Into The Mystery of Life
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The following account is the personal one of a man who has lived for more than forty years at the edge of this mystery. It was written in his old age, and as such it will be imperfect—for what he saw could not well have been seen in youth or middle age: so many things must be left out.
But I think that if you are young, or perhaps even if you are somewhat older than I am, there may be in these pages something to interest you; and if you are already old like myself, then this is still more likely.
For what I describe here was an event that occurred at the time of my birth, but which only came into my consciousness when it had long since passed away; nor yet can I pretend that I know what happened after because whatever else may have come from this experience was concealed from me until now.
Nor do I wish to conceal anything further from you: for though it is true that all my life I have known nothing about the fact of being born, I would rather tell the truth about that event than try to hide what really happened. And besides, the whole world knows about this matter, and I cannot escape from telling you of it anyhow.
So much, then, for the reasons why I write; and let us return to the account itself. I was born in Rome—that is, in the Roman Republic (in A. D. 6). My father was a Greek, named Polydorus; he was from Lesbos, and spoke a dialect of Greek with some strange twists of vowels and consonants.
He was an exile; he had left Greece in order to flee an angry wife, and had settled himself first at Smyrna, on the coast of Asia Minor, where he had a good trade in spices; but his business failed, and at last, he found himself forced to go farther east, where he arrived at Rhodes.
There he married again and had two daughters of whom he was very fond, but his wife grew jealous of him and sent her daughters to live elsewhere. So he followed them, hoping to win them back with his own love, but before he reached Rhodes he died at sea, and the ship was wrecked.
This was about three thousand years ago, and it was a very different sort of life from ours. We should not have survived it for a moment!
My mother was another woman; she too was Greek and came from Corinth. She was also an exile: for she had been taken prisoner during the Trojan war, and brought to Rhodes in chains, as a prize. When my father died, he had no children except me, and he left my mother free.
Now, this was just after the great earthquake that had destroyed the city of Corinth, and she had gone there in search of her brother and sister. But they were both dead; and so my mother returned to Rhodes, taking with her a slave whom she had purchased in Asia Minor.
His name was Ephesus. As soon as I was born, he adopted me, and we became inseparable companions. He was quite black, like a dark-skinned native of Africa; but in every other respect, he seemed exactly like any Greek boy.
He used to say that he did not belong to any particular tribe or nation, but that he belonged instead to the race of men, wherever they might be found—a remark which caused some amusement among our fellow countrymen, who were accustomed to make a distinction between themselves and foreigners.
I have spoken thus far of my life up to the time of my coming of age (which was fifteen years) so that I can bring this story to a natural end, and leave off with the memory of my childhood. But what I have just said shows only half the whole truth; for it leaves out what happened later.
After I was grown up, Ephesus left my mother’s house for a while and went to Athens, where he spent six months in the company of some of my friends from school; but after this, he went back to Rhodes, where he bought a shop in the town-market, and began to trade in the products of the island.
At last, he took a wife. Her name was Euanthe, and she was from Crete; but although she spoke Greek, she had been taught the Cretan tongue by her mother, and therefore used it more than ordinary Greeks would do. Ephesus had four sons with her, but he had no daughters because he never cared to marry again.
Then one day a stranger came to see him in his shop—a man from Egypt. He was a native of Alexandria but had come to Rhodes because of a quarrel that had arisen there between him and his wife. They were both Christians, but she wished to join a community of women who worshiped Isis as their goddess; whereas he had refused to take part in this ceremony.
For this reason, he separated from her and set sail for Rhodes. Now he wanted to marry again, so he came to Ephesus, asking if my mother might have any daughters available who would suit his needs. It turned out that she had none of her own who could serve him, for all her children were already married.
But she had two daughters besides me, and she was willing to give them to this Egyptian wife. So Ephesus gave his permission, and the marriage was solemnized on the following day. The two girls were called Cleopatra and Antonia, and they became wives to two Egyptian nobles, named Ptolemy and Bias.
Now, this was a curious coincidence, for there is a famous queen of Egypt whose name is identical to that of my sister. This lady ruled her kingdom when the Romans occupied it, but she was later murdered by one of her slaves, and the crime was avenged by Pompey.
But I will tell you nothing more of this matter; for it has nothing to do with the events described in these pages. In due course, the Egyptians were obliged to return home. Their stay in Rhodes had lasted seven years, during which time they had become citizens of the island; so when their journey ended, they naturally sought to settle their affairs in accordance with its laws.
