Who shall possess the tripod? Thus
replies Apollo: “Whosoever is most
wise.” Accordingly they gave it to
Thales, and he to another, and so on
till it comes to Solon, who with the
remark that the god was most wise,
sent it off to Delphi.
Diogenes Laertius 1.28.
The Dinner
The essay of Plutarch (ca. AD 45–120), Septem Sapientium Convivium (Dinner of the Seven Wise Men) has already been cited in Chapter 1. It is one of the large collection of Plutarch’s writings known as Moralia or Moral Essays.1 Moralis is a word formed by Cicero from mos, in the sense of custom or regular practice. From it is derived the English word “mores,” the morally binding customs of a particular group, the embodiments of their moral attitudes defining their sense of decorum or propriety. The seven wise men of ancient Greece are thought to be the authors, or at least the advocates, of the precepts inscribed on the pronaos of the Temple of Apollo at Delphi, greeting the visitor and offering instructions for life.
If we ask what is wisdom—that which the seven sages possess—we may also turn to Cicero, as he defines it in the Tusculan Disputations: “Wisdom [sapientia] is the knowledge of things divine and human and acquaintance with the cause of each of them” (4.26.57). In his work on ethics, De officiis, Cicero repeats this claim and adds that this is the way sapientia has been defined “by the philosophers of old” (2.2.5). This definition of wisdom endorsed by the philosophers of old was also to be found in Varro’s now lost work on The Antiquities of Divine and Human Institutions. In the Apology, Socrates presumes this definition when he declares that he possesses human wisdom but not divine wisdom (20 d–e). Although denying he has divine wisdom, Socrates proceeds to justify his activity by asserting that God has assigned him to the city to be its gadfly (30e). Socrates thus has at least enough knowledge of the divine order of things to comprehend this assignment.
Plutarch’s essay is an imaginative account of the gathering of the seven sages at Delphi that goes back to Plato’s description of it in the Protagoras (343a–e). There was a tradition that the gathering was originally to dedicate the inscriptions on the temple and that later there was a dinner hosted by Periander, ruler of Corinth (627–585 BC). On some lists of the seven sages Periander appears as the seventh, but in Plutarch’s account he functions as the host of the dinner at Corinth. In Plutarch’s account of the dinner he adds other characters to the traditional seven, such as Aesop and two women, Melissa (wife of Periander) and Eumetis or Cleobulina (daughter of Cleobulus of Lindus in Rhodes, one of the seven wise men). There is also Neiloxenus of Naucratis in Egypt, an intimate of Solon and Thales, who escorts them and the others to the dinner.
Plutarch names, as the seven wise men: Thales of Miletus in Asia Minor (c. 636–546), Bias of Priene in Asia Minor (c. 550), Pittacus of Mytilene in Lesbos (c. 650–570), Solon, the Athenian lawgiver (638?–?559), Chilon of Lacedaemon (c. 500), Cleobulus of Lindus in Rhodes (early 6th century), and Anacharsis, a Scythian (c. 594), visiting Athens at the time of Solon. (Plato’s list in the Protagoras puts Myson of Chen in place of Anacharsis.) Plato makes much of the claim that these seven were admirers of Spartan culture, especially of laconic speech (lakōnikos), of which the Delphic inscriptions of gnothi seauton (know thyself) and mēden agan (nothing overmuch) are leading examples.
Plutarch’s essay is framed as an account given to someone named Nicarchus by a narrator, who identifies himself as being “on intimate terms with Periander by virtue of my profession” (which was likely a seer, versed in ritual purification) (146c) and as the host of Thales, “for he stayed at my house by command of Periander” (146c). Subsequently the narrator is addressed as Diocles (e.g., 149d, 151f, 155d, and 162c). Nicarchus appears to be a younger companion, as the narrator says his reason for relating an account of the gathering is that age is upon him and “that the lapse of time will bring about much obscurity and complete uncertainty regarding actual events, if at the present time, in the case of events so fresh and recent, false accounts that have been concocted obtain credence” (146b). The narrator claims to have been present at the dinner and that he will relate it without any omissions. Plutarch’s imaginative account now takes on the form of a true story about events of which we, its readers, have only heard.
