M. This is certainly Eurypylus himself. What an experienced man! While his friend is continually enlarging on his misfortunes, you may observe that he is so far from weeping that he even assigns a reason why he should bear his wounds with patience.
“Who at his enemy a stroke directs,
His sword to light upon himself expects.”
Patroclus, I suppose, will lead him off to his chamber to bind up his wounds, at least if he be a man: but not a word of that; he only inquires how the battle went:
“Say how the Argives bear themselves in fight?”
And yet no words can show the truth as well as those, your deeds and visible sufferings.
“Peace! and my wounds bind up;”
but though Eurypylus could bear these afflictions, Aesopus could not,
“Where Hector’s fortune press’d our yielding troops;”
and he explains the rest, though in pain. So unbounded is military glory in a brave man! Shall, then, a veteran soldier be able to behave in this manner, and shall a wise and learned man not be able? Surely the latter might be able to bear pain better, and in no small degree either.
At present, however, I am confining myself to what is engendered by practice and discipline. I am not yet come to speak of reason and philosophy.
You may often hear of old women living without victuals for three or four days; but take away a wrestler’s provisions but for one day, and he will implore the aid of Jupiter Olympius, the very God for whom he exercises himself: he will cry out that he cannot endure it.
Great is the force of custom! Sportsmen will continue whole nights in the snow; they will bear being almost frozen upon the mountains. From practice boxers will not so much as utter a groan, however bruised by the cestus.
But what do you think of those to whom a victory in the Olympic games seemed almost on a par with the ancient consulships of the Roman people? What wounds will the gladiators bear, who are either barbarians, or the very dregs of mankind! How do they, who are trained to it, prefer being wounded to basely avoiding it!
How often do they prove that they consider nothing but the giving satisfaction to their masters or to the people! For when covered with wounds, they send to their masters to learn their pleasure: if it is their will, they are ready to lie down and die.
What gladiator, of even moderate reputation, ever gave a sigh? Who ever turned pale? Who ever disgraced himself either in the actual combat, or even when about to die? Who that had been defeated ever drew in his neck to avoid the stroke of death? So great is the force of practice, deliberation, and custom! Shall this, then, be done by
“A Samnite rascal, worthy of his trade;”
and shall a man born to glory have so soft a part in his soul as not to be able to fortify it by reason and reflection?
The sight of the gladiators’ combats is by some looked on as cruel and inhuman, and I do not know, as it is at present managed, but it may be so; but when the guilty fought, we might receive by our ears perhaps (but certainly by our eyes we could not) better training to harden us against pain and death.
“Who at his enemy a stroke directs,
His sword to light upon himself expects.”
Patroclus, I suppose, will lead him off to his chamber to bind up his wounds, at least if he be a man: but not a word of that; he only inquires how the battle went:
“Say how the Argives bear themselves in fight?”
And yet no words can show the truth as well as those, your deeds and visible sufferings.
“Peace! and my wounds bind up;”
but though Eurypylus could bear these afflictions, Aesopus could not,
“Where Hector’s fortune press’d our yielding troops;”
and he explains the rest, though in pain. So unbounded is military glory in a brave man! Shall, then, a veteran soldier be able to behave in this manner, and shall a wise and learned man not be able? Surely the latter might be able to bear pain better, and in no small degree either.
At present, however, I am confining myself to what is engendered by practice and discipline. I am not yet come to speak of reason and philosophy.
You may often hear of old women living without victuals for three or four days; but take away a wrestler’s provisions but for one day, and he will implore the aid of Jupiter Olympius, the very God for whom he exercises himself: he will cry out that he cannot endure it.
Great is the force of custom! Sportsmen will continue whole nights in the snow; they will bear being almost frozen upon the mountains. From practice boxers will not so much as utter a groan, however bruised by the cestus.
But what do you think of those to whom a victory in the Olympic games seemed almost on a par with the ancient consulships of the Roman people? What wounds will the gladiators bear, who are either barbarians, or the very dregs of mankind! How do they, who are trained to it, prefer being wounded to basely avoiding it!
How often do they prove that they consider nothing but the giving satisfaction to their masters or to the people! For when covered with wounds, they send to their masters to learn their pleasure: if it is their will, they are ready to lie down and die.
What gladiator, of even moderate reputation, ever gave a sigh? Who ever turned pale? Who ever disgraced himself either in the actual combat, or even when about to die? Who that had been defeated ever drew in his neck to avoid the stroke of death? So great is the force of practice, deliberation, and custom! Shall this, then, be done by
“A Samnite rascal, worthy of his trade;”
and shall a man born to glory have so soft a part in his soul as not to be able to fortify it by reason and reflection?
The sight of the gladiators’ combats is by some looked on as cruel and inhuman, and I do not know, as it is at present managed, but it may be so; but when the guilty fought, we might receive by our ears perhaps (but certainly by our eyes we could not) better training to harden us against pain and death.
—from Cicero, Tusculan Disputations 2,17
A rather smarmy school administrator, surely in the hopes of winning a donation, once introduced me to a wealthy businessman as “our local expert on Greek mythology.”
I could only extricate myself from the mess by explaining that it didn’t take much to be an expert on subtlety or justice in these parts. The soft bureaucrat went red in the face, while the hardened tycoon grinned with delight and bought me a drink.
Now as much as I love the Iliad, and as many times as I have read it from cover to cover, or as passionate as I am about relating the text to other ancient sources, I remain a greenhorn when it comes to making sense of the Greek myths.
