contempt. And so it does not prevent me, nor any other man who has not subjected himself to this many-headed beast, glory, but pleases God and himself; for he both wishes and knows how to converse with men in a human manner.

For Socrates, even when dealing with the most absurd of discourses—namely, the one that slanders love—is able to transform it into a truer one; and he will immediately transform it, and will sing of the chariot of Zeus, and the sacred driving of the eleven gods. For Vesta alone remains in the dwelling of the gods. He will sing, moreover, of the souls that accompany the gods, and the fierce struggle they have to rise above the ridges of heaven. There, moreover, he dares to expound the reckless and bold discourse to the lad ^B at that spot across the river, by the very plane tree where he had spoken and competed against the sophist Lysias. And speaking to the same lad—I do not mean Phaedrus (for he was already a youth and a man), but a lad is introduced who is beautiful and in his prime—he persuades and dissuades him in turn concerning love, and jests and acts in earnest with him. What, then, if I, too, should wish to jest and act in good faith with my own lad, whom God has promised to me for the following year, though he is already present with me? For I desire him to be excellent in both regards, that he may be able to speak correctly and at the same time know all things: ^C and not to despise Socrates, who did not disdain to be able to adorn with his discourse those who were buried in public, even though he thought this was a task greater than his own powers. For he used to attribute this power of speech to Aspasia, to whom he used to resort for the sake of these amatory matters.

^D PETAVIUS’ NOTES ON DION. Just as the conclusion of Thrasymachus and Secundus proves, they make him a Carthaginian when he was a Chalcedonian, as is well known from Plato. A corrupted manuscript of Philostratus, which has "Carthaginian" for "Chalcedonian," clearly misled them, a type of error that frequently occurs. Thus, in Clement of Alexandria’s *Stromata*, book V, Xenocrates is called a Carthaginian, though he was a Chalcedonian. In the history of Sapor and Heraclius in Paul the Deacon, book XVIII, chapter 6, and Cedrenus, a huge error has arisen from this. For they report that in the sixth year of Heraclius, this city [Chalcedon] was captured by the Persians, namely Carthage; which many thereafter inscribed in their own annals, namely that Carthage was conquered by Sapor. But that is false: for they never reached Africa. Therefore, instead of "Carthage," it should have been written "Chalcedon," for Sapor was besieging Chalcedon at that time.

^A If, however, you have noticed in the case of Aspasia and Socrates some amatory matters, about which Socrates was discoursing at that time with Aspasia, you will easily understand that philosophy, having overseen the final mysteries, will everywhere recognize and embrace what is honorable, and will praise rhetoric, and will lay hold of Aspasia and poetry. For Socrates indeed engaged in this ^B directly—not the boy, nor the young Socrates, but he who, then of advanced age, was spending time in prison, at a time when, being of such an advanced age—and in such distress, though what indeed could even be a distress to Socrates?—it was the least time for playing; yet it was such that in these circumstances there was certainly no place for playing. And yet he professed to be obeying God; and we must not disbelieve him, for he had linked Him to himself in the communion of the work. Or is that not a poet who possesses the oracles at Pytho, and, by Zeus, at the Branchidae? And yet he claims the poetry of Homer ^C for himself as if it were his own: "I sang them, and the divine Homer wrote them down."

Those who reject all eloquence are therefore, in their conceit of wisdom, unaware that they are assigning the secondary parts to Apollo, and to Aspasia, and to Socrates, next to themselves. We, however, urge the boy toward all kinds of disciplines, and we shall join in prayers with him that, before he has in some way or other imbibed rhetoric and poetry, and is able to possess a mind, and through these to defend them, he may not fall in with a man having boldness, and set against ^D the Muses. For how could he make use of his ancestral property? For I have indeed made the fields fewer than I had received, and many of my servants have attained the same rights of citizenship as I; but as for gold, I have it neither in women’s ornaments nor in coined money (for whatever there was, I spent it all, just as Pericles did, upon necessary uses); but I have shown myself to have gathered books many times more than those bequeathed to me, and you must needs be able to make use of all these.