The narrator says that in the first place “the dinner was not a dinner of the Seven alone, as you and your friends have been told, but of more than twice that number, including myself” (146c). More than fourteen, for this evening, is not a proper number of guests for a dinner. Even Brillat-Savarin’s principles do not allow for more than twelve, as cited in Chapter 1 herein, and it is far greater than that of more than the Graces but less than the Muses. The term in the title of Plutarch’s essay, in Greek, is symposion, and in Latin convivium. The gathering might be best thought of as an elegant dinner party or a small banquet, much smaller than the twenty-four persons at the banquet of Athenaeus or at any festival banquet. It was, however, not held in the royal house of Periander but in a dining-hall near the shrine of Aphrodite.
Neiloxenus, in escorting the group to dinner, precipitates an argumentative conversation concerning the difference between kings and despots and their manner of ruling, which causes Thales to conclude that the discussion should cease, as it is “a conversation that is quite inappropriate, since he [Neiloxenus] has not been careful to bring up topics and questions suitable for persons on their way to dinner” (147e). One is reminded of the prohibition, when dining at high table at Oxford, against talk of politics, religion, or one’s own work.
Having chided their escort, Thales asks: “Do you not honestly believe that, as some preparation is necessary on the part of the man who is to be host, there should also be some preparation of the part of him who is to be a guest at dinner?” (147e). Thales says he understands that people in Sybaris present invitations to women for dinner a year in advance so as to allow them opportunity to determine what clothes and jewelry they wish to wear (cf. Athenaeus, 521c). He says he is of the opinion that, on the part of the man, to be the right kind of guest for dinner requires even a longer time, inasmuch as it requires more time for the proper adornment of character than for that of the body. He says: “In fact, the man of sense who comes to dinner does not betake himself there just to fill himself up as though he were a sort of pot, but to take some part, be it serious or humorous, and to listen and to talk regarding this or that topic as the occasion suggests it to the company, if their association together is to be pleasant” (147f).
Thales says that, at dinner, an unsavory dish or a poor wine can be passed over, but an unpleasant guest can cause unpleasantness and animosity to last a lifetime. He says Chilon demonstrated excellent judgment by not agreeing to come to the dinner until he had learned the name of everyone invited. By knowing with whom one is to dine, one can be prepared to engage in mutual interests and not simply be placed in the position one is in when having to trust to luck as to the persons one finds oneself with on shipboard or serving in the army.
In regard for the importance of the need for mutual friendliness at table, Thales mentions the Egyptian custom of showing the skeleton or larva convivialis to the guests at dinner (see the comment on this custom in Chapter 1, herein). Thales may mention this especially because Neiloxenus is from Naucratis in Egypt. He says that although the appearance of this omen of mortality may be unsettling, it is appropriate for the diners to see “if it urges upon them that life, which is short in point of time, should not be made long by evil conduct” (148b). Plutarch, through the speech of Thales, takes very seriously the importance of table-talk for friendship. At table, time seems suspended, but the appearance of the larva convivialis reminds us that it is not stopped.
As they arrive at the dining hall, an issue is raised concerning where one is seated by the host. Thales counsels that when seated in one’s assigned place we should not ask who is seated at a higher or lower place than ourselves, but we should try to discover in those seated with us “something that may serve to initiate and keep up friendship” (149a–b). To prove his point, Thales, on entering the dining hall, takes an inferior place, to which one of the lesser guests had raised objection. The discussion of seating raises the issue that at a dinner party, even today, there should be a seating plan, perhaps with place cards, decided upon by the host. To tell one’s guests to sit just anywhere is improper, and thus discourteous. It is equally so to complain as to where one is seated by one’s host. The type of friendship one has with one’s assigned dinner companions is what Aristotle designates as friendship of utility. This is a friendship that originates between persons having a condition in common. Another example of a friendship of utility is the temporary friendship between persons finding themselves traveling together.