They were well provided for financially since they had brought a fortune with them; but as a precaution against future difficulties, they chose to buy themselves into the service of the state. And they were successful in getting this done: they became tax collectors and collected sums of money for the state.
Thus they secured themselves a place in the civil service, which guaranteed them a livelihood in times of peace, and enabled them to live without fear in times of war.
When the time arrived for them to go home, they took leave of Ephesus and his family, promising to keep in touch with each other. Then they returned to Alexandria, where they lived quietly for about five years. When they were ready to go back to Europe, my mother wrote a letter to Ephesus requesting his help in making her sons acceptable to the government of Alexandria.
She enclosed an offering of ten talents and hoped that this sum would not be too small. It was enough, however, for her purpose; and in less than a week, Ephesus received a reply asking him to come at once. He did so, bringing with him his two boys, Antony and Octavian.
They had also sent along the dowry of my sisters, Cleopatra and Antonia; and my mother gave this up willingly, knowing that it could not possibly make much difference to her own fortunes. As soon as these things had been dealt with, my father sailed away, accompanied by his sons.
He had made arrangements beforehand to meet some friends in Italy who would welcome him back, and take charge of his children until such time as he himself should come again. But when he reached Greece, there was no sign of these friends anywhere.
My mother had written to them, too; but there were no replies. The only thing that could be done was to wait till spring came and warm weather set in, and then try again.
My father’s patience was exhausted before this time came around; and when he found that the winter rains had not been sufficient to melt the snow, he decided to leave his two younger sons behind him in Rhodes and return home alone.
He left instructions for them to follow him as quickly as possible, and told them not to waste any more time. He also asked the governor of the island to make sure that my brother Antony was kept safe and well-provided. And so he departed on his journey home, leaving his children in the care of strangers.
This was a great grief to my mother, for she loved her children very dearly. She had given them up because she knew that they would have good lives if she did so, whereas their life in Egypt would have been hard and short. Yet she still missed them greatly, and she was afraid of losing sight of either of them.
For it was certain that they would want to seek their fortune in the world outside; and if they failed in finding employment, they would eventually fall prey to poverty. If this happened, my father might easily lose track of them and never see them again. So she wrote letters to both of them, telling them how anxious she was to hear from them; but there was no reply whatever.
There must have been reasons for this silence, and perhaps her sons were wise enough to realize that the best thing they could do under the circumstances was to be silent themselves.
At length, after many weeks of waiting, she heard a rumor from Rhodes that excited her interest. She had not expected to receive news of them directly from the island; so she felt sure that this message was genuine. Her husband had met a friend called Aristides on board a ship bound for Italy, and he had been carrying a letter written by him to his wife.
The news was that the two children had succeeded in securing work in a city named Bithynia, where they seemed to be doing well. My mother was able to learn something more about what kind of job they were doing. She learned, for example, that they were working for the chief secretary, who had a large household.
This was a man named Aristophanes, who was the nephew of the king of the city, Lysimachus. It is clear from this that the young men were being employed in an official capacity, and therefore that they must be doing something valuable. It was evident, too, that they were keeping the secret of their origins well hidden; otherwise, someone would surely have mentioned it.
All this meant that my mother could rest easy, for she knew that her sons were alive and well and making their way in life; and she could look forward to seeing them again at last.
But she did not wait long. When spring had come, my father arrived in Crete and found Aristides at the port with an invitation to dine with him. He accepted the offer gladly; for he was glad to be among friends again, and was curious to know how his son had got on in Rome.
Aristides took him through the city to his house, which was situated near that of the King, and he saw his other friends there, as well as my sister Cleopatra, who welcomed him heartily. They spent several days together, and then, as planned, my father sailed off for Italy.
When he reached Sicily, my father learned that Aristides had died shortly after they parted on Crete. His widow was now living in Rome with her daughter, but my father did not go to see them; for he had already decided that he would stay in Italy as long as the weather permitted.
He wanted to remain here until I was old enough to start school; and then, once the winter months were over, he hoped to sail home. Meanwhile, he would enjoy the sunshine and fresh air. He liked Italy well enough; though it lacked the charm of his own country, he said.
The food was different, and the people were less friendly than in Rhodes or Alexandria. Still, he enjoyed himself and made some new friends. He went out walking every day in the countryside surrounding the town, sometimes visiting the baths, or else sitting down to eat fruit with some fellow traveller.