14. But if, because I did not provide you with the more corrected writings of Dio, through which the discourse also proceeded to such a length, you on this account dislike your father, not even anything else has been corrected for you from the same disposition. For Dio will have no need of an excuse for this. Again, therefore, there will be a need

for help to be summoned from rhetoric. But I shall provide a law from philosophy. ^A Pythagoras, son of Mnesarchus the Samian, is credited with a law, which law does not permit [one] to make additions to books; but it desires them to remain as they were in the first draft, of whatever fortune or art they were composed. Now, in oratory, the law is that which is un-rhetorical, for it is counted among the "irrational" proofs: because it carries weight not through the persuasion of the speaker, but through the constitution [of the state]. And yet some of our own [orators] pride themselves on being orators on account of such things, though they are purely clerks. But they, even if they bring forward witnesses, while the hinge of the case turns on these things, will think that they have won their suit through their own efforts; so charming and youthful are they. But since ^B we are not reciting the law from the Roman tables, so that it may have authority even over the unwilling, but it is that of a certain ancient philosopher, there is need of some persuasion of words, so that speech may serve as law. We must take care, however, not to say something greater about minor things again. For I know not how the impetus of speaking carries us away from these very minor things to graver ones. Therefore, we shall take care, as much as we are able: but if it be entirely necessary, we shall repeat something of what has been said. And if this suffices, we shall do quite well if we do not curiously invent anything further. [15.] There will speak, then, Pythagoras, or whoever may be the follower and advocate of Pythagoras; since that law of his is being uttered. ^C It is best, indeed, to have been born with a mind sufficient for any pursuit, this being already a mind that is effectively productive of this—rhetoric, that is, or poetry—if not indeed towards everything most naturally gifted. And already some have come here of this sort, having magnitude, or a kinship toward knowledge, for whom learning was not needed, but they themselves became examples of the art. But the multitude of men has not been allotted this good fortune in such a way—nay, for some of them it is far from being the case—but they remain with only the power to understand; and while they approach or stand at a distance from the end more or less, they are led to it by those minds that consist in action, that is, by the effects that follow from their actions. And the whole study of books tends to this one point: it summons our power into activity. ^D Beginning, indeed, everywhere under the guidance of letters, and depending on the perception [of the senses]: but as it proceeds, let it make trial of its own strength, and not depend entirely upon the syllables. For just as any other problem is welcomed because the difficulty of perplexed matters exercises the ingenuity of one's thought: so too, when the mind is compelled to supply and weave together what is missing for the sequence of the narrative, and does not have everything presented to the eyes, it becomes more exercised in venturing something similar on its own, and thereby becomes accustomed not to depend on others, but to be contained within itself. For those corrupted books seem to seek after the mind, which presides over the eyes. [16.] This the teaching of Pythagoras used to enjoin even upon the very young, at once making trial of the nature [of each].

and at the same time considering it an exercise, still more suited to the minds of children than the assumptions of plane figures in geometry. For it is no great labor, having adapted a letter, or a syllable, or even a word, or if you prefer, one entire period of speech, to make use of those things which are in the book readily and at hand. And this is entirely similar to what happens to the nestlings of eagles. For when they first begin to fly, the parents take them up and let them go from a height, as it were permitting them to make use of their own wings; but immediately afterward they take them back, anticipating the weakness of their age. And this they do ^B often, until they have practiced flying. I, then, will play the youth not before any other, but before you, I will speak the truth. Often I do not even wait for the mishap of the book, in order that some good thing may come to me, but I myself lift my eyes, and exercise myself with the writing, not interrupting even for a moment, but releasing [my thoughts] to the occasion; and, as if reading from my own mind, I insert whatever seems to me to be the logical consequence. Then I examine what I have said against what has been written; and often I know that I have hit upon the same meaning, and even the same word: ^C and already at times I have been accurate in the thought, but what I added differed in its phrasing, yet it was most perfectly fitted to the harmony of the composition. And even if the mind were different, yet it was fitting to that man who wrote the book, and whom he would not have disdained, had he thought of it. And I already once recall, when men were sitting around, and I happened to have in my hands one of the noble and stable compositions, and they asked me to read it for a common hearing, I did so. But if ever an occasion were provided, I would further discover something, and I would add an interpretation; not, by the deity who presides over letters, doing this ^D by deliberate plan and thought, but yielding to the mind and tongue those things which occurred spontaneously. And then a great noise was raised by all, and applause broke out, as they praised that man whose the composition was, not least on account of these very additions. Thus did God make my soul a soft mold of the characters in words and in dispositions. And if I had striven to exercise the attention of my mind on faulty books, nature would have brought [my] habit to that state of perfection. Those who have had their ears bored, the echo and the modulation of the song even when it has ceased still leads along, and they remain for a long time held captive by the flute-playing. I, moreover, have often sung tragically with tragedies, and answered in comedies with sharp and festive chatter, according to the labor of each one who wrote. You might say that I am a contemporary now of Cratinus and Crates, now of Diphilus and Philemon. And there is not a form of any art of versification or poetry, toward which I do not set myself and perform the test; both making whole compositions for others, and [molding them like] wax upon wax, cleaner, or softer, or harder.

