The Roman writer Aulus Gellius (X.8) relates an interesting anecdote about his country’s military punishments in olden times. He says that if a soldier committed some offense, he would be “bled”: that is, he would be subjected to a ritualistic opening of a vein and be forced to lose some blood.
We will discuss the preparation and delivery of the prepared and the extemporaneous speech. I find that, in reviewing the vast corpus of writing about this subject, most authors have devoted their attentions to abstract theories and didactic classifications, instead of practical and effective advice. My comments here are not intended to be an exhaustive study of the art of speech-making; they are meant only to suggest what methods have worked well for me in twenty-five years of trial work before the bar.
The lawyer and epistolarian Pliny the Younger, in his correspondence with a friend, vented his anger on the sycophantic atmosphere surrounding certain courts of his era. The centumviral courts—so called because they were composed of pools of one hundred men (centum viri)—were courts of equity dealing primarily with civil matters. Offended by the insolence and effrontery of the practitioners and advocates before the bar who had no respect for tradition and decency, Pliny writes:
Vasili Nikitich Mitrokhin was a Soviet intelligence officer who first began work for his country’s security services in the late 1940s. During the 1950s, he was sent on various overseas missions; but he was apparently ill-suited to field work, and was reassigned to a desk job as an archivist.
The rhetorician Quintilian, in his study of the orator’s education (IV.2.52), stated that there were four factors affecting the credibility of a forensic argument. By forensic argument, we mean a speech or writing that examines past events and evidence in order to evaluate culpability.
The Stoic philosopher Ariston of Chios was said to have believed strongly that the wise man should avoid making absolute judgments. Certitude, he felt, was neither possible nor desirable.
De poena prophetarum falsarum. If a leader cannot base his decisions on verifiable truth, or on the closest approximation of what he believes to be the truth, he will not escape calamity. He must surround himself with advisors who have his, and not their own, interests at heart; and he must seek independent confirmation of advice provided, especially during times of war or crisis.
It can often be instructive, in the study of history, to play the intriguing game of “what if?” We are inclined to believe in the inevitability of historical events, simply because things turned out as they did; yet we tend to forget that different decisions might have produced very different outcomes. Thought experiments also help us to review those timeless principles of leadership and morals that may be applicable to our own lives. Let us, then, review Hannibal’s decision not to march on Rome in the immediate wake of his shattering victory at Cannae in August of 216 B.C.
In November of 43 B.C., Rome was gripped by a terrible sense of foreboding. The historian Appian, in his Civil Wars (IV.1.4) relates that all kinds of strange portents were observed around the city. Statues sweated blood; a newborn infant uttered words; lightning struck sacred temples; and cattle spoke with a human voice. So alarmed were some senators that they summoned expert diviners from Etruria to weigh these ominous signs. The most authoritative of these was an elderly man who told them, “The monarchical rule of ancient times is returning. You will all be slaves except me.” Once the Etruscan priest spoke these words to the startled senators, says Appian, he closed his mouth and held his breath until he dropped dead before them.
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