Lucian Bis accusatus sive tribunalia 1

Plague take all philosophers who say that bliss is to be found only among the gods! If they but knew all that we endure for the sake of men, they would not envy us our nectar and ambrosia, putting their trust in Homer, a blind man and a fraud, who called us blissful and told about what is in heaven when he could not even see what is on earth. Here is an example right at hand: Helius puts his team to his chariot and traverses the sky all day long, clad in a garment of fire and resplendent with rays, not even getting leisure enough to scratch his ear, as they say: for if he unconsciously relaxes the least bit, his horses run away, turn out of the road, and burn everything up. Selene, too, goes about without a wink of sleep, giving light to night-roisterers and people returning late from dinners. Apollo, again, has taken up a very active profession, and has been deafened almost completely by people besetting him with requests for prophecies. One moment he has to be in Delphi; the next, he runs to Colophon; from there he crosses to Xanthus, and again at full speed to Delos or to Branchidae. In a word, wherever his prophetess, after drinking from the holy well and chewing laurel and setting the tripod ashake, bids him appear, there is no delaying—he must present himself immediately to reel off his prophecies, or else it is all up with his reputation in the profession. I say nothing of the devices they get up to test his powers of divination, cooking mutton and turtle together, so that if he had not a good nose, that Lydian would have gone off laughing at him. ¹ As for Asclepius, he is pestered by the sick: “Dire sights he sees, and touches what he loathes, and in the woes of others finds a crop of sorrow for himself.” ² Why should I refer either to the Winds, that aid the crops and speed the ships on their courses and blow upon the winnowers, or to Sleep, that wings his way to everyone, or to Jack-of-dreams, that keeps vigil all night long with Sleep and serves as his interpreter? All this work the gods do out of love for man, each contributing to life on earth.

A curse on all those philosophers who will have it that none but the Gods are happy! If they could but know what we have to put up with on men’s account, they would not envy us our nectar and our ambrosia. They take Homer’s word for it all,—the word of a blind quack; ’tis he who pronounces us blessed, and expatiates on heavenly glories, he who could not see in front of his own nose. Look at the Sun, now. He yokes that chariot, and is riding through the heavens from morn till night, clothed in his garment of fire, and dispensing his rays abroad; not so much breathing-space as goes to the scratching of an ear; once let his horses catch him napping, and they have the bit between their teeth and are off ’cross country, with the result that the Earth is scorched to a cinder. The Moon is no better off: she is kept up into the small hours to light the reveller and the diner-out upon their homeward path. And then Apollo,—he has his work cut out for him: with such a press of oracular business, it is much if he has any ears left to hear with: he is wanted at Delphi; the next minute, he must be off to Colophon; then away to Xanthus; then back at a trot to Clarus; then it is Delos, then Branchidae;—in short, he is at the beck of every priestess who has taker her draught of holy water, munched her laurel-leaf, and made the tripod rock; it is now or never; if he is not there that minute to reel off the required oracle, his credit is gone. The traps they set for him too! He must have a dog’s nose for lamb and tortoise in the pot, or his Lydian customer ¹ departs, laughing him to scorn. As for Asclepius, he has no peace for his patients: his eyes are acquainted with horror, and his hands with loathsomeness; another’s sickness is his pain. To say nothing of the work that the Winds have to get through, what with sowing and winnowing and getting the ships along; or of Sleep, always on the wing, with Dream at his side all night giving a helping hand. Men have to thank us for all this: every one of us contributes his share to their well-being.