^A being compared to different styles, and since there are all kinds of linguistic characters, and they differ greatly, it is necessary that in each of the imitations my own peculiarity (61) should also resound; just as the lowest (62) string, remaining itself, resounds the rhythm for the melody that is in motion.

DION. PETAVII NOTES. (61) And my own peculiarity. Just as the bridges sound in the instruments, so Dion sounds his own peculiarity. (62) Just as the lowest string. The melody is inflected in various ways, and it has "plasma": but the sound of the lowest string is uniform and simple. Moreover, even when it is not struck, it sounds with others. And Aristotle, sect. 19, Problem., quæst. 43, brings forward the reason why, if anyone strikes the plucked nete, the hypate alone gives a sound.

NOTICE ON THE FOLLOWING OPUSCULE

There follows the *Encomium on Baldness*: a work certainly playful, yet one to which you would not prefer any of the serious works in terms of the polish of elegance, or the subtlety of things, or the variety of reasons and arguments; so that it is a wonder that in such a small matter there should have been such erudition and ability. But of course, just as those excellent craftsmen, in forming tiny animals and slight works of that sort, prove their art and industry more clearly than in some laborious and difficult mass, so our playful author, in the eulogy of a most worthless thing, displayed a certain immense power and richness of genius. Bald men were also celebrated later by Hucbald, a monk of St. Amand at Elnon in the tenth century, in a poem to Charles the Bald, all the words of which begin with the letter C, with this beginning: *Carmina clarisonæ calvis cantate camœnæ.* See *Patr. Latinæ*, vol. CXXXII, col. 1041. The most learned man J. Geel, general superintendent of the library of the University of Leyden, etc., etc., in a letter directed to the illustrious Hase and published at Leyden in the year 1839, in-8, brings forward sufficiently probable arguments from which he attempts to prove that what Synesius cites from the *Encomium on Hair* of Dio Chrysostom is not to be considered as a fragment, but is the entire work of Dio which those who are studious of antiquity grieve to have lost. Ed.

JOANNES GEORGIUS KRABINGER: PREFACE

(Synesius of Cyrene's *Encomium on Baldness*, edited according to the authority of several codices, provided with a German translation, and with annotations added by Joannes Georgius Krabinger, keeper of the Royal Library at Munich. Stuttgart, 1834, in-8.)

For two hundred years now, from the time when Dionysius Petavius, a man of the highest genius and excellent learning, illustrated the works of SYNESIUS OF CYRENE with his secondary labors, I grieved that no man of learning had appeared who would adorn a new edition of the most eloquent and elegant philosopher—so much the more as I was more vehemently delighted by reading him; whence now many years ago I formed the plan of devoting my own work, such as it is, to this writer, especially since the Royal Library of Munich exhibits several Synesian codices, and those not to be despised, by which a remedy can be brought to such an author, who has drawn no small number of faults from the negligence of librarians and the injury of the times.

Meanwhile, however, when it happened that, aided most liberally by the singular benevolence of friends, I procured for myself the resources of foreign libraries as well, after the oration *On Kingship*, which appeared at Munich in the bookstore of Ion. Jos. Lentner in the year 1825, I resolved to labor mainly on revising and interpreting the *Encomium on Baldness* and the *Egyptian* books, or *On Providence*, which will shortly appear from the presses of the Seidel brothers.

