The Dinner of the Seven Wise Men (15-19)

Solon said, What need was there to ask him this? For it is plain that the next best thing to the greatest and highest of all good is to require the minimum amount of food; or is it not the general opinion that the greatest good is to require no food at all?j

Not mine by any means, said Cleodorus, if I must tell what lies in my mind, especially as a table

stands here now, which they do away with when food is done away with, and it is an altar of the gods of friendship and hospitality. And as Thales says that, if the earth be done away with, confusion will possess the universe, so this is the dissolution of the household. For when the table is done away with, there go with it all these other things: the altar fire on the hearth, the hearth itself, wine-bowls, all entertainment and hospitality,—the most humane and the first acts of communion between man and man; rather is all real living abolished, if so be that living is a spending of time by man which involves carrying on a series of activities,[*] most of which are called for by the need of food and its procurement. And a dreadful situation ensues, my friend, regarding agriculture itself. For let agriculture be destroyed, and it leaves us our earth again unsightly and unclean, filled with unfruitful forests and with streams sweeping on unchecked, all owing to man’s inaction. And with the destruction of agriculture goes also the destruction of all arts and crafts which she initiates, and for which she supplies the basis and the material; and these all come to naught if she vanishes from the earth. Abolished too are the honours paid to the gods, since men will have but little gratitude to the Sun, and still less to the Moon, for merely light and warmth. Where will there be an altar or where a sacrifice offered to Zeus who sends the rain, or to Demeter who initiates the ploughing, or to Poseidon who watches over the tender crops? How shall Dionysus be the giver of delights, if we shall require none of the gifts which he gives? What shall we offer as a sacrifice or libation, and what shall we dedicate as first-fruits? All this means the over turning and confusion of our highest concerns. To cling to every form of pleasure is utterly irrational, but to avoid every form of pleasure is utterly insensate. Let it be granted that there exist some other superior pleasures for the soul to enjoy, yet it is not possible to discover a way for the body to attain a pleasure more justifiable than that which comes from eating and drinking, and this is a fact which no man can have failed to observe; for this pleasure men put forward openly before all, and share together banquets and table, whereas their carnal delights they veil behind the screen of night and deep darkness, feeling that to share this pleasure openly is shameless and bestial, as it is also not to share the other. [*]

I took up the conversation as Cleodorus left off, and said, But there is another point you do not mention, that we banish sleep along with food; and with no sleep there can be no dream, and our most ancient and respected form of divination is gone for ever. Life will have a monotonous sameness, and we might say that the encasement of the soul in the body will lack all purpose and effect. The most, and the most important, of the bodily organs, tongue, teeth, stomach, and liver, are provided as instruments of nutrition, no one of them is inactive, nor is it framed for any other form of usefulness. So he who has no need of food has no need of a body either; and that again would mean having no need of himself! For it is with a body that each one of us exists. This then, said I, makes up the contributions which we offer to the belly; and if Solon or anybody else desires to impeach them in any way, we will listen.

Certainly, said Solon, let us not show ourselves to be less discriminating than the Egyptians, who cut open the dead body and expose it to the sun, and then cast certain parts of it into the river, and perform their offices on the rest of the body, feeling that this part has now at last been made clean. For this, in truth, it is which constitutes the pollution of our flesh and its bowels of Hell, as it were, teeming with frightful streams and wind, intermingled with burning fire and corpses.[*] For no living man feeds upon another living creature; nay, we put to death the animate creatures and destroy these things that grow in the ground, which also are partakers in life, in that they absorb food, and increase in size; and herein we do wrong. For anything that is changed from what it was by nature into something else is destroyed, and it undergoes utter corruption that it may become the food of another.[*] But to refrain entirely from eating meat, as they record of Orpheus [*] of old, is rather a quibble than a way of avoiding wrong in regard to food. The one way of avoidance and of keeping oneself pure, from the point of view of righteousness, is to become sufficient unto oneself and to need nothing from any other source. But in the case of man or beast for whom God has made his own secure existence impossible without his doing injury to another, it may be said that in the nature which God has inflicted upon him lies the source of wrong. Would it not, then, be right and fair, my friend, in order to cut out injustice, to cut out also bowels and stomach and liver, which afford us no perception or craving for anything noble, but are

