Posted: Fri Jun 09, 2006 3:30 am Post subject: Plato's dialogue with Gorgias
If we have a certain background understanding of all the dialogues, and
an overview of Socrates' personality, then we may find our reading of the
Gorgias more interesting and productive.
To reading Platonic dialogue is to watch ideas in motion, not just any
motion, but the special motion which takes place when giving birth.
Socrates at times describes himself as a mid-wife, helping minds to give
birth. There is a wonderful adjective for this role which Socrates plays;
maiutic.
Here is a handy page to read which I found just now while searching on
"maiutic" :
Socrates has two different nick-names in the dialogues; sting-ray and
gadfly. In ancient Greek, the word for sting-ray is Nar-kay, or Narke,
which is the root word for narcotic.
A sting from the tail of the sting-ray causes the body to become numb.
Socrates was called narke because of his ability through a series of
questions and answers, to numb his opponent into a motionless
cul-de-sac, called in Greek "a-poria" which means "no way out."
Now, the gadfly nick-name denoted the very opposite of numbing. The
gadfly, through its bites, could sting the lethargic horse of the state into
motion. Socrates also stings up those who feel hopeless by
"mytho-poiesis" or making a story or parable to give them a feeling of
what it shall be like when they finally come to understand.
Someone who presumes to know is smug and complacent and does not
seek or inquire. But also, those who have lost hope and given up do not
seek or inquire.
Notice how these two opposite qualities of motion and rest are united in
the one person of Socrates. We may better appreciate the conflict
between motion and rest if we consider that Aristotle speaks of an
"unmoved mover" as that one principle which somehow must exist as a
source for everything else.
To understand Socrates' narcotic strategy, we must understand his theory
of knowledge.
Socrates had a woman named Diotema as a mentor who instructed him in
a theory of knowledge which is likened to a ladder of divine ascent.
Socrates states that "God does not love wisdom, because he possesses
it." Remember that the word "philo-sophia" means "love of wisdom." If
we have something or believe that we possess it, then we do not go in
search for it. We are smug and confident that the wisdom is ours. This
smugness can be a form of illness, and the medicine to restore us to a
state which is suitable for inquiry is refutation through a syllogistic chain of
questions and answers which ultimately forces us to admit that we do not
really possess true knowledge about a particular matter like justice or
happiness.
We may see this theory of knowledge or dialectic illustrated in a
well-known Sufi teaching story, made popularized in the many books of
Idres Shah.
Nasrudin is a comical, sophomoric (or wise-fool) character. One day,
someone sees Nasrudin frantically searching the street outside his house.
When asked what has been lost, Nasrudin explains that he has lost his
keys. When asked where he lost them, he explains that he lost them in
the house. When asked why he is searching in the street for something
lost in the house, Nasrudin explains that it is dark inside the house, and
there is more light outside in the street.
Abraham Heschel illustrates something of this problem, in volume one of
"The Prophets" when he writes (paraphrased) "We must learn to
understand what it is that we see, and not merely see only that which we
understand." Our compulsion is to search where the light is better, even
if that means looking in the wrong place. Abraham Maslow put it
differently: "When the only tool you have is a hammer, then every
problem tends to become a nail."
Most of what I explain here will be things that I learned at St. John's
College in Annapolis in the 1960s. It is worth mentioning that the
teachers there prefer to call themselves "tutors" rather than "professors",
in honor of this Socratic method, since a "professor" professes to already
know the truth, and will convey it to students in a lecture and for a price,
much like the rhetorician Gorgias in this dialogue. The term "tutor" better
reflects the role of a mid-wife who aids the student during this maiutic
process of giving birth.
I would like to focus in quite a bit on this notion of uniting opposites, such
as motion and rest.
Socrates and Odysseus share something interesting in common. Homer
describes Odysseus bodily build as a paradigm of this uniting of opposites.
Odysseus had very short legs, so that when he stood amongst the other
Achaians, he was the shortest. But Odysseus had an unusually long trunk
such that, when he sat in council, his head was above all the rest, and his
words poured forth like a flurry of snow.
Socrates unites outer homliness with inner beauty.
Rabelais made reference to this quality of Socrates in his Prologue.
