Cicero, Tusculan Disputations 1.47

A. More prolix than was necessary? Certainty not, in my opinion. For I was induced, by the former part of your speech, to wish to die; but, by the latter, sometimes not to be unwilling, and at others to be wholly indifferent about it. But the effect of your whole argument is, that I am convinced that death ought not to be classed among the evils.

 

M. Do you, then, expect that I am to give you a regular peroration, like the rhetoricians, or shall I forego that art?

 

A. I would not have you give over an art which you have set off to such advantage; and you were in the right to do so, for, to speak the truth, it also has set you off. But what is that peroration? For I should be glad to hear it, whatever it is.

 

M. It is customary, in the schools, to produce the opinions of the immortal Gods on death; nor are these opinions the fruits of the imagination alone of the lecturers, but they have the authority of Herodotus and many others. 

 

Cleobis and Biton are the first they mention, sons of the Argive priestess; the story is a well-known one. As it was necessary that she should be drawn in a chariot to a certain annual sacrifice, which was solemnized at a temple some considerable distance from the town, and the cattle that were to draw the chariot had not arrived, those two young men whom I have just mentioned, pulling off their garments, and anointing their bodies with oil, harnessed themselves to the yoke. 

 

And in this manner the priestess was conveyed to the temple; and when the chariot had arrived at the proper place, she is said to have entreated the Goddess to bestow on them, as a reward for their piety, the greatest gift that a God could confer on man. 

 

And the young men, after having feasted with their mother, fell asleep; and in the morning they were found dead. 

 

Trophonius and Agamedes are said to have put up the same petition, for they, having built a temple to Apollo at Delphi, offered supplications to the God, and desired of him some extraordinary reward for their care and labor, particularizing nothing, but asking for whatever was best for men. 

 

Accordingly, Apollo signified to them that he would bestow it on them in three days, and on the third day at daybreak they were found dead. 

 

And so they say that this was a formal decision pronounced by that God to whom the rest of the deities have assigned the province of divining with an accuracy superior to that of all the rest. 

—from Cicero, Tusculan Disputations 1.47

 

I detect a certain cynicism about classically eloquent language these days, and I wonder if this fashion has something to do with the lowered status of a thinker like Cicero. I am immediately wary of fine rhetoric divorced from sound reasoning, but a beauty of expression joined together with a mastery of truth is a wondrous thing to behold. If it is built upon universal wisdom, then a moving presentation that tugs at the heartstrings can only inspire the soul all the more. 

 

And so as Cicero comes to the close of this first book, he pulls out all the stops with the poetic phrases and the stirring tales. While the story about Diagoras and his sons in the previous chapter had me a little choked up, the mention of Cleobis and Biton easily brings on the waterworks. 

 

As much as I wish to share such touching narratives with others, I can usually only manage it in writing. I learned this lesson the hard way a year ago, when I tried to read Hector’s farewell to Andromache and Astyanax from the Iliad out loud to a class; it was an ugly sight. 

 

Even if you don’t have a soft spot for the dramatic, look at the account of Cleobis and Biton as a sort of microcosm of an entire life. We all find ourselves thrown into certain circumstances, and so we are faced with unexpected challenges. Now the only question will be whether we rise up to do what is right, or if we shrug our shoulders and crawl away into a corner. Whether that happens over a single day or over eighty years, it makes little difference. 

 

Cleobis and Biton took the place of the missing oxen, and so they honored their mother, and they further honored the goddess Hera. Most importantly, they honored themselves—no man can become greater than when he humbles himself in total service. 

 

Only the man who demands to receive more from a life lived with excellence, as if he were owed some additional gratification, would not be quite content to go to sleep for the last time after such a distinguished effort. As always, it boils down to a choice between caring for what we do or caring for what is done to us. The eclectic Cicero is not a hardcore Stoic, but her sure sounds like one here. 

 

I had never come across the story about Trophonius and Agamedes before I read it in this text, though it only confirms the very same lesson: dying well becomes a fulfillment for anyone who has committed to living well. 

 

From this perspective, death is certainly not an evil, and may even be transformed into a relief from the burdens of fortune, when we elect to cling to virtue instead of prosperity or longevity. 

 

When one of my favorite professors retired, one of the last forced out by a ridiculous bureaucratic age limit, I nervously asked him what he would now do with his time. 

 

“I have a few loose ends to wrap up, and then I’m ready to finally go for a ride in a hearse!” 

 

You had to see his wicked Irish grin to know that he said it with an absolute peace in his mind and a complete joy in his heart. 

 

I need to seek out more people like him; they still make them, but you’ll be hard-pressed to find them, since they don’t cry out for attention. 

—Reflection written in 6/1996 

IMAGES: 

Jean Bardin, Cleobis and Biton with Cydippe in front of Hera's Temple (1764) 

Thomas Blanchet, Cleobis and Biton (c. 1660)

Nicolas-Pierre Loir, Kleobis and Biton (c. 1649)

Adam Müller, Kleobis and Biton (1830)