It was on the cards, it seems, that our modern world should not be altogether destitute of noteworthy and memorable’ men, but should produce enormous physical prowess and a highly philosophic mind. I speak with reference to the Boeotian Sostratus, whom the Greeks called Heracles and believed to be that hero, and especially to Demonax, the philosopher. Both these men I saw myself, and saw with wonderment: and under one of them, Demonax, I was long a student. I have written about ‘Sostratus elsewhere, The treatise is lost. and have described his size and excessive strength, his open-air life on Parnassus, his bed that was no bed of ease, his mountain fare and his deeds (not inconsistent with his nameThe nickname Heracles.) achieved in the way of slaying robbers, making roads in‘untravelled country and bridging places hard to pass.

It is now fitting to tell of Demonax for two reasons—that he may be retained in memory by men of culture as far as I can bring it about, and that young men of good instincts who aspire to philosophy may not have to shape themselves by ancient precedents alone, but may be able to set themselves a pattern from our modern world and to copy that man, the best of all the philosophers whom I know about.

He was a Cypriote by birth, and not of common stock as regards civic-rank and property. Nevertheless, rising above all this and thinking that he deserved the best that life offers, he aspired to philosophy. It was not at the instigation of Agathobulus or his predecessor Demetrius or Epictetus, though he studied with all these men and with Timocrates of Heraclia besides, a wise man of great sublimity in thought as well as in language. As I was saying, however, Demonax was not enlisted in the cause by any of these men, but even from his boyltood felt the stirring of an individual impulse toward the higher life and an inborn love for philosophy, so that he despised all that men count good, and, committing himself unreservedly to liberty and free-speech, was steadfast in leading a Straight, sane, irreproachable life and in setting an example to all who saw and heard him by his good judgment and the honesty of his philosophy.

You must not conceive, however, that he rushed into these matters with unwashen feet, as the saying goes: he was brought up on the poets and knew most of them by heart, he was a practised speaker, his acquaintance with the schools of philosophy was not secured either in a short time or (to quote the proverb) “with the tip of his finger,” he had trained his body and hardened it for endurance and in general he had made it his aim to require nothing from anyone else. Consequently, when he found out that he was no longer sufficient unto himself, he volun- tarily took his departure from life, leaving behind him a great reputation among Greeks of culture.

He did not mark out for himself a single form of philosophy but combined many of them, and never would quite reveal which one he favoured. Probably he had most in common with Socrates, although he seemed to follow the man of SinopeDiogenes. in dress and in easy-going ways. He did not, however, alter the details of his life in order to excite the wonder and attract the gaze of men he met, but led the same life as everyone else, was simple and not in the least subject to pride, and played his part in society and politics.

He did not cultivate the irony of Socrates ; his conversations were full of Attic charm, so that his visitors, on going away, did not feel contempt for him because he was ill-bred or aversion to his criticisms because they were gloomy, but were beside themselves for joy and were far better, happier and more hopeful of the future than when they came.

He never was known to make an uproar or excite himself or get angry, even if he had to rebuke someone; though he assailed sins, he forgave sinners, thinking that one should pattern after doctors, who heal sicknesses but feel no anger at the sick. He considered that it is human to err, divine or all but divine to set right what has gone amiss.

Leading such“a life, he wanted nothing for himself, but helped his friends in a reasonable way. Some of them, who were seemingly favoured by fortune, he reminded that they were elated over imaginary blessings of brief span. Others, who were bewailing poverty, fretting at exile or finding fault with old age or sickness, he laughingly consoled, saying that they failed to see that after a little they would have surcease of worries and would all soon find oblivion of their fortunes, good and bad, and lasting liberty.

He made it his business also to reconcile brothers at variance and to miake terms of peace between wives and husbands. On occasion, he has talked reason to excited mobs, and has usually persuaded them to serve their country in a temperate spirit.