Alcibiades, in that dialogue of Plato’s, which is entitled The Banquet, whilst
he was setting forth the praises of his schoolmaster Socrates (without all
question the prince of philosophers), amongst other discourses to that
purpose, said that he resembled the Silenes. Silenes of old were little
boxes, like those we now may see in the shops of apothecaries, painted
on the outside with wanton toyish figures, as harpies, satyrs, bridled
geese, horned hares, saddled ducks, flying goats, thiller harts, and other
such-like counterfeited pictures at discretion, to excite people unto
laughter, as Silenus himself, who was the foster-father of good Bacchus,
was wont to do; but within those capricious caskets were carefully
preserved and kept many rich jewels and fine drugs, such as balm,
ambergris, amomon, musk, civet, with several kinds of precious stones,
and other things of great price. Just such another thing was Socrates. For
to have eyed his outside, and esteemed of him by his exterior
appearance, you would not have given the peel of an onion for him, so
deformed he was in body, and ridiculous in his gesture. He had a sharp
pointed nose, with the look of a bull, and countenance of a fool: he was in
his carriage simple, boorish in his apparel, in fortune poor, unhappy in his
wives, unfit for all offices in the commonwealth, always laughing, tippling,
and merrily carousing to everyone, with continual gibes and jeers, the
better by those means to conceal his divine knowledge. Now, opening this
box you would have found within it a heavenly and inestimable drug, a
more than human understanding, an admirable virtue, matchless learning,
invincible courage, unimitable sobriety, certain contentment of mind,
perfect assurance, and an incredible misregard of all that for which men
commonly do so much watch, run, sail, fight, travel, toil and turmoil
themselves.
Regarding Socrates' homeliness, I am reminded of that verse from Isaiah
Ch. 53,2 "He hath no form nor comeliness; and when we shall see him,
[there is] no beauty that we should desire him."
This harmonizing or balancing of opposites is a very ancient notion. The
Greeks called it the golden mean. The Buddha called it the middle way.
According to legend, Siddhartha Gautama, the historical Buddha (a term
meaning "Awakened One"), had tried every form of philosophy and
religion, and was meditating near a river's bank, close to death from
fasting. A boat passed by on the river, and Siddhartha could hear the
voice of a master musician instructing his disciple as the young student
strung an instrument: "Do not leave it loose, or it shall not sound, nor
tighten it overmuch lest the string break." Suddenly, Siddhartha realized
the wisdom of "the middle way", the mean between extremes.
I realize that I might appear to you to be jumping about a bit with all
these topics, but you must remember that when I read the Gorgias, all of
these notions are within me at once, as a gestalt, and I perceive the
dialogue through this lens of experience.
With regard to the similarity between Socrates and Odysseus, I want to
make a certain point about the position of Odysseus' ship in Homer's
"Catalog of Ships" in Book II of the Iliad. I am going to use the figures at
this url to assist me:
4. (II.527) Locrians of Euboea led by Ajax the Lesser: 40 ships
5. (II.536) Abantes: 40 ships
6. (II.546) Athenians: 50 ships, together with 12 ships of Salamis led by Ajax the Great
7. (II.559) Achaeans of Argos and Tiryns, led by Diomedes: 80 ships
8. (II.569) forces led by Agamemnon, from Mycenae and Corinth: 100 ships
9. (II.581) Lacedaemonians, led by Menelaus: 60 ships
10. (II.591) forces from Pylos led by Nestor: 90 ships
11. (II.603) Arcadians: 60 ships
12. (II.615) Elians: 40 ships
13. (II.625) Dulichium: 40 ships
14. (II.631) forces of Ithaca led by Odysseus: 12 ships
15. (II.638) Aetolians: 40 ships
16. (II.645) Cretans led by Idomeneus: 80 ships
17. (II.653) Rhodians: 9 ships
18. (II.671) Symians: 3 ships
19. (II.676) Nisyrians: 30 ships
20. (II.681) Myrmidons of Argos led by Achilles: 50 ships
21. (II.695) Phulacians: 40 ships
22. (II.711) Boebians: 11 ships
23. (II.716) Meliboeans: 7 ships with 50 archers each
24. (II.734) Oechalians: 30 ships
25. (II.738) Ormenians: 40 ships
26. (II.748) Eloneans: 40 ships
27. (II.756) Enienes: 22 ships
28. (II.760) Magnetes: 40 ships
Notice how the 12 ships of Odysseus are in the exact middle of this
line-up of ships, as a mean or balance between extremes.
At one extreme of the line-up of ships along the shore is Ajax, who is so
massive, that his epithet is bulwark or "wall".
Achilles epithet is "swift-footed".
Achilles and Ajax possess opposite virtues which are difficult to unite or
harmonize; Ajax' size, and Achilles' speed.