What is served at the dinner is not described. The narrator reports that “the dinner was plainer than usual.” Although Periander was known to be capable of elaborate and expensive dinners and entertainment, “on this occasion he tried to make an impression on the men by simplicity and restraint in expenditure” (150c–d). He also had his wife appear in modest attire rather than her usual elaborate dress. The tables are cleared and the entertainment is limited to a flute-girl playing a brief accompaniment while the libations are poured. The purpose of the dinner was not the food or wine served, or the entertainment, but the intellectual discussion that was to follow. The body is to be nourished well but the higher purpose of the dinner is the nourishment of the mind. To bring the very founders of Greek culture together requires a celebration of their ideas, a display of their wisdom.
On Government
The discussion is begun by Neiloxenus, reading aloud a letter by Amasis, king of the Egyptians, addressed to Bias, calling him the wisest of the Greeks. The letter begins: “The king of the Ethiopians is engaged in a contest of wisdom against me. Repeatedly vanquished in all else, he has crowned his efforts by framing an extraordinary and awful demand, bidding me to drink up the ocean” (151b). Should Amasis succeed he will be given rule over many villages and cities of the Ethiopians. If not, Amasis is to cede towns now under his control. If Bias can provide a solution, he and his friends will receive whatever is right for them from the Egyptian king.
Bias offers the solution, which is for Amasis to “tell the Ethiopian to stop the rivers which are now emptying into the ocean depths, while he himself is engaged in drinking up the ocean that now is; for this is the ocean with which the demand is concerned, and not the one which is to be” (151d). Apparently this solution presupposes that the water in the ocean is naturally being drained off but at the same time replenished by the rivers that flow into it. So, should the king of the Ethiopians comply he would have unwittingly solved his own problem.
Bias has given the answer to the question, but Periander adds that they should all contribute an offering to the king. In so saying Periander is thinking of the scene in the Odyssey in which Alcinous, king of the Phaeacians, proposes that each of those who frequents his palace give Odysseus a gift before he sails on his final journey to his own Ithaca. Alcinous says: “But come now, let us give him a great tripod and a cauldron, each man of us” (13.10–15). The seven wise men do not produce material gifts, but, in accord with their nature, they produce their gifts of wisdom. Solon the lawgiver says that a king would best gain repute “if out of a monarchy he should organize a democracy for his people” (152a). Bias adds that the king should be the very first to conform to his country’s laws.
Thales says that happiness (eudaimonia) for a ruler is to reach old age and die a natural death. This advice points to the fact that most rulers or despots die by the sword, the means by which they became kings. It resonates also with the view, expressed later by Aristotle in his Ethics, that no person can be said to be happy until the person’s life is over. And it is best to have a complete life. Anacharsis adds that dying a natural death requires the ruler to have sound sense, that is, not to take undue use of his power. Cleobulus says that if a ruler wishes to live to a natural death he must trust none of his associates. Pittacus says a full life is possible, “If the ruler should manage to make his subjects fear, not him, but for him” (152b). Chilon says that a ruler’s thoughts should be not those of a mortal but of an immortal. The ruler, then, should be seen by his subjects as capable of what is otherwise found only in the gods. Periander, himself a ruler, is asked to add his view to that of the Seven. He says: “Well, I may add my view, that the opinions expressed, taken as a whole, practically divorce any man possessed of sense from being a ruler” (152b). Aesop adds that Thales’ view would bid a ruler to grow old as fast as possible.
Neiloxenus is then asked to reveal the rest of the letter of Amasis, in which the Ethiopian king gave answers to a series of questions that had been put to him. These were the questions and the Ethiopian’s answers:
(a) ‘What is the oldest thing?’ ‘Time.’
(b) ‘What is the greatest?’ ‘The universe.’
(c) ‘What is the wisest?’ ‘Truth.’
(d) ‘What is the most beautiful?’ ‘Light.’
(e) ‘What is most common?’ ‘Death.’
(f) ‘What is most helpful?’ ‘God.’
(g) ‘What is most harmful?’ ‘An evil spirit.’
(h) ‘What is strongest?’ ‘Fortune.’
(i) ‘What is easiest?’ ‘Pleasure’ (153a).
Thales offers a critique of each of these answers, saying that they all contain errors and are evidences of ignorance. For example, Thales points out, time cannot be the oldest thing, for if time is divided into past, present, and future, what is in the future would be younger than what is in the present. Regarding death, Thales says that death is not most common because it is not common to the living, thinking of the principle of Epicurus, that death is nothing to those who are alive. Thales then repeats the list, with his answers, with which the others express agreement.