like cooking utensils, such as choppers and kettles, and, in another respect, like a baker’s outfit, ovens and dough-containers and kneading-bowls? Indeed, in the case of most people, one can see that their soul is absolutely confined in the darkness of the body as in a mill, making its endless rounds in its concern over its need of food; just as we ourselves, only a few minutes ago, as a matter of course, neither saw nor listened to one another, but each one was bending down, enslaved to his need of food. But now that the tables have been removed, we have, as you see, been made free, and, with garlands on, we are spending our time in conversation and in the enjoyment of one another’s society, and we have the leisure to do this now that we have come to require no more food for a time. Assuming, then, that the state in which we find ourselves at the present moment will persist without interruption throughout our whole life, shall we not always have leisure to enjoy one another’s society, having no fear of poverty and no knowledge of what wealth is? For craving for the superfluous follows close upon the use of necessities, and soon becomes a settled habit,

But Cleodorus imagines that there ought to be food, so that there may be tables and wine-bowls and sacrifices to Demeter and the Daughter. Then let the next man argue that it is but right and proper that there be battles and war, so that we may have fortifications and dockyards and arsenals, and may offer sacrifice to celebrate the slaying of an hundred foemen,[*] as they say is the custom among the Messenians. Still another man, I imagine, may enter

tain a violent hatred against health; for it will be a terrible thing if nobody is ill, and there is no longer any use for a soft bed or couch, and we shall not offer sacrifice to Asclepius or the averting deities, and the profession of medicine together with its numerous instruments and remedies shall be consigned to inglorious desuetude and contempt. Yet, what difference is there between this sort of reasoning and the other? The fact is that food is taken as a remedy for hunger, and all who use food in a prescribed way are said to be giving themselves treatment, not with the thought they are doing something pleasant and grateful, but that this is necessary to comply with Nature’s imperative demand. Indeed, it is possible to enumerate more pains than pleasures derived from food; or rather may it be said that the pleasure affects but a very limited area in the body, and lasts for no long time; but as for the ugly and painful experiences crowded upon us by the bother and discomfort which wait upon digestion, what need to tell their number? I think that Homer [*] had their very number in view when, in the case of the gods, he finds an argument to prove that they do not die in the fact that they do not live by food:

Since they eat no bread and drink no wine brightly sparkling, Therefore their bodies are bloodless, and they are called the Immortals.

He intimates by this that food is not only an element conducive to life, but that it is also conducive to death. For it is from this source that diseases come, thriving on the very same food as men’s bodies,[*] which find no less ill in fulness than in fasting. For oftentimes it is harder work to use up and again to distribute food, after it has been taken into the body, than it was to procure it and get it together in the first place. But just as the Danaids would be at a loss to know what kind of life and occupation they should follow if they should be relieved of their drudgery in trying to fill the great jar, so we are at a loss to know, if perchance we should have the opportunity to cease from heaping into this relentless flesh of ours all the multitudinous products of land and sea, what we shall do, since, owing to lack of acquaintance with noble things, we now content ourselves with the life conditioned on necessities. Just as men who have been slaves, when they are set free, do for themselves on their own account those very things which they used to do in service to their masters,[*] so the soul now supports the body with much toil and trouble, but if it be relieved of its drudgery, it will quite naturally maintain itself in its new freedom and live with an eye to itself and the truth, since there will be nothing to distract or divert it.

This then, Nicarchus, is what was said on the subject of food.

While Solon was still speaking, Gorgus, Periander’s brother, came in; for it happened that, in consequence of certain oracles, he had been sent to Taenarum, in charge of a sacred mission to offer due sacrifice to Poseidon. After we had greeted him, and Periander had embraced and kissed him, Gorgus sat down beside his brother on the couch, and gave him a report intended apparently for him alone, and he, as he listened, seemed much affected at the story; for he appeared in some ways troubled, in some ways indignant, and oftentimes incredulous,

and then again amazed. Finally with a laugh he said to us, In the circumstances I should like to tell the news which I have just heard, but I hesitate, since I heard Thales say once that what is probable one should tell, but what is impossible one should shroud in silence.