In the evening he listened to music in a nearby tavern. The singer sang Greek songs, such as those about Achilles and Hector, Paris and Helen, and others about heroes and beautiful women. These were well known all over Greece and were sung even in our own land at festivals like the ones held in honor of Zeus and Hera.
My father loved listening to such songs, and he often joined in with the refrain; for the Greeks had a wonderful way of making up words that rhymed with those already used by the songwriter.
He became particularly fond of a group of men who lived in one of the neighboring villas. Their leader was a man named Ariston, whose father was also called Ariston. These two men had grown up together; for they were born in the same village, and had both studied law together in Athens.
Both these men came from rich families; and when Ariston was still very young, his uncle, the famous general Themistocles, had sent him to study in Rome. Ariston had stayed there for some years and earned his doctorate, before returning to Crete.
Now he was an expert in ancient history and literature. My father found him a pleasant companion. He had many other friends, too: men who shared his love of classical learning and were interested in philosophy and the great questions of life. But Ariston’s company was best because he knew so much and was full of stories of ancient times.
One day my father asked him to tell him about the time when he was in Rome. Ariston related his experiences with amusement and enthusiasm. He spoke about how he had met my mother; about their engagement and marriage; and about their voyage to Rhodes and subsequent journey to Egypt.
He spoke of the children he had fathered, and the two boys—Aristides and Aristagoras—whom he had brought to the city; and he described what kind of education he thought they should have. It soon became clear that Ariston was deeply concerned about these matters, and he had strong opinions about them.
As a result, my father grew to respect and admire this man who had been educated in the Roman capital. He began to spend more time with him and discuss philosophy together with him.
This friendship gave my father pleasure; but there was another source of satisfaction for him as well, namely the fact that the weather was good during his stay on the island. One day Ariston suggested that he go with him to visit Mount Ida, a mountain outside the city where he had gone to pray with Socrates before he died.
They started out early that morning; for it is better to arrive first at such places, Ariston said, rather than to find them crowded later by crowds of people. So they set off together on foot along the road that led toward the coast; but when they came to the foothills of the mountain, Ariston stopped and gestured toward a path leading upward, while calling out to someone ahead.
Soon afterward we came across several others coming down from the peak, laughing and carrying their clothes on their heads, and wearing no shoes, as they did not wish to dirty them on the rocks. Some of them looked back at us as they passed, smiling happily; for they had just finished praying and were full of joy at having accomplished such a feat.
The sun shone on their faces as they laughed and joked amongst themselves. We climbed up the steep paths to reach the summit. Ariston explained to my father that he and Socrates had come here to speak with God since they believed that the gods would listen if their human servants could bring them a message through prayer.
They had spent three days together, Ariston said, talking and discussing things in order to be ready for such an encounter. Socrates had spoken most of the time, while my father sat silent and attentive. When Ariston finally told me that Socrates was dead, my father said that it must have been a great pity; for he seemed to be a fine man and a learned scholar.
And indeed he was a great thinker and debater: he spoke to everyone in the language of philosophy, and he was able to argue with anyone. I have heard that, before becoming a philosopher, he was a teacher at Athens and taught rhetoric.
We continued up the mountain until we reached its crest; then we sat down to rest for a short while before descending again. The view from there was magnificent, for all around lay fertile fields with groves of trees; and beyond these stretched a sea stretching into the distance, which sparkled in the sunlight.
Ariston stood up and began to talk about the nature of truth. He said that Socrates had once asked a question: What does the name ‘Truth’ mean? It is a strange word, he said; because although we can see and hear and taste and smell, none of those things really is true.
A chair may look like a seat, or a piece of bread might be shaped like bread, but nevertheless, it is not actually what the object is called. Therefore, Ariston asked, if the names of things do not convey their essence, then how is it that philosophers call certain words ‘truths’? In fact, the only thing that is true is the reality itself of the object.
But even this, he added, is hard to grasp, because reality cannot be understood by reason alone. It has to be perceived directly through one’s senses, and so it is difficult for people to recognize truth directly; for that requires an effort of the mind, which can easily become confused by false ideas that are constantly bombarding it from all sides.
This is why we use other words such as ‘justice’ and ‘virtue’, he said, because they give us a clearer picture of reality. Justice is the state of being fair and impartial, and virtue is the ability to make proper decisions.
The End