(a) ‘What is the oldest thing?’ ‘God, for God is something that has no beginning.’
(b) ‘What is greatest?’ ‘Space; for while the universe contains within it all else, this contains the universe.’
(c) ‘What is most beautiful?’ ‘The Universe; for everything that is ordered as it should be is a part of it.’
(d) ‘What is wisest?’ ‘Time; for it has discovered some things already, and shall discover all the rest.’
(e) ‘What is most common?’ ‘Hope; for those who have nothing else have that ever with them.’
(f) ‘What is most helpful?’ ‘Virtue; for it makes everything else helpful by putting it to a good use.’
(g) ‘What is most harmful?’ ‘Vice; for it harms the greatest number of things by its presence.’
(h) ‘What is strongest?’ ‘Necessity; for that alone is insuperable.’
(i) ‘What is easiest?’ ‘To follow Nature’s course; because people often weary of pleasures.’
The barbarian king has no wisdom. His answers are those that would come to someone who knows only how to think politically and who wishes to act as if wise. Thales reassigns several of the Ethiopian’s answers to other questions, that is, God, the Universe, and Time. He answers the questions regarding what is strongest with the exact opposite, replacing fortune with necessity. He replaces an ethic of pleasure with one of the course of Nature, which would require contemplation. He replaces an evil spirit, as the answer to what is most harmful, with vice. In answer to what is most helpful, Thales answers virtue instead of God. The Ethiopian has no conception of ethics, only comprehending good and bad as forces acting from without. Virtue and vice are the terms which govern human choice.
Cleodorus then asks, what is the difference between answering questions such as these and the riddles that his daughter, Eumetis, was fond of posing, such as: “Sooth I have seen a man with fire fasten bronze on another. Could you tell me what this is?” (154b). The answer is the medical treatment of applying heated cups to parts of the body. The comparison of such riddles to the list of questions is not pursued. It is pointed out that among the ancient Greeks, even among the poets such as Homer and Hesiod, such contests of solving perplexities were popular. The reader is left to realize that the questions to which Thales gives answers are important because they do not represent riddles but are those questions to which we require answers in order to have self-knowledge and to know how to act, and that are captured in the Delphic inscriptions. The Delphic inscriptions are not riddles.
The discussion returns to the question of the best form of government. Each of the Seven, beginning with Solon, is asked to contribute an opinion on the subject of republican government. Solon says that a state is best if it perpetuates democracy in which there is equal justice, such that injured and uninjured join together to prosecute the criminal. Bias says that an excellent democracy is when the people fear the law as much as they would fear a despot. Thales says there should be economic equality among the citizens, with none being too rich or too poor. Anacharsis says in such a state what is better should be determined by virtue and what is worse by vice. In other words, conduct of the state and its citizens should be regulated by ethical norms, not by privilege, wealth, or power.
Cleobulus says that public men should dread censure more than the law. They should do right for its own sake, not because it may make them at odds with the law. Pittacus says that as bad men should not be allowed to hold office, good men should not be allowed to refuse to serve. Those who would serve should not put their private interests above those of the state. Chilon, who, as a Spartan, does not believe that the attitude of the people is more important than the law, said that the best government is to give the greatest attention to the laws themselves, not to those who talk about them. Talking about the laws can lead to heeding views beyond those that are determined by the laws. “Finally, Periander once more concluded the discussion with the decisive remark, that they all seemed to him to approve a democracy which was most like an aristocracy” (154f).
Democracy is not advocated by the Seven as a government simply reflecting the will of the people, whatever it might be. Instead, the will of the people must be shaped by the law, good leadership, and adherence to virtue. Later, in the Republic, Plato will see democracy as one step away from despotism. But among the Seven, as portrayed by Plutarch, democracy is conceived as a form of the rule of the best, or aristocracy. If republican democracy can be formed as an aristocracy, then Plato would likely agree with this view of the Seven. The key to this republican form of government is the wisdom that takes the form of law and the ability to apply it.