Thereupon Bias, interrupting, said, But Thales is responsible also for this sage remark, that one should not believe enemies even about things believable, and should believe friends even about things unbelievable; the name enemies he assigned, I think, to the wicked and foolish, and friends to the good and sensible. And so, Gorgus, he continued, it should be told to all, or rather, to compete with those newly invented dithyrambs,[*] there should be heard the stronger notes of the story which your arrival has brought to us.

Gorgus then told us that his offering of the sacrifice had taken three days, and on the last day there was a dance and merry-making, lasting the whole night long, down by the shore. The moon was shining bright upon the sea; there was no wind, but a perfect calm and stillness, when, afar off, was seen a ripple coming towards land close by the promontory, attended by some foam and much noise from its rapid movement, so that they all ran down in amazement to the place where it was coming to shore. Before they could guess what was bearing down upon them so rapidly, dolphins were seen, some forming a dense encircling line, others leading the way to the smoothest part of the shore, and still others behind, forming, as it were, a rear-guard. In their midst,

uplifted above the sea, was a mass like a man’s body being borne along, but indistinct and ill-defined, until the dolphins drew near together, and with one accord came close to the shore, and deposited on land a human being, in whom was still the breath of life and power to move; then they themselves put forth again towards the promontory leaping even higher than before, and sporting and frolicking apparently for joy. Many of us, continued Gorgus, were panic-stricken, and fled from the sea-shore, but a few, including myself, grew bold enough to draw near, and they recognized Arion the harper, who pronounced his own name himself, and was easily recognizable by his dress; for he happened to be clad in the ceremonial robes which he had worn when he played and sang.

We accordingly conducted him to a tent, since there was really nothing the matter with him, save that he seemed somewhat unstrung and wearied by the swiftness and rush of his ride, and we heard from him a story, incredible to all men except to us who with our own eyes had seen its conclusion. Arion said that some time ago he had resolved to leave Italy, and the receipt of a letter from Periander had only stimulated his desire the more, and when a Corinthian merchant-vessel appeared there, he had at once embarked and sailed away from that land. For three days they were favoured by a moderate breeze, and there came over Arion the feeling that the sailors were plotting to make away with him, and later he learned from the pilot, who secretly gave him the information, that they were resolved to do the deed that night. Helpless and at his wits’ end, he put into execution an impulse, divinely inspired, to adorn

his person, and to take for his shroud, while he was still living, the elaborate attire which he wore at competitions, and to sing a final song to life as he ended it, and not to prove himself in this respect less generous than the swans. Accordingly he made himself ready, and, first saying that he was possessed by a desire to sing through one of his songs—the ode to Pythian Apollo—as a supplication for the safety of himself and the ship and all on board, he took his stand beside the bulwark at the stern, and, after a prelude invoking the gods of the sea, he began the ode. He had not even half finished it as the sun was sinking into the sea and the Peloponnesus becoming visible. The sailors therefore waited no longer for the night-time, but advanced to the murderous deed; whereupon Arion, seeing knives bared and the pilot already covering up his face, ran back and threw himself as far away from the ship as possible. But before his body was entirely submerged, dolphins swam beneath him, and he was borne upward, full of doubt and uncertainty and confusion at first. But when he began to feel at ease in being carried in this manner, and saw many dolphins gathering around him in a friendly way, and relieving one another as though such service in alternation were obligatory and incumbent upon all, and the sight of the ship left far behind gave a means to measure their speed, there came into his thoughts, as he said, not so much a feeling of fear in the face of death, or a desire to live, as a proud longing to be saved that he might be shown to be a man loved by the gods, and that he might gain a sure opinion regarding them. At the same time, observing that the sky was dotted with stars, and the moon was rising bright and clear, while the sea everywhere was without a wave as if a path were being opened for their course, he bethought himself that the eye of Justice is not a single eye only,[*] but through all these eyes of hers God watches in every direction the deeds that are done here and there both on land and on the sea. By these reflections, he said, the weariness and heaviness which he was already beginning to feel in his body were relieved, and when at the last, as the jutting promontory, rugged and lofty, appeared in their path, they rounded it with great caution, and skirted close to the land as if they were bringing a boat safely into harbour, then he fully realized that his rescue had been guided by God’s hand.

