Cicero, Tusculan Disputations 1.3

But, on the contrary, we early entertained an esteem for the orator, though he was not at first a man of learning, but only quick at speaking. In subsequent times he became learned; for it is reported that Galba, Africanus, and Laelius were men of learning, and that even Cato, who preceded them in point of time, was a studious man. Then succeeded the Lepidi, Carbo, and Gracchi, and so many great orators after them, down to our own times, that we were very little, if at all, inferior to the Greeks. 

 

Philosophy has been at a low ebb even to this present time, and has had no assistance from our own language, and so now I have undertaken to raise and illustrate it, in order that, as I have been of service to my countrymen, when employed on public affairs, I may, if possible, be so likewise in my retirement.

 

And in this I must take the more pains, because there are already many books in the Latin language which are said to be written inaccurately, having been composed by excellent men, only not of sufficient learning. 

 

For, indeed, it is possible that a man may think well, and yet not be able to express his thoughts elegantly; but for anyone to publish thoughts which he can neither arrange skillfully nor illustrate so as to entertain his reader, is an unpardonable abuse of letters and retirement. They, therefore, read their books to one another, and no one ever takes them up but those who wish to have the same license for careless writing allowed to themselves. 

 

Wherefore, if oratory has acquired any reputation from my industry, I shall take the more pains to open the fountains of philosophy, from which all my eloquence has taken its rise.

 

There is a difference between speaking well and thinking well, and though the two may well be joined together, they are just as often set apart. We can readily confuse eloquence and charm with wisdom and insight, being drawn to what is appealing on the outside while neglecting what is meaningful on the inside. 

 

This is, I imagine, a problem in most any time or place, whether it be the Athens of Socrates, or the Rome of Cicero, or the playground that is contemporary politics.

 

Sophists, wherever they may be found, get caught up in the style at the expense of the substance, and so they tickle the passions instead of inspiring the mind. We will find ourselves in some trouble when the lure of words is separated from the truth in things. 

 

Think of how often you will see someone trying to sell you a plan for becoming a more convincing speaker, and then how often you will stumble across someone offering to help you genuinely develop the depth of your understanding. 

 

In this way, philosophy will often lag behind rhetoric, perhaps because we think it more important to make a good impression that to possess a sound comprehension. I’m sure that I’m considered an oddball to think that this priority should be reversed. 

 

I have known several people who had profound ideas, and yet they struggled with finding a way to express them. That is far more easily remedied, however, than the obstacle of wanting to say much while having little of value to say. The first problem requires learning a new skill, and the second problem requires unlearning a whole attitude of vanity. 

 

It can get even worse when both the speaking and the thinking are downright sloppy; far too much professional scholarship falls into this pitiful category. Still, the solution can only begin with turning to philosophy before worrying about any further bells and whistles. 

 

Cicero wishes to do something that very few of us can manage, though he is more eminently qualified than most. His life has, until this point, been dedicated to political work, and now, in his retirement, he hopes to give more attention to philosophical work. In particular, he is concerned with applying the skills acquired in the former to the dignity demanded in the latter. 

 

I shouldn’t think, however, that Cicero’s life has been somehow lagging. I am not a gifted speaker or writer, and my own philosophical journey has been characterized by more blunders than I can count, but I would venture to claim that what allowed him to touch greatness during his years in the Senate was precisely the way he bound his rhetoric to virtuous principles. 

 

When Cicero stood against Verres, or Cataline, or Julius Caesar, or Mark Antony, it wasn’t just a mastery of language that gave him strength. He built on a moral foundation, a willingness to first and foremost distinguish the true from the false and the right from the wrong. We can argue all we like about whether he always made the most expedient choices in his support of the Republic, but his conscience and his integrity were his primary guides. 

 

I invariably walk away from one of his texts with an appreciation that the only worthy rhetoric springs forth from worthy convictions. 

Written in 2/1996