Household Economics
Diocles, the narrator, once the discussion of government had come to an end, says that it would be appropriate for the assembled to tell us how a house should be managed. He asks this because “few persons are in control of kingdoms and states, whereas we all have to do with a hearth and home” (154f). To the modern reader it may seem strange to connect politics to home economics. Aristotle makes a similar connection by following his treatise on Politics with that on Economics. Aristotle says that the sciences of politics and economics have a common subject matter, in that the city or polis is composed of households. “Now a city is an aggregate made up of households and land and property, self-sufficient with regard to a good life. This is clear from the fact that, if men cannot attain this end, the community is dissolved. . . . It is evident, therefore, that economics is prior in origin to politics; for its function is prior, since a household is part of a city” (Econ 1343a).
The family is the smallest unit of political life and the family exists as a household. Aesop immediately points out that Anacharsis is, in effect, homeless, as he lives in a wagon that he moves from one place to another. Anacharsis comments that in so doing he lives like a god, in that he is free and independent, not ruled by anyone. He chides Aesop, calling his attention to one of his own fables, that regarding the contest of the fox and the leopard over which was more ingeniously colored. The leopard noted that the judge should not consider just her appearance but also by what was inside her. This would show her to be more ingenious. Anacharsis says that Aesop thus equates what is built by carpenters and stonemasons as a home, rather than the personal qualities of a man, his wife, children, and friends. As in the case of governments, the wise men proceed to present their opinions.
Solon said that the best home is where no injustice is involved in acquiring its property, or in keeping it, or in spending it. Bias said a home is best when the head of the household maintains the same character in governing it as he does outside, in society, in following the law. This view applies the intent in law that Bias shows in his view of right government. Thales said the best home is that in which it is possible for the head of the household to have the greatest leisure. These views reflect the claim that in household management the head of the household rules as a monarch. This view is also to be found in Aristotle, who says that “the science of politics involves a number of rulers, whereas the sphere of economics is a monarchy” (1343a).
Cleobulus said the head of the household should have more who love him than fear him. Pittacus said the best household is one that has nothing superfluous and lacks nothing necessary. This is a principle of true economy—the household is a model of prudence and moderation. Chilon said a household should be like a state ruled by a king, but adds the view of Lycurgus that a state should be a democracy and that the basis for such a state is for its citizens to create a democracy in their own manner of household management. The views of all the wise men on home economics are like those they express of the best state. Their views are in accord with the general view that a good state requires good citizens. Good citizens are grounded in well-run households and families.
The assembled digress briefly from the topic of household management to comment on the wine and the fact that it needs to be better passed around. Periander drinks to Chilon in a big beaker, and Chilon drinks in the same way to Bias. The gathering has fully become a symposium or drinking party. Drinking a big beaker is in accord with Vico’s description of the custom, mentioned above in Chapter 1, of drinking larger amounts of wine toward the dinner’s end. Noteworthy is the fact that drinking involves a toast. The wine is not simply sipped quietly throughout the evening. Drinking these toasts leads to a discussion on the issue of becoming drunk.
For ordinary diners, the time following dinner is an opportunity to drink, perhaps even to excess. But for those who are educated and wise, the drinking is incidental. Wine assists discourse by making a friendly atmosphere. Their conversation is governed by the Muses, who, it is reported, set only a non-intoxicating bowl. It is pointed out that Solon has the wine before him but is not drinking. Mnesiphilus, an Athenian friend of Solon, comes to his defense, pointing out that both Hesiod and Homer advocate temperance in this matter of drinking toasts. In Works and Days, Hesiod, in a list of prohibitions that make for good conduct in various life situations, says: “do not ever put the ladle on top of the wine-bowl while people are drinking; for a baneful fate is established for this” (744). To put the ladle on the wine bowl is to encourage those drinking to serve themselves more, which is ruinous, for it has the potential to turn the evening into a drunken scene.
In the Iliad, Agamemnon speaks to Idomeneus, the respected commander of the contingent from Crete, and notes that he conducts himself properly both in war and at feasts. Agamemnon says that, when others drink, Idomeneus’s cup stands always full, as does his own (4.262). Mnesiphilus comments: “as nearly as I can make out, among the men of olden time the practice of drinking healths was not in vogue, since each man drank one ‘goblet,’ as Homer has said” (156e). It is then pointed out that this careful manner of consuming wine is said to be practiced by Zeus, who poured out wine for the gods only in measured quantity. Brillat-Savarin, in his principles of the dinner party, would agree with these ancient practices. As discussed in Chapter 1 above, it was his concern that everyone go home peacefully, to enjoy a good night’s sleep.