ENCOMIUM ON BALDNESS

In editing this little book, truly most ingenious and delightful, which our author himself declared he especially cherished, I saw to it primarily that, with the help of manuscripts—and those indeed most ancient and excellent among them—I might publish the text, as they call it, in a more corrected form. Furthermore, since there has been no one hitherto who translated this work into the native tongue, it seemed not at all foreign to me to add the German translation which I had prepared. Regarding this matter—and this I must mention—I have behaved in such a way that the Homeric verses, with which Synesius ornamented his writing in the manner of Dio, as well as the Aratean ones, I have presented most accurately from the excellent translation of I. H. Voss. Regarding the critical and exegetical commentary, that nothing be wanting for the kind reader, I decided to insert also the annotations of Dionysius Petavius, yet in such a way that I diligently tested the places of ancient authors cited by that distinguished man against the fidelity of the best and most recent editions, and here and there purged them of errors. Nor did I fail to include the annotations of other learned men, which they gave for their books when the occasion arose. As for the rest, to Christian Walz, a most humane man, who, although occupied with various affairs, nevertheless for my sake perused the galley proofs still wet from the press, and to Eduard Adam, a most skillful young man and student of theology at the Evangelical Seminary in Tübingen, to whom this business had been entrusted in his [Walz's] absence, I extend the greatest thanks I possibly can.

Munich, on the solstice of the year 1834. Jo. Georgius Krabingerus.

INDEX Of books, both handwritten and printed, which I have used in preparing this edition.

A. — CODICES. I. Monacenses (Munich). A. Monacensis 476, formerly Augustanus, 13th century, cotton paper, quarto form, 106 leaves. See Ign. Hardt, *Catalogus Codicum mss. Graece. Biblioth. Reg. Bavar.*, Vol. V, p. 6 ff. B. Monacensis 481, formerly Augustanus, 14th century, cotton paper, quarto form, 220 leaves. See Hardt, ibid., p. 27 ff. C. Monacensis 515, formerly Augustanus, 15th century, paper, quarto form, 265 leaves. See Hardt, ibid., p. 269 ff. D. Monacensis 29, 16th century, paper, largest form, 413 leaves. See Hardt, Vol. I, p. 162 ff. E. Monacensis 87, of the same century, paper, largest form, 380 leaves. See Hardt, ibid., p. 485 ff. I have collated these books myself.

II. Florentini (Florence, Laurentian Library). A. Florentinus Plut. 55. No. 6, 11th century, parchment, quarto form, 56 leaves. See Bandini, *Catalogus Codd. mss. Graece. Biblioth. Laurent.*, Vol. II, p. 240 ff. B. Florentinus Plut. 80. No. 19, 12th century, parchment, quarto form, 247 leaves. See Bandini, *Catalogus* cited, Vol. III, p. 208. The variants of these codices were noted by my most learned and amiable friends, Philippus Bassus, professor of ancient history in the school which they call "normal" in Paris, and Fridericus Reinholdus Dietzius of Königsberg, the future savior of Hippocrates.

III. Parisini (Paris, Royal Library). A. Parisinus, formerly Coislinianus No. 249, about the 10th century, parchment, 168 leaves. See Montfaucon, *Bibliotheca Coisliniana*, formerly Segueriana, p. 302 ff. B. Parisinus 1039, 12th century, as it seems, written on parchment. See *Catalogus Codicum mss. Bibliothecae Reg.*, Vol. II, p. 206. C. Parisinus 1038, 14th century, as it seems, written on paper. See the catalog cited, Vol. II, p. 205 ff. D. Parisinus 1040, written in the year of Christ 1325, paper, quarto form, 264 leaves (witness Imman. Bekker on Plato's *Dialogues*, Part I, Vol. I, p. X), brought to the Royal Library from Constantinople. See the same catalog, Vol. II, p. 206. I owe the variant readings of these four manuscripts to the notable benevolence of my friend Bassus.

IV. Romani (Rome). Barberinus 286, 13th to 14th century, cotton paper, octavo form. Vaticanus 92, 13th century, cotton paper, octavo form. See Montfaucon, *Bibliotheca Bibliothecarum Manuscriptorum*, Vol. I, p. 8b. My friend Bassus examined both books in the year 1826, while he was sojourning for some time in Rome.

V. Veneti (Venice, Marcian Library). A. Venetus 436, 14th century, cotton paper, quarto form, 161 leaves. B. Venetus 264, of the same century, cotton paper, large quarto form, 365 leaves. C. Venetus 442, 15th century, paper, largest form, 230 leaves. The variant readings of these codices were most kindly transcribed for my use by my friend Dietzius in the month of November, 1828.