Point Of View

One of my all-time favorite tales from a giveaway paper known for its tales concerns the temptation of a fisherman by a real estate developer who paints a rosy picture of the future should the man team up with him to subdivide his riparian tract of land. (We must suspend our disbelief a bit here, for I know of precious few gentleman fishermen in these parts.)

Once they became rich, they would be able to do whatever they wanted, says the promoter, who suggests that the fisherman would, with millions invested, be able to lie back and take it easy. He could fish to his heart's content. "But that's what I'm doing right now," says the fisherman in turning down the deal.

I was reminded of the story recently when, in a chapter about Rabelais it was noted that he had, like Shakespeare, little compunction when it came to borrowing. He had, for instance, stolen a story from Plutarch's Lives in which an old philosopher ask a puffed-up king, Picrochole, who had rejoiced on hearing his generals boast of all the lands they would conquer under his leadership, "Then what shall we do?"

"Why," said the king, "we shall sit down, rest, and be merry."

But, said the philosopher, given the inherent dangers, isn't it better for us to take our rest now?

The story first - well, I presume it was the first time - appears in Plutarch's chapter on Pyrrhus, better known for saying, when congratulated for having defeating the Romans twice at Asculum, that one more victory like that would be the undoing of him.

In Plutarch, Cineas begins by asking Pyrrhus what he will do once he's conquered Rome. Conquer Sicily, says Pyrrhus. And after that? After that, God willing, we'll conquer Libya, Carthage, Macedon, and Greece, says Pyrrhus.

Then what? says Cineas. "Said Pyrrhus, smiling, 'We will live at our ease, my dear friend, and drink all day, and divert ourselves with pleasant conversation.' "

But, without hazarding all those labors you speak of, we could do that now if we were of a mind to, says Cineas.

Of course, neither king was deterred from mayhem by his sage adviser, nor, presumably, was the real estate developer persuaded by the fisherman to cultivate his own garden rather than work feverishly to subdivide those of others.

Did the writer of the modern cautionary tale borrow from Rabelais, who, in turn, borrowed from Plutarch? If so, this tale, in its basic formulation, has had a shelf life of some 2,000 years. Undoubtedly its moral continues to speak to us, though it is interesting to know of its antecedents.

Maybe there really is nothing new under the sun.

Jack Graves