Such was the character of his philosophy—kind, gentle and cheerful. The only thing which distressed him was the illness or death of a friend, for he considered friendship the greatest of human blessings. For this reason he was everyone’s friend, and there was no human being whom he did not include in his affections, though he liked the society of some better than that of others. He held aloof only from those who seemed to him to be involved in sin beyond hope of cure. And in all this, his every word and deed was smiled on by the Graces and by Aphrodite, even; so that, to quote the comedian, “persuasion perched upon his lips.”1

Hence all Athens, high and low, admired him enormously and always viewed him as a superior being. Yet in office he ran counter to public opinion and won from the masses quite as much hatred as his prototypeSocrates. by his freedom of speech and action. He too had his Anytus and his Meletus who combined against him and brought the same charges that their predecessors brought against Socrates, asserting that he had never been known to sacrifice and was the only man in the community uninitiated in the Eleusinian mysteries. In reply to this, with right good Eupolis, quoted in the note on “Nigrinus” 7. courage he wreathed his head, put on a clean cloak, went to the assembly and made his defence, which was in part good-tempered, in part more caustic than accorded with his scheme of life. Regarding his never having offered sacrifice to Athena, he said: “Do not be surprised, men of Athens, that I have not hitherto sacrificed to her: I did not suppose that she had any need of my offerings.’”” Regarding the other charge, the matter of the mysteries, he said that he had never joined them in the rite because if the mysteries were bad, he .would not hold his tongue before the uninitiate but would turn them away from the cult, while if they were good, he would reveal them to everybody out of his love for humanity. So the Athenians, who already had stones in both hands to throw at him, became good-natured and friendly toward him at once, and from that time on they honoured, respected and finally admired him. Yet in the very beginning of his speech he had used a pretty caustic introduction, “Men of Athens, you see me ready with my garland: come, sacrifice me like your former victim, for on that occasion your offering found no favour with the gods!”

I should like to cite a few of his well-directed and witty remarks, and may as well begin with Favorinus An eunuch from Arles, of considerable repute as a sophist. and what he said to him. When Favorinus was told by someone that Demonax was making fun of his lectures and particularly of the laxity of their rhythm, saying that it was vulgar and effeminate and not by any means appropriate to philosophy, he went to Demonax and asked him: “Who are you to libel my compositions?” “A man with an ear that is not easy to cheat,” said he. The sophist kept at him and asked: “What qualifications had you, Demonax, to leave school and commence philosophy?” “Those-you lack,” he retorted.

Another time the same man went to him and asked what philosophical school he favoured most. Demonax replied: “Why, who told you that I was a philosopher?” As he left, he broke into a very hearty laugh ; and when Favorinus asked him what he was laughing at, he replied: “It seemed to me ridiculous that you should think a philosopher can be told by his beard when you yourself have none.”

When the Sidonian sophist Otherwise unknown. was once showing. his powers at Athens, and was voicing his own praise to the effect that he was acquainted with all philosophy—but I may as well cite his very words : “If Aristotle calls me to the Lyceum, I shall go with him; if Plato calls me to the Academy, I shall come; if Zeno calls, I shall spend my time in the Stoa ; if Pythagoras calls, I shall hold my tongue.” Alluding to the Pythagorean vow of silence. Well, Demonax arose in the midst of the audience and said: “Ho” (addressing him by name), “Pythagoras is calling you !”

When a handsome young fellow named Pytho, who belonged to one of the aristocratic families in Macedonia, was quizzing him, putting a catchquestion to him and asking him to tell the logical answer, he said: “I know thus much, my boy— it’s a poser, and so are you!” Enraged at the pun, the other said threateningly: “I'll show you in short order that you’ve a man to deal with!” whereupon Demonax laughingly inquired: “Oh, you will send for your man, then ?”

When an athlete, whom he had ridiculed for letting himself be seen in gay clothes although he was an Olympic champion, struck him on the head with a stone and drew blood, each of the bystanders was as angry as if he himself had been struck, and they shouted “Go to the proconsul!” But Demonax said “No! not to the proconsul—for the doctor !”

Finding a bit of jewelry one day while he was out walking, he posted a notice in the public square asking the one who owned it and had lost it to come and get it by describing the weight of the setting, the stone, and the engravings on it. Well, a pretty girl came to him saying that she had lost it; but as there was nothing right in her description, Demonax said: “Be off, girl, and don’t lose your own jewel : this is none of yours !”

A Roman senator in Athens introduced his son to him, a handsome boy, but girlish and neurasthenic, saying: “My son here pays his respects to you.” “A dear boy,’ said Demonax, “worthy of you and like his mother!”

The Cynic who pursued his philosophical studies clad in a bearskin he would not call Honoratus, which was his name, but Ursinus. When a man asked him what he thought was the definition of happiness, he replied that none but a free man is happy; and when the other said that free men were numerous, he rejoined:

“But I have in mind the man who neither hopes nor fears anything.” But how can one achieve this? For the most part we are all slaves of hope and fear.” «Why, if you observe human affairs you will find that they do not afford justification either for hope or for fear, since, whatever you may say, pains and pleasures are alike destined to end.”