Works of Lucian of Samosata, vol 2 | Page 2

part for
very shame. For myself, I shall have no such scruple. All that I have
heard, or can reasonably infer, of the evils of dependence, I shall place
before you. For either, friend, my penetration is at fault, or you have
long had a hankering for this profession.
Yes, I have seen it from the first, whenever the conversation has fallen
on this subject of salaried intellects. 'Happy men!' some enthusiast has
cried. 'The elite of Rome are their friends. They dine sumptuously, and
call for no reckoning. They are lodged splendidly, and travel
comfortably--nay, luxuriously--with cushions at their backs, and as
often as not a fine pair of creams in front of them. And, as if this were
not enough, the friendship they enjoy and the handsome treatment they
receive is made good to them with a substantial salary. They sow not,
they plough not; yet all things grow for their use.' How I have seen you
prick up your ears at such words as these! How wide your mouth has
opened to the bait!
Now I will have a clear conscience in this matter. I will not be told
hereafter that I saw you swallowing this palpable bait, and never stirred
a finger to snatch it from you, and show you the hook while there was
yet time; that I watched you nibbling, saw the hook well in and the fish
hauled up, and then stood by shedding useless tears. A grave charge,
indeed, were I to leave it in your power to bring it; such neglect would
admit of no palliation. You shall therefore hear the whole truth. Now,
in leisurely fashion, from without, not hereafter from within, shall you
examine this weel from which no fish escapes. You shall take in hand
this hook of subtle barb. You shall try the prongs of this eel-spear
against your inflated cheek; and if you decide that they are not sharp,
that they would be easily evaded, that a wound from them would be no
great matter, that they are deficient in power and grasp--then write me

among those who have cowardice to thank for their empty bellies; and
for yourself, take heart of grace, and swoop upon your prey, and
cormorant-wise, if you will, swallow all at a gulp.
But however much the present treatise is indebted to you for its
existence, its application is not confined to you who are philosophers,
whose ambition it is to form your conduct upon serious principles; it
extends to the teachers of literature, of rhetoric, of music,--to all, in
short, whose intellectual attainments can command a maintenance and
a wage. And where the life, from beginning to end, is one and the same
for all, the philosopher (I need not say), so far from being a privileged
person, has but the additional ignominy of being levelled with the rest,
and treated by his paymaster with as scant ceremony as the rest. In
conclusion, whatever disclosures I may be led to make, the blame must
fall in the first instance on the aggressors, and in the second instance on
those who suffer the aggression. For me, unless truth and candour be
crimes, I am blameless.
As to the vulgar rabble of trainers and toadies, illiterate, mean-souled
creatures, born to obscurity, should we attempt to dissuade them from
such pursuits, our labour would be wasted. Nor can we fairly blame
them, for putting up any affront, rather than part with their employers.
The life suits them; they are in their element. And what other channel is
there, into which their energies could be directed? Take away this, their
sole vocation, and they are idle cumberers of the earth. They have
nothing, then, to complain of; nor are their employers unreasonable in
turning these humble vessels to the use for which they were designed.
They come into a house prepared for such treatment from the first; it is
their profession to endure and suffer wrong.
But the case of educated men, such as I have mentioned above, is
another matter; it calls for our indignation, and for our utmost
endeavours to restore them to liberty. I think it will not be amiss, if I
first examine into the provocations under which they turn to a life of
dependence. By showing how trivial, how inadequate these
provocations are, I shall forestall the main argument used by the
defenders of voluntary servitude. Most of them are content to cloak
their desertion under the names of Poverty and Necessity. It is enough,
they think, to plead in extenuation, that they sought to flee from this
greatest of human ills, Poverty. Theognis comes pat to their purpose.

His
Poverty, soul-subduing Poverty,
is in continual requisition, together with other fearful utterances of our
most degenerate poets to the same effect.