Reader

MENIPPUS I heard, Chiron, that though you were a god, you wanted to die. CHIRON What you heard is true, Menippus, and I am dead, as you see, though I could have been immortal. MENIPPUS Whatever made you so enamoured of death, a thing for which most men have no love? CHIRON I’ll tell you, seeing that you’re an intelligent fellow. I had no pleasure left in enjoying immortality. MENIPPUS Was it not pleasant to live and see the light? CHIRON No, Menippus. I consider pleasure to come from variety and change; but I was living on and on, and enjoying the same things—sun, light and food; the seasons were always the same, and everything came in its turn, one thing seeming to follow automatically upon another; and so I had too much of it all, for I found my pleasure not in always having the same thing, but also in doing quite without it. MENIPPUS Well spoken, Chiron. But how do you endure things in Hades, now that you’ve come down here out of preference?

CHIRON I find them not unpleasant, Menippus. The equality here is truly democratic, and it makes no difference whether one is in light or in darkness. Besides, there’s no need to be thirsty or hungry, as up above; we don’t feel any of these needs. MENIPPUS Take care you don’t trip yourself up, Chiron, and have to use the same theory again. CHIRON What do you mean? MENIPPUS That if you became sick and tired of the constant monotony and sameness of things in life, things here too are monotonous; and so you may become just as sick and tired of them, and have to look for a change from here to yet another life—and that, I think, is impossible. CHIRON Then what can one do, Menippus? MENIPPUS What I imagine a sensible man is reputed to do—be content and satisfied with one’s lot and think no part of it intolerable.