M. What! They who would speak louder than ordinary are they satisfied with working their jaws, sides, or tongue or stretching the common organs of speech and utterance? The whole body and every muscle is at full stretch if I may be allowed the expression; every nerve is exerted to assist their voice. I have actually seen the knees of Marcus Antonius touch the ground when he was speaking with vehemence for himself, with relation to the Varian law.
For, as the engines you throw stones or darts with throw them out with the greater force the more they are strained and drawn back; so it is in speaking, running, or boxing—the more people strain themselves, the greater their force.
Since, therefore, this exertion has so much influence—if in a moment of pain groans help to strengthen the mind, let us use them; but if they be groans of lamentation, if they be the expression of weakness or abjectness, or unmanly weeping, then I should scarcely call him a man who yielded to them.
For even supposing that such groaning could give any ease, it still should be considered whether it were consistent with a brave and resolute man. But if it does not ease our pain, why should we debase ourselves to no purpose? For what is more unbecoming in a man than to cry like a woman?
But this precept which is laid down with respect to pain is not confined to it. We should apply this exertion of the soul to everything else. Is anger inflamed? Is lust excited? We must have recourse to the same citadel, and apply to the same arms. But since it is pain which we are at present discussing, we will let the other subjects alone.
To bear pain, then, sedately and calmly, it is of great use to consider with all our soul, as the saying is, how noble it is to do so, for we are naturally desirous (as I said before, but it cannot be too often repeated) and very much inclined to what is honorable, of which, if we discover but the least glimpse, there is nothing which we are not prepared to undergo and suffer to attain it.
From this impulse of our minds, this desire for genuine glory and honorable conduct, it is that such dangers are supported in war, and that brave men are not sensible of their wounds in action, or, if they are sensible of them, prefer death to the departing but the least step from their honor.
The Decii saw the shining swords of their enemies when they were rushing into the battle. But the honorable character and the glory of the death which they were seeking made all fear of death of little weight.
Do you imagine that Epaminondas groaned when he perceived that his life was flowing out with his blood? No; for he left his country triumphing over the Lacedaemonians, whereas he had found it in subjection to them. These are the comforts, these are the things that assuage the greatest pain.
For, as the engines you throw stones or darts with throw them out with the greater force the more they are strained and drawn back; so it is in speaking, running, or boxing—the more people strain themselves, the greater their force.
Since, therefore, this exertion has so much influence—if in a moment of pain groans help to strengthen the mind, let us use them; but if they be groans of lamentation, if they be the expression of weakness or abjectness, or unmanly weeping, then I should scarcely call him a man who yielded to them.
For even supposing that such groaning could give any ease, it still should be considered whether it were consistent with a brave and resolute man. But if it does not ease our pain, why should we debase ourselves to no purpose? For what is more unbecoming in a man than to cry like a woman?
But this precept which is laid down with respect to pain is not confined to it. We should apply this exertion of the soul to everything else. Is anger inflamed? Is lust excited? We must have recourse to the same citadel, and apply to the same arms. But since it is pain which we are at present discussing, we will let the other subjects alone.
To bear pain, then, sedately and calmly, it is of great use to consider with all our soul, as the saying is, how noble it is to do so, for we are naturally desirous (as I said before, but it cannot be too often repeated) and very much inclined to what is honorable, of which, if we discover but the least glimpse, there is nothing which we are not prepared to undergo and suffer to attain it.
From this impulse of our minds, this desire for genuine glory and honorable conduct, it is that such dangers are supported in war, and that brave men are not sensible of their wounds in action, or, if they are sensible of them, prefer death to the departing but the least step from their honor.
The Decii saw the shining swords of their enemies when they were rushing into the battle. But the honorable character and the glory of the death which they were seeking made all fear of death of little weight.
Do you imagine that Epaminondas groaned when he perceived that his life was flowing out with his blood? No; for he left his country triumphing over the Lacedaemonians, whereas he had found it in subjection to them. These are the comforts, these are the things that assuage the greatest pain.
—from Cicero, Tusculan Disputations 2.24
While the soul and the body can clearly be identified as two distinct principles of life, in practice their actions are always closely bound together. Whenever I sense or I feel, the mind will take notice, and whatever my judgment, the flesh will offer its response. As long as I have the higher directing the lower, and not the reverse, it is natural for mental excitement to express itself in the form of physical excitement.
A great orator employs his whole body to convey his message, just as a great warrior channels the strength of his conviction into the strength of his limbs. However quirky our dispositions may be, the external effect is proper and healthy if it reflects an internal virtue. Look to the signs that reveal something about the workings of the man.
There is no shame in blushing when the topic itself is rightly shameful. There is no weakness in tears when they flow from an appreciation of the good and the beautiful. If a hand quivers, that tension can now be harnessed for action, just as any anxiety can always be refocused. There is crying out, and then there is crying out, and the difference is entirely in the content of character.