The conversation turns back to household management and to the topic of the acquisition of some measure of property. The principle of proportion that is necessary for the management of wine at a dinner party carries over to the acquisition of property. If one has a consistent character, then property is acquired in proportion to one’s needs. But an imprudent person acquires property this way and that, never able to know what is truly needed. This does not mean that everyone should have the same amount of property. In imitation of the law, Cleobulus holds, property should be acquired according to what is fitting, reasonable, and suitable to a given household and its members. The law is not simply applied uncritically. Justice requires the law to be adjusted to particular circumstances.
The sense of proportion as the basis of prudent living takes the conversation to the issue of simplicity and frugality in cooking and eating and in the promotion of health. Periander says that he believes that the earliest form of food was “inexpensive and self-propagated foods, mallow and asphodel [two types of European, perennial herbs], whose plainness and simplicity is most likely that Hesiod recommends to us” (158a). Diet is connected to medicine. The taking of herbs as part of diet is analogous to the modern incorporation of vitamins as part of one’s daily meals. Solon then says: “For it is plain that the next best thing to the greatest and highest of all good is to require the minimum amount of food; or is it not the general opinion that the greatest good is to require no food at all?” (158c).
Cleodorus responds, vigorously arguing that the acquisition, preparation, and eating of food are the center of hearth and home. To reduce diet to nothing more than a form of preventive medicine is to do away with “the most humane and the first acts of communion between man and man; rather is all real living abolished, if so be that living is a spending of time by man which involves carrying a series of activities, most of which are called for by the need for food and its procurement” (158d). To eliminate dining and eating well is to deny a pleasure that is natural to the human condition. He says: “Let it be granted that there exist some superior pleasures for the soul to enjoy, yet it is not possible to discover a way for the body to attain a pleasure more justifiable than that which comes from eating and drinking, and this is a fact which no man can have failed to observe” (158f). It is then pointed out that to have no need of food is to have no need of a body, for it is the body—not the soul—that requires us to need food.
Solon comes forward to argue a strong, Stoic position, that the dependence on food is the great impediment to the self-sufficiency that should be desired and is proper to the soul. He argues that food makes us dependent on the world. Anything in nature may become food for another. Solon holds that the solution to our dependence upon food is not vegetarianism. He says: “to refrain entirely from eating meat, as they record of Orpheus of old, is rather a quibble than a way of avoiding wrong in regard to food” (159c). Thus to eat only plants and not animate beings does not avoid the corruption of our involvement with bodily existence. He says: “Indeed, in the case of most people, one can see that their soul is absolutely confined in the darkness of the body as in a mill, making its endless rounds in its concern over its need for food” (159d). He points out that now that those assembled have eaten, and the tables have been removed, they are able to spend time in conversation. They are free to exercise that which is distinctly human. At least for now they are not enslaved to food, and hence to the body.
Why should we not attempt to achieve this state of freedom throughout our whole life? To regard food and all that is needed to consume it, as the key to the human is to put the body before the soul. Solon says: “The fact is that food is taken as a remedy for hunger, and all those who use food in a prescribed way are said to be giving themselves treatment, not with the thought that they are doing something pleasant and grateful, but that this is necessary to comply with Nature’s imperative demand” (160a). It can be argued that food is just as much a cause of pain as of pleasure. In fact, food can cause disease and lead even to death. The gods, as immortals, do not live by food. The divine element in human beings does not require food for its cultivation. To have minimum involvement with food is to allow the soul a new freedom. This Stoic argument for the independence from food implicitly would advocate independence from the need for property or external goods in any sense. If there are no such needs, there is no need for an individual to maintain a household. It is an extreme form of Stoicism, and even the Cynic form of life as followed by Diogenes of Sinope.
