[1] See note.
[2] De Senectute.
REMARKABLE SAYINGS OF PHILIP OTTONIERI.[1]
CHAPTER I.
Philip Ottonieri, a few of whose remarkable sayings I am about to recount, partly heard from his own mouth and partly related to me by others, was born at Nubiana in the province of Valdivento. There he lived most of his life, and died a short time ago, leaving behind him the reputation of having never injured any one either by word or deed. He was detested by the majority of his fellow-citizens, because he took so little interest in the many things that gave them pleasure; although he did nothing to show that he despised those who differed from himself in this respect. He is believed to have been, not only in theory, but also in practice, what so many of his contemporaries professed to be, that is, a philosopher. For this reason other men thought him peculiar, though really he never affected singularity in anything. Indeed, he once said that a man who nowadays practised the greatest possible singularity in dress, manners, or actions, would be far less singular than were those ancients who obtained a reputation for singularity; and that the difference between such a person and his contemporaries would by the ancients have been regarded as scarcely worthy of notice. And, comparing J. J. Rousseau's singularity, which seemed very striking to the people of his generation, with that of Democritus and the first Cynic philosophers, he said that whoever nowadays lived as differently from his contemporaries as these Greeks lived from theirs, would not merely be regarded as singular, but would be treated as outside the pale of human society. He thought, too, that the degree of civilisation reached by any country might be estimated from observation of the degree of singularity possible in the inhabitants of that country.
Though very temperate in his habits of life, he professed Epicureanism, perhaps lightly rather than from conviction. But he condemned Epicurus, affirming that in his time and nation there was much more pleasure to be obtained from the pursuit of glory and virtue, than from idleness, indifference, and sensuality, which things were considered by that philosopher to represent the greatest good of life. He said also that the Epicureanism of modern times has nothing in common with the Epicureanism of the ancients.
In philosophy, he liked to call himself Socratic. Like Socrates, too, he often spent great part of the day reasoning philosophically with any chance acquaintance, and especially with certain of his friends, on any impromptu subject. But unlike Socrates, he did not frequent the shops of the shoemakers, carpenters, and blacksmiths; for he was of opinion that, though the artisans of Athens may have had time to spend in philosophising, those of Nubiana would starve were they to follow such an example. Nor did he, like Socrates, explain his conclusions by means of endless interrogation and argument; for, he said, although men in the present day may have more patience than their ancestors, they would never consent to reply to a thousand consecutive questions, still less to hear their answers answered. In fact, he only resembled Socrates in his manner of speaking, sometimes ironical, sometimes equivocal. He analysed the famous Socratic irony in the following way:—
"Socrates was naturally very tender-hearted, and of a most lovable disposition. But he was physically so unattractive that it is probable he despaired from his youth of ever inspiring others with a warmer feeling than that of friendship, far insufficient to satisfy his sensitive and ardent nature, which often felt towards others a much more lively affection. He was courageous in all matters of the intellect, but seems to have been wanting in natural courage, and those other qualities that would have enabled him to hold his own in public life, amid the tumult of wars, the sedition, and the license of all kinds, then characteristic of Athenian affairs. In addition to this, his ridiculous and insignificant figure must have been no slight prejudice to him among people who made little distinction between the good and the beautiful, and who were also much addicted to banter. Thus it happened that in a free city, full of wealth and the bustle and amusements of life, Socrates, poor, rejected by love, incapable of a public career, yet gifted with very great intelligence which doubtless intensified the consciousness of his defects, resigned himself to a life of philosophising on the actions, manners, and thoughts of his fellow-citizens. The irony he used was natural to a man who found himself as it were excluded from participation in the existence of others. But it was due to his inherent nobility and affableness, and perhaps also to the celebrity he gained by his reasonings, and which flattered his self-esteem, that this irony, instead of being bitter and contemptuous, was pleasing, and expressed in a friendly manner.