We see Odysseus as a mean between these two extremes of opposite but
necessary virtues.
Quote:
(Book III)
Priam, the old man, saw a third figure, Ajax, and asked:
"Who is that other man over there—
that huge, burly Achaean—towering
head and shoulders over the Achaeans?" 250
Then Helen,
long-robed goddess among women, answered:
"That's massive Ajax, Achaea's bulwark.
Once, in Book Eight of the Iliad, we find one verse which clarifies the logic
of positioning in the catalog of ships:
Quote:
He took up a position by Odysseus' ship,
a black vessel, broad in the beam, whose place,
in the middle of the row, allowed his voice
to reach both ends of the line, from the huts of Ajax, 260
son of Telamon, to those belonging to Achilles,
for these two men had placed their balanced ships
at either end, relying on their courage and strong hands.
Again, in Book 11, we are reminded of this same geometry:
Zeus sent Strife down to the fast Achaean ships,
the savage goddess, carrying the sign of war.
She stood by Odysseus' broad-beamed black ship
in the middle of the line, so she could be heard
in both directions, from the huts of Ajax,
son of Telamon, to those of Achilles,
whose well-balanced ships were drawn up at the ends,
for these men trusted courage and their own strong hands.
Ajax, who is massive but slower, is placed closest to Troy so that, during
an attack, the approaching enemy will first encounter Ajax' massive
strength.
Achilles is positioned furtherest from Troy, since his virtue of speed allows
him to meet the approaching enemy before anyone else.
When Er and the spirits arrived, their duty was to go at once to Lachesis;
but first of all there came a prophet who arranged them in order; then he
took from the knees of Lachesis lots and samples of lives, and having
mounted a high pulpit, spoke as follows: 'Hear the word of Lachesis, the
daughter of Necessity. Mortal souls, behold a new cycle of life and
mortality. Your genius will not be allotted to you, but you choose your
genius; and let him who draws the first lot have the first choice, and the
life which he chooses shall be his destiny. Virtue is free, and as a man
honours or dishonours her he will have more or less of her; the
responsibility is with the chooser --God is justified.' When the
Interpreter had thus spoken he scattered lots indifferently among them
all, and each of them took up the lot which fell near him, all but Er himself
(he was not allowed), and each as he took his lot perceived the number
which he had obtained. Then the Interpreter placed on the ground before
them the samples of lives; and there were many more lives than the souls
present, and they were of all sorts. There were lives of every animal and
of man in every condition. And there were tyrannies among them, some
lasting out the tyrant's life, others which broke off in the middle and came
to an end in poverty and exile and beggary; and there were lives of
famous men, some who were famous for their form and beauty as well as
for their strength and success in games, or, again, for their birth and the
qualities of their ancestors; and some who were the reverse of famous for
the opposite qualities. And of women likewise; there was not,
however, any definite character them, because the soul, when choosing a
new life, must of necessity become different. But there was every other
quality, and the all mingled with one another, and also with elements of
wealth and poverty, and disease and health; and there were mean
states also. And here, my dear Glaucon, is the supreme peril of our
human state; and therefore the utmost care should be taken. Let each
one of us leave every other kind of knowledge and seek and follow one
thing only, if peradventure he may be able to learn and may find some
one who will make him able to learn and discern between good and
evil, and so to choose always and everywhere the better life as he has
opportunity. He should consider the bearing of all these things which have
been mentioned severally and collectively upon virtue; he should know
what the effect of beauty is when combined with poverty or wealth in a
particular soul, and what are the good and evil consequences of noble and
humble birth, of private and public station, of strength and weakness, of
cleverness and dullness, and of all the soul, and the operation of
them when conjoined; he will then look at the nature of the soul, and from
the consideration of all these qualities he will be able to determine which
is the better and which is the worse; and so he will choose, giving the
name of evil to the life which will make his soul more unjust, and good to
the life which will make his soul more just; all else he will disregard. For
we have seen and know that this is the best choice both in life and after
death. A man must take with him into the world below an adamantine faith
in truth and right, that there too he may be undazzled by the desire of
wealth or the other allurements of evil, lest, coming upon tyrannies and
similar villainies, he do irremediable wrongs to others and suffer yet
worse himself; but let him know how to choose the mean and avoid the
extremes on either side, as far as possible, not only in this life but in
all that which is to come. For this is the way of happiness.