On the Soul
Toward the conclusion of Plutarch’s essay, the tale is related of Arion, the famous harp player from Lesbos, and inventor of dithyrambic poetry, being saved by dolphins from drowning. Arion, encouraged by a letter he received from Periander, resolved to leave Italy for Corinth, and embarked, therefore, on a Corinthian merchant vessel. He learned while on board that the sailors planned to kill him. With no means of escape, he decided to adorn himself in the elaborate attire he wore for competitions, so that it could serve as a shroud. He placed himself on the bulwark, at the stern, and proceeded to sing one of his songs—an ode to Pythian Apollo—as the ship approached the Peloponnesus. To avoid the murderous attack of the sailors, he threw himself into the sea. But before his body was submerged, he realized that he was surrounded by many dolphins. The sea was calm and the night clear, and the dolphins bore him safely to the shore. Arion, unable to explain to himself why such a rescue had occurred, “realized that his rescue had been guided by God’s hand” (162a).
The tale of Arion’s rescue is followed by another tale, in which the body of Hesiod was taken up by a company of dolphins, and another tale, in which a local hero of Lesbos had been borne there, through the sea, by dolphins. Comments are made on how humane dolphins are, and how they are attracted by the sound of flutes and human song. These tales are taken as reports of actual incidents. The question is why such things should happen, as there seems no empirical explanation for them. Anacharsis then says that Thales has set forth an excellent hypothesis—that the cause of such events is divine and not material.
Thales’ explanation is “that soul exists in all the most dominant and most important parts of the universe, there is no proper ground for wonder that the most excellent things are brought to pass by the will of God” (163e). God as mind or spirit is in the world as the soul is in the human body. Thus there is no reason to wonder, since the ultimate cause is divine; the world is not simply a process of material causes. Anacharsis, following Thales, says: “For the body is the soul’s instrument, and the soul is God’s instrument; and just as the body has many movements of its own, but the most, and most excellent, from the soul, so the soul performs some actions by its own instinct, but others it yields itself to God’s use for Him to direct it and turn it in whatsoever course He may desire, since it is the most adaptable of all instruments” (163e). God, he says, makes use of any living creatures to accomplish his purposes. Hence the dolphins are agents of the divine.
Thales and Solon are the two of the seven wise men who became widely known for their doctrines. Thales is traditionally recognized as the first philosopher, and is known for his cosmology and metaphysics. Aristotle, in his Metaphysics, asserts that “Thales, the founder of this sort of philosophy [i.e., the one that asserts that things derive from one or more principles that serve as their substrate].”2 Engagement in politics is attributed to Thales, according to Diogenes Laertius: “After having engaged in politics, he devoted himself to the observation of nature. [ . . . ] And he was the first to speak about nature as well, according to some people.”3 Diogenes further claims that to Thales “belongs the saying ‘Know yourself,’ which Antisthenes in his Successions attributes to Phemonoē saying that Chilon appropriated it for himself.”4 Cicero, in On the Nature of the Gods, says: “For Thales of Miletus, who was the first to investigate these matters, said that water is the beginning of things, but that god is the intelligence capable of making all things out of water.”5 This view of the world having within it a divine intelligence, is the cosmology needed to justify Thales’ interpretation that the dolphins can be regarded as agents assigned to carry out the god’s purpose.
Of the Seven, Solon is the chief figure of ethical wisdom. In his life of Solon Plutarch says: “In philosophy, he cultivated chiefly the domain of political ethics, like most of the wise men of the time. . . . And in general, it would seem that Thales was the only wise man of the time who carried his speculations beyond the realm of the practical; the rest got the name of wisdom from their excellence as statesmen” (Lives, “Solon” 3.4–5). Of the Seven Sages, Vico associates Solon most closely with the Delphic “Know thyself”: “Hence Solon was made the author of that celebrated saying ‘Know thyself,’ which because of the great civil utility it had for the Athenian people, was inscribed in all the public places of the city. Later the learned preferred to regard it as having been intended for what in fact it is, a great counsel respecting metaphysical and moral things, and because of it Solon was reputed a sage in esoteric wisdom and made prince of the Seven Sages of Greece.”6 Solon the lawgiver, on Vico’s view, formulates or at least endorses the famous inscription as a device to promote Athenian democracy, and it later takes on the status of a moral precept, to be connected to that of “Nothing overmuch.”