None of this will make much sense, however, if we remain ignorant of the virtues as the primary goal of human life, and so an appeal to nobility will fall on deaf ears when we trade only in pleasures. In order to be moved by any of Cicero’s rhetorical flourishes, I must first get my thinking in order, to understand why the value of feelings is relative to the value of actions.
In our current post-modern condition, many people like to mock a calling to the moral life, just as they are keen on rolling their eyes at the praise of piety. The cause of both symptoms is the same, a crippling cynicism about meaning or value beyond immediate gratification. There can be no sacrifice, or reverence, when there is nothing bigger in our estimation than convenience and luxury.
I only become able to bear pain if I am aware of a higher human vocation, of something for which to suffer, even to die for; unless I embrace such a task, concepts like honor or glory are reduced to empty phrases, to be tossed about by rascals and rogues.
Like any time or place, Rome had its scoundrels, and like any time or place, Rome also had its heroes. The family of the Decii stood out to Cicero not because of their power or wealth, but because of their willingness to face hardship in service to the Roman people. I seek out such people here and now, though I do not find them in the usual places.
Epaminondas is the sort of fellow who deserves greater attention in our day and age. In seeking to free Thebes from Spartan dominance, he had already won a great battle at Leuctra, and a decade later he met his enemies one final time at Mantinea. Though mortally wounded by a spear thrust, he clung to life long enough to learn of the Theban victory.
“It is time to die,” he said upon hearing the news.
The story has it that a companion was overcome by grief, exclaiming how tragic it was that Epaminondas would pass away childless.
“No, by Zeus,” Epaminondas replied. “I leave behind two daughters, Leuctra and Mantinea, my victories!”
Another version has his last words as “I have lived long enough. I die unconquered.”
Cicero, or the Stoic, or any decent person can surely not help but be inspired by someone who chooses gratitude over grievance.
While the soul and the body can clearly be identified as two distinct principles of life, in practice their actions are always closely bound together. Whenever I sense or I feel, the mind will take notice, and whatever my judgment, the flesh will offer its response. As long as I have the higher directing the lower, and not the reverse, it is natural for mental excitement to express itself in the form of physical excitement.
A great orator employs his whole body to convey his message, just as a great warrior channels the strength of his conviction into the strength of his limbs. However quirky our dispositions may be, the external effect is proper and healthy if it reflects an internal virtue. Look to the signs that reveal something about the workings of the man.
There is no shame in blushing when the topic itself is rightly shameful. There is no weakness in tears when they flow from an appreciation of the good and the beautiful. If a hand quivers, that tension can now be harnessed for action, just as any anxiety can always be refocused. There is crying out, and then there is crying out, and the difference is entirely in the content of character.
None of this will make much sense, however, if we remain ignorant of the virtues as the primary goal of human life, and so an appeal to nobility will fall on deaf ears when we trade only in pleasures. In order to be moved by any of Cicero’s rhetorical flourishes, I must first get my thinking in order, to understand why the value of feelings is relative to the value of actions.
In our current post-modern condition, many people like to mock a calling to the moral life, just as they are keen on rolling their eyes at the praise of piety. The cause of both symptoms is the same, a crippling cynicism about meaning or value beyond immediate gratification. There can be no sacrifice, or reverence, when there is nothing bigger in our estimation than convenience and luxury.
I only become able to bear pain if I am aware of a higher human vocation, of something for which to suffer, even to die for; unless I embrace such a task, concepts like honor or glory are reduced to empty phrases, to be tossed about by rascals and rogues.
Like any time or place, Rome had its scoundrels, and like any time or place, Rome also had its heroes. The family of the Decii stood out to Cicero not because of their power or wealth, but because of their willingness to face hardship in service to the Roman people. I seek out such people here and now, though I do not find them in the usual places.
Epaminondas is the sort of fellow who deserves greater attention in our day and age. In seeking to free Thebes from Spartan dominance, he had already won a great battle at Leuctra, and a decade later he met his enemies one final time at Mantinea. Though mortally wounded by a spear thrust, he clung to life long enough to learn of the Theban victory.
“It is time to die,” he said upon hearing the news.
The story has it that a companion was overcome by grief, exclaiming how tragic it was that Epaminondas would pass away childless.
“No, by Zeus,” Epaminondas replied. “I leave behind two daughters, Leuctra and Mantinea, my victories!”
Another version has his last words as “I have lived long enough. I die unconquered.”
Cicero, or the Stoic, or any decent person can surely not help but be inspired by someone who chooses gratitude over grievance.
—Reflection written in 8/1996
IMAGE: Banjamin West, The Death of Epaminondas (1773)
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