I once began a catalogue of the characters from Homer’s writings, and it remains sadly incomplete. Ajax the Greater or Ajax the Lesser? Wait, who is this Eurypylus fellow? I’ve lost track of all these heroes . . .
I should pay some more attention to Eurypylus, as he is a heavyweight who ends up being neglected at the expense of so many lightweights, like Patroclus or Paris. Yes, I know this a heresy of the worst sort for the classicists, but if I am to judge the characters by their merits, and not by their lusts or temper tantrums, then Eurypylus deserves a parade.
And you wonder why I insist that Hector is the greatest hero of the Iliad, the one who gave up everything in humble loyalty to a foolish father and a libertine brother, and explained to his loving wife why he would rather die than face her slavery and their son’s murder.
(Well. If you put it that way . . . )
Eurypylus is eager to throw himself back into the fray after getting patched up, while the man-child Patroclus dwells upon the gossip from the front. It isn’t just that the brave soldier is analogous to a wise man, it’s that the brave soldier actually turns out to be a wise man.
Don’t underestimate a genuine philosopher, for he will run circles around the best and the brightest that the glitterati have to offer. With no concern for his status or his reputation, he will sacrifice far more, and he will demand nothing further in return.
Meanwhile, as a poor old woman waits for a few days on the groceries until her pension check arrives, the star athlete complains how he isn’t getting enough of his protein powder.
I can still recall the Boston College jocks, already bloated by their full scholarships, consumed with outrage when the administration took away their unlimited cafeteria points. I believe it was only two weeks before Father Monan folded under the pressure.
Carefully observe the best of people, and note how they do not make a fuss about their hardships. It will, unfortunately, be difficult to find them, precisely because they don’t draw attention to themselves; you must already have a smidgeon of virtue within you, or at least a longing for it, to recognize it in another.
Cicero was hardly a card-carrying Stoic, if there can ever be such a thing, and so it does not surprise me that he was on the fence about the gladiatorial games. I am more inclined to Seneca’s view about their barbarity, but I can still appreciate how Cicero highlights the only good quality to come from them: the chance to go out with dignity and honor.
I have no expectation, at this point, of being forced into a literal arena, though that could admittedly change in a heartbeat. My focus is therefore on facing the managers, the bankers, and the demagogues who are keen on keeping us peons under heel. I intend to give them my best, by living in a way directly opposed to their demands.
A rather smarmy school administrator, surely in the hopes of winning a donation, once introduced me to a wealthy businessman as “our local expert on Greek mythology.”
I could only extricate myself from the mess by explaining that it didn’t take much to be an expert on subtlety or justice in these parts. The soft bureaucrat went red in the face, while the hardened tycoon grinned with delight and bought me a drink.
Now as much as I love the Iliad, and as many times as I have read it from cover to cover, or as passionate as I am about relating the text to other ancient sources, I remain a greenhorn when it comes to making sense of the Greek myths.
I once began a catalogue of the characters from Homer’s writings, and it remains sadly incomplete. Ajax the Greater or Ajax the Lesser? Wait, who is this Eurypylus fellow? I’ve lost track of all these heroes . . .
I should pay some more attention to Eurypylus, as he is a heavyweight who ends up being neglected at the expense of so many lightweights, like Patroclus or Paris. Yes, I know this a heresy of the worst sort for the classicists, but if I am to judge the characters by their merits, and not by their lusts or temper tantrums, then Eurypylus deserves a parade.
And you wonder why I insist that Hector is the greatest hero of the Iliad, the one who gave up everything in humble loyalty to a foolish father and a libertine brother, and explained to his loving wife why he would rather die than face her slavery and their son’s murder.
(Well. If you put it that way . . . )
Eurypylus is eager to throw himself back into the fray after getting patched up, while the man-child Patroclus dwells upon the gossip from the front. It isn’t just that the brave soldier is analogous to a wise man, it’s that the brave soldier actually turns out to be a wise man.
Don’t underestimate a genuine philosopher, for he will run circles around the best and the brightest that the glitterati have to offer. With no concern for his status or his reputation, he will sacrifice far more, and he will demand nothing further in return.
Meanwhile, as a poor old woman waits for a few days on the groceries until her pension check arrives, the star athlete complains how he isn’t getting enough of his protein powder.
I can still recall the Boston College jocks, already bloated by their full scholarships, consumed with outrage when the administration took away their unlimited cafeteria points. I believe it was only two weeks before Father Monan folded under the pressure.
Carefully observe the best of people, and note how they do not make a fuss about their hardships. It will, unfortunately, be difficult to find them, precisely because they don’t draw attention to themselves; you must already have a smidgeon of virtue within you, or at least a longing for it, to recognize it in another.
Cicero was hardly a card-carrying Stoic, if there can ever be such a thing, and so it does not surprise me that he was on the fence about the gladiatorial games. I am more inclined to Seneca’s view about their barbarity, but I can still appreciate how Cicero highlights the only good quality to come from them: the chance to go out with dignity and honor.
I have no expectation, at this point, of being forced into a literal arena, though that could admittedly change in a heartbeat. My focus is therefore on facing the managers, the bankers, and the demagogues who are keen on keeping us peons under heel. I intend to give them my best, by living in a way directly opposed to their demands.
There is my hardening to pain and death. I will put up a good fight.
—Reflection written in 8/1996
IMAGE: Crispijn van de Passe, Patroclus Tends Eurypylus' Wound (1613)
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