Although both Thales and Solon are said to be the source of the two famous precepts on the temple at Delphi—gnothi seauton and mēden agan—we find at the end of Plutarch’s essay a different ascription, given by Chersias the poet, who is said to have been present when the building was consecrated. Chersias says he wishes to know what the wise men say the precepts mean. Pittacus replies that their meaning is already present in the stories of Aesop. They are, then, like the advice given in the conclusions of Aesop’s stories. There is added, to the two famous precepts, a third: “Give a pledge, and mischief attends” (164b). Chersias says this precept has kept many from marrying and even from trusting.
Attention is turned to the source of the famous two precepts. Aesop says Chersias in fact claims that Homer is their inventor. The source of “Know thyself” is the eleventh book of the Iliad, when Hector attacked the other warriors when the Trojans were being driven in rout, but Hector “knew himself” because he attacked the others but avoided a conflict with Ajax (11.542). Knowing the extent of his abilities and his position in this situation caused Hector to act prudently. The source of “Nothing overmuch” is the precept that underlies the statement of Odysseus to Diomedes in the tenth book of the Iliad, when he has chosen Diomedes to be his comrade-in-arms. Odysseus says not to praise or blame him too much (10.249).
Chersias also claims Homer to be the source of the third precept, regarding the problematic nature of subscribing to pledges. He cites the line in the Odyssey in which it is said that pledges are worthless when made by worthless people (8.351) and Zeus’s pledge, in the Iliad, when he was fooled regarding the birth of Heracles (19.91–131). The existence of this third precept is unexpected. It is thought that the Temple of Apollo likely had more inscriptions than the famous two that survive, but the reader will likely never have heard of this third precept. An inscription that is regarded as a possible third precept is the Ε (epsilon, the fifth letter of the Greek alphabet) at Delphi. It is the word for the second person singular of the verb “to be” or “thou art.” One of Plutarch’s best-known essays in the Moralia is The E at Delphi (384c–394b). Much is made of it, as a third precept, by Pico della Mirandola, in his Oration on the Dignity of Man. Pico endorses the seventh meaning of the E that Plutarch gives, to indicate that the god is an eternal being.7 However, no mention is made of the E as a third precept in The Dinner of the Seven Wise Men.
After Chersias has spoken, Solon announces that the evening should be brought to a close, quoting the wisdom of Homer: “Night-time advances apace; ‘tis well to pay heed to night-time” (164d; Il. 7.282 and 293). In this passage, Hector and Ajax agree to fight another day and to obey the arrival of night. The Seven may put aside their arguments and advice for another time. Solon suggests a libation be offered to the Muses and to Poseidon and his wife, Amphitrite, in order to bring the evening to an end. To offer a libation to the Muses is appropriate, since they represent the arts of humanity that guide conversation, and in addition are the retinue of Apollo. It is curious to offer a libation to Poseidon, the brother of Zeus. Perhaps Plutarch intends a play on the first syllable of Poseidon’s name—posis (a drinking, a draught)—as this part of the dinner party has been a symposium, or drinking party.
A dinner party proper has two parts—that in which the courses of food are served, and the conversation, that begins during these courses and continues after the dining. In such a dinner, the love of food and the love of wisdom are combined, especially if the diners are learned. In the case of the dinner of the seven wise men, the after-dinner conversation becomes a symposium. In Plutarch’s essay portraying the dinner, we are told little of the food, except that the dishes served were not elaborate and were unaccompanied by any special entertainment. The purpose of the dinner was to bring these learned figures together, not only to celebrate the Delphic inscriptions, but to learn their ideas that are the foundation of Greek culture. They are the teachers of the Greeks, the successors to the original wisdom of Homer and Hesiod.
The dinner of the seven wise men as Plutarch creates it stands in contrast to the relation of Athenaeus. Those assembled in the banquet of Athenaeus speak at length on food and its various types and express views on the art of living well, only now and then discussing philosophical or political ideas. The Seven speak as philosophers, not as diners. The learned banqueters speak philosophically and philologically but do so as gourmets. These two ancient accounts of dining set a standard from which any modern dinner party can find suggestions and inspiration. They deserve our attention in our roles of hosts and guests.