And according to the report of the messenger from the other world this
was what the prophet said at the time: 'Even for the last comer, if he
chooses wisely and will live diligently, there is appointed a happy and not
undesirable existence. Let not him who chooses first be careless, and let
not the last despair.' And when he had spoken, he who had the first choice
came forward and in a moment chose the greatest tyranny; his mind
having been darkened by folly and sensuality, he had not thought out the
whole matter before he chose, and did not at first sight perceive that he
was fated, among other evils, to devour his own children. But when he
had time to reflect, and saw what was in the lot, he began to beat his
breast and lament over his choice, forgetting the proclamation of the
prophet; for, instead of throwing the blame of his misfortune on himself,
he accused chance and the gods, and everything rather than himself. Now
he was one of those who came from heaven, and in a former life had
dwelt in a well-ordered State, but his virtue was a matter of habit only,
and he had no philosophy. And it was true of others who were
similarly overtaken, that the greater number of them came from heaven
and therefore they had never been schooled by trial, whereas the pilgrims
who came from earth, having themselves suffered and seen others
suffer, were not in a hurry to choose. And owing to this inexperience of
theirs, and also because the lot was a chance, many of the souls
exchanged a good destiny for an evil or an evil for a good. For if a man
had always on his arrival in this world dedicated himself from the first to
sound philosophy, and had been moderately fortunate in the number of
the lot, he might, as the messenger reported, be happy here, and also his
journey to another life and return to this, instead of being rough and
underground, would be smooth and heavenly. Most curious, he said, was
the spectacle --sad and laughable and strange; for the choice of the souls
was in most cases based on their experience of a previous life. There he
saw the soul which had once been Orpheus choosing the life of a swan out
of enmity to the race of women, hating to be born of a woman because
they had been his murderers; he beheld also the soul of Thamyras
choosing the life of a nightingale; birds, on the other hand, like the swan
and other musicians, wanting to be men. The soul which obtained the
twentieth lot chose the life of a lion, and this was the soul of Ajax the son
of Telamon, who would not be a man, remembering the injustice which
was done him the judgment about the arms. The next was Agamemnon,
who took the life of an eagle, because, like Ajax, he hated human nature
by reason of his sufferings. About the middle came the lot of Atalanta;
she, seeing the great fame of an athlete, was unable to resist the
temptation: and after her there followed the soul of Epeus the son of
Panopeus passing into the nature of a woman cunning in the arts; and far
away among the last who chose, the soul of the jester Thersites was
putting on the form of a monkey. There came also the soul of
Odysseus having yet to make a choice, and his lot happened to be
the last of them all. Now the recollection of former tolls had disenchanted
him of ambition, and he went about for a considerable time in search of
the life of a private man who had no cares; he had some difficulty in
finding this, which was lying about and had been neglected by everybody
else; and when he saw it, he said that he would have done the same
had his lot been first instead of last, and that he was delighted to have
it. And not only did men pass into animals, but I must also mention that
there were animals tame and wild who changed into one another and into
corresponding human natures --the good into the gentle and the evil into
the savage, in all sorts of combinations.
I suppose one might say that the assortment of possible lives for rebirth,
spread out before the souls which have drawn lots, resembles the
assortment of facts and phenomena in reality, spread out for the mind to
choose, or the assortment of careers spread out before students.
But it is not the phenomenon or fact which casts the mind into a certain
state, or the career which shapes the student, but rather it is the harmony
of the mind, the balance of the student, which conditions the choice of
attention and specialization. Hence the task of the Socratic method is not
to offer facts upon a platter, or sheet music, but rather to fine tune and
harmonize the mind of the student as a process rather than a destination.
It is not the scenery which colors the vision, but rather the harmony or
focus of vision which determines the scenery.
What follows may seem a non sequitur, but it is good for the reader to have some insight into the educational philosophy of the college which influenced me; a college which attempts to put into practice the maiutic process harmonization which I describe.
The Motto of St. John's College Motto
Facio liberos ex liberis libris libraque ( I make free men from children by means of books and a balance)
This metaphor of our education as a lens which shapes our vision reminds me of a true story which I entitled "Eighth Grade Existentialism"
Quote:
When my stepson was in 8th grade, I saw a copy of Camus' novel, "The
Plague," on his desk, and I was startled to think that such a book
was required reading for an 8th grader, so I asked him "are you
reading this for school?"
He became alarmed and said "Is it a bad book?" (he was worried that
it was something he shouldn't be reading).
I said, "No, it's a fine book. I'm just surprised if they require you
to read it." He explained that it was not required reading. He
simply chose it on his own because it seemed interesting.