When Arion had told all this, continued Gorgus, I asked him where he thought the ship would make harbour; and he replied that it would surely come to Corinth, but its arrival would be much later; for he thought that after he had thrown himself overboard in the evening, he had been carried a distance of not less than fifty or more miles, and a calm had fallen immediately. Gorgus went on to say that he had ascertained the name of the captain and of the pilot, and the ship’s emblem, and had sent out boats and soldiers to the landing-places to keep strict watch; moreover, he had brought Arion with him, carefully concealed, so that the guilty ones might not gain any premature information of his rescue from death, and make good their escape; and in fact the whole affair seemed like an event divinely directed, for his men were here just as he arrived, and he learned that the ship had been seized, and the traders and sailors arrested.

Accordingly Periander bade Gorgus to withdraw at once, and have these men put into prison where nobody should have access to them or tell them that Arion had been rescued.

Well! well! said Aesop, you all make fun of my jackdaws and crows if they talk with one another, and yet dolphins indulge in such pranks as this!

Let’s change the subject, Aesop, said I to him; more than a thousand years have elapsed since this dolphin story has been believed and committed to writing in Greek lands, even from the days of Ino and Athamas. [*]

Solon here entered the conversation: Well, Diocles, let it be granted that these things are near to the gods and far beyond us; but what happened to Hesiod is human and within our ken. Very likely you have heard the story. [*]

No, I have not, said I.

Well, it is really worth hearing, and so here it is. A man from Miletus, it seems, with whom Hesiod shared lodging and entertainment in Locris, had secret relations with the daughter of the man who entertained them; and when he was detected, Hesiod fell under suspicion of having known about the misconduct from the outset, and of having helped to conceal it, although he was in nowise guilty, but only the innocent victim of a fit of anger and prejudice. For the girl’s brothers killed him, lying in wait for him in the vicinity of the temple of Nemean Zeus in Locris, and with him they killed his servant whose name was Troilus. The dead bodies were

shoved out into the sea, and the body of Troilus, borne out into the current of the river Daphnus, was caught on a wave-washed rock projecting a little above the sea-level; and even to this day the rock is called Troilus. The body of Hesiod, as soon as it left the land, was taken up by a company of dolphins, who conveyed it to Rhium hard by Molycreia.[*] It happened that the Locrians’ periodic Rhian sacrifice and festal gathering was being held then, which even nowadays they celebrate in a noteworthy manner at that place. When the body was seen being carried towards them, they were naturally filled with astonishment, and ran down to the shore; recognizing the corpse, which was still fresh, they held all else to be of secondary importance in comparison with investigating the murder, on account of the repute of Hesiod. This they quickly accomplished, discovered the murderers, sank them alive in the sea, and razed their house to the ground. Hesiod was buried near the temple of Nemean Zeus; most foreigners do not know about his grave, but it has been kept concealed, because, as they say, it was sought for by the people of Orchomenos, who wished, in accordance with an oracle, to recover the remains and bury them in their own land. If, therefore, dolphins show such a tender and humane interest in the dead, it is even more likely that they should give aid to the living, and especially if they are charmed by the sound of flutes or some songs or other. For we are all well aware of the fact that these creatures delight in music and follow after it, and swim along beside men who are rowing to the accompaniment of song and flute in a calm, and they enjoy travelling in this way.[*] They take delight also in children’s swimming, and vie with them in diving.[*] For this reason they profit also by an unwritten law of immunity; for nobody hunts them or injures them except when they get into the fishermen’s nets, and do havoc with the catch, and then they are punished with a whipping like naughty children. I remember also hearing from some men of Lesbos that the rescue of a certain maiden from the sea was effected by a dolphin, but, as I am not sure of the various details, it is only right that Pittacus, who does know them, should relate the tale.