"Is the Saying ""Live in Obscurity"" Right?"

But not even he who said this wished to remain unnoticed; for he said this very thing in order that he might not remain unnoticed, as though he were thinking something rather extraordinary, procuring for himself an unjust reputation from his exhortation to obscurity. “I hate a wise man who is not wise for himself.” For they say that those around Philoxenus the son of Eryxis, and Gnathon the Sicilian, who were excited about dainties, used to blow their noses into the side-dishes, so that by disgusting their fellow-diners they might themselves alone glut themselves with what was served. And those who are immoderately and insatiably ambitious disparage reputation to others as if to rival lovers, so that they may obtain it without competition, and they do the same as those who row. For just as those, looking back toward the stern of the ship, assist the impulse toward the prow—as the backwash, overtaking them from the obstruction, helps to push the boat along—so those who give such precepts, as if turned away, pursue reputation. Since why was it necessary to say this? And why to write and, having written, to publish it for the time hereafter, if he wished to remain unnoticed by those who are now, not to mention those who are to be?

But let us leave this aside. Yet how is the thing itself not wicked, “live in obscurity”? As though you had robbed a grave? Or is living shameful, so that we should all be ignorant of one another? But I would say, do not even live in obscurity if you have lived badly, but be known, be disciplined, repent; and if you have virtue, do not become useless, or if vice, do not remain uncured. Rather, divide and distinguish to whom you command this. If to an ignorant, wicked, and foolish person, you differ in no way from one who says: “remain unnoticed even when feverish, remain unnoticed when delirious, lest the physician know you; go, throw yourself somewhere into the dark, being ignored together with your sufferings.” And you, go, suffering from an incurable and destructive disease of vice, hiding your envies, your superstitions, like some pulse-beats, fearing to present them to those who are able to admonish and cure. But the very ancient people even brought the sick out into the open; and if any of them had anything useful, having suffered it himself or cured one who suffered, he told it to the one in need. And they say that in this way medicine, being collected from experience, became great. So it was necessary also to expose diseased lives and the things of the soul to all, and to touch and speak, examining the dispositions of each: “Are you angry? Guard against this. Are you jealous? Do that. Are you in love? I too was once in love, but I repented.” But now, by denying, hiding, and wrapping up, they deepen their vice within themselves.

And indeed, if you advise the good to remain unnoticed and to be unknown, you are telling Epaminondas: “Do not be a general,” and Lycurgus: “Do not legislate,” and Thrasybulus: “Do not kill the tyrant,” and Pythagoras: “Do not educate,” and Socrates: “Do not converse.” And first of all to yourself, Epicurus: “Do not write to your friends in Asia, nor enlist those from Egypt, nor protect the youths of Lampsacus; nor send books around, displaying your wisdom to all men and women, nor make arrangements about your burial.” For what are the common tables? And what the gatherings of companions and fair people? And what the so many tens of thousands of lines written and compiled with industry on Metrodorus, on Aristobulus, on Chaeredemus? Is it so that not even when dead they may remain unnoticed, or is it that you may legislate oblivion for virtue, inactivity for art, silence for philosophy, and forgetfulness for success?