Book 1, Chapter 47

“At greater length—you?

112 “Not for me. The first part of your argument made me desire to die; the second made me now willing, now indifferent. Your whole argument has certainly achieved this: I no longer count death an evil.”

“Do we still want a rhetorician’s epilogue, then? Or shall we abandon that art altogether now?”

“Certainly do not abandon an art you have always adorned, and rightly so, for, to tell the truth, it had adorned you. But what is this epilogue? Whatever it is, I am eager to hear it.”

113 “In the schools they commonly produce the judgments of the immortal gods concerning death. They do not invent these themselves, but take Herodotus and many others as their authorities. The first celebrated example is that of Cleobis and Biton, sons of a priestess at Argos. The story is well known. Religious law required her to be taken by carriage to a solemn, appointed sacrifice at a temple a considerable distance from the town. The draft animals were delayed; so the young men I have just named took off their clothes, anointed their bodies with oil, and came under the yoke. Thus the priestess was brought to the temple, her sons drawing the carriage. She is said to have prayed to the goddess to reward their devotion with the greatest gift a god could give a human being. After feasting with their mother, the young men went to sleep; in the morning they were found dead.

114 “Trophonius and Agamedes are said to have offered a similar prayer. When they had finished building Apollo’s temple at Delphi, they worshiped the god and asked no small payment for their work and toil: nothing specific, but whatever was best for a human being. Apollo revealed that he would give it to them on the third day after that day. When it dawned, they were found dead. They say that the god had given his judgment—and that particular god, to whom the other gods had granted a prophetic power beyond their own.”

“You, too long?

112 “Not as far as I’m concerned! Earlier you made me eager for death. Later, at some points you removed my unwillingness to die, and at others you made me quite indifferent. One result of your argument as a whole is beyond doubt: death no longer counts as an evil to me.”

“Do we also want a speaker’s closing appeal, then? Or are we abandoning that art completely now?”

“Certainly don’t abandon the art you’ve always brought distinction to, and rightly so. To tell the truth, it had brought distinction to you. But what is this closing appeal? I’m eager to hear it, whatever it is.”

113 “In their teaching, public speakers commonly cite decisions about death made by the immortal gods. These aren’t stories they make up: they take them from Herodotus and numerous other authors. They begin by praising Cleobis and Bito, the Argive priestess’s sons. You know the tale. Custom required her to travel by chariot to a regular sacrifice on an appointed day, at a temple a fair distance outside the town. The animals were delayed. The two young men I’ve named undressed, oiled themselves, and stepped up to the yoke. Her sons thus pulled the chariot and brought the priestess to the temple. There, they say, she asked the goddess to repay their devotion with the greatest blessing a deity could bestow on a person. The boys ate with their mother and went to sleep afterward. Next morning both lay dead.

114 “They tell a similar story of a prayer by Trophonius and Agamedes. The pair had built Apollo a temple at Delphi. In worshiping him they asked a substantial reward for all their labor, naming nothing specific, only the best thing a person could receive. Apollo promised to grant it on the third day after the day of their prayer. At dawn on that day they were discovered dead. That, people say, was a god’s verdict—and this was the god whom the other gods had allowed to surpass them all in foretelling the future.”