He then asked me "What is surprising about an 8th grader reading
Camus,.... what sort of writer is he?"
I said "Well, Camus is an Existentialist of sorts."
Then he asked, "What is an Existentialist?"
I answered, "Aha, that is a very interesting question! Let's look up
Existentialism in the encyclopedia. But I guarantee you that when we
are done reading the article, you will see that basically, it will
say that it is hard to define Existentialism."
We read the article on Existentialism together, and when we finished,
he agreed that it didn't really explain what Existentialism is.
I tried to explain, "If you keep reading lots of books by
Existentialists like Camus, Sartre, Kierkegaard, etc., then, very
slowly, you will perhaps change and see the world through the eyes of the
Existentialists, and you too will be Existentialist in your thinking.
Similarly, if you read lots and lots of Plato's dialogues, you will possibly
slowly change and begin to see the world in Platonic terms. You are
Roman Catholic and have always gone to Catholic schools, so you see
the world through the eyes of Catholicism.
So, then he asked, "Well, is that GOOD?" (i.e. is it good to see the
world through the eyes of Existentialism.)
I answered, "It is not a matter of being good or bad, as if there is
only one right way to see the world. BUT, I will say, it is far
better to see the world through SOME kind of eyes, with some kind of
perspective, be it Existentialist, Platonic, Roman Catholic, etc.,
then to not look at the world at all, and go through life with your
eyes closed."
That was an eighth grader's first venture into existentialism.
When studying Plato, it may be helpful to realize that, in the 20th century, Kurt Godel the mathematician was essentially a Platonist and viewed number as having some independent and mystical existence, along with Einstein, who was a personal friend of Godel. Opposite to the Platonist is the empiricist and positivist, who see number as a human instrument or construction, and a means to an end, rather than an end in itself. Remember that over the entrance to Plato's Lyceum was written "Let no one enter here who has not mastered Euclid's Elements of Geometry".
Godel's Platonism in fact went against all the main currents of thought in his time, not only in mathematics but also in philosophy and in physics. From 1926 to 1928 Godel was a regular at the weekly meetings of the Vienna Circle, a discussion group led by the philosopher Moritz Schlick. Already a Platonist, Godel must have found the radical empiricism of the Circle uncongenial. As Ms. Goldstein says: "He could not have been more at odds with their metaconvictions." It is something of a mystery why he stuck with them for so long. Ludwig Wittgenstein was a hero to the Circle (though he declined an invitation to join), and Ms. Goldstein has some very interesting things to say about the parallels between Wittgenstein's "Unsayable" and Godel's "Undecidable."
The connection with physics is even more intriguing. It would have been striking enough at any time to say, as Godel did, that mathematical objects possess real existence independent of human minds. It was doubly so to say this when the physical world of solid objects was itself evaporating away into a cloud of quantumtheoretical abstractions. Prominent physicists of Godel's time - notably Werner Heisenberg - denied the existence of any real-world independent of observers. Godel's first intention, on entering the University of Vienna in 1924, had been to study physics, and he maintained a keen interest in the subject all his life.
The Platonist assumes abstract objects of knowledge, paradigmatically numbers or other formal mathematical structures (though universals, forms, or real essences of other kinds might do as well), epistemic access to which is ideally via rational insight, intuition, or some other a priori cognitive connection. The empiricist, on the other hand, denies either the existence of such objects or the possibility of non-empirical epistemic access to them.
Einstein may well be the only important twentieth-century empiricist philosopher of science who not only does not flee from these Platonic moments as an embarrassment to empirical science but embraces them, especially simplicity, as being a crucial feature of good science. Thus, in a now-frequently-quoted passage from his Autobiographical Notes, he writes:
The reciprocal relationship of epistemology and science is of noteworthy kind. They are dependent upon each other. Epistemology without contact with science becomes an empty scheme. Science without epistemology is–insofar as it is thinkable at all–primitive and muddled. However, no sooner has the epistemologist, who is seeking a clear system, fought his way through to such a system, than he is inclined to interpret the thought-content of science in the sense of his system and to reject whatever does not fit into his system. The scientist, however, cannot afford to carry his striving for epistemological systematic that far. He accepts gratefully the epistemological conceptual analysis; but the external conditions, which are set for him by the facts of experience, do not permit him to let himself be too much restricted in the construction of his conceptual world by the adherence to an epistemological system. He therefore must appear to the systematic epistemologist as a type of unscrupulous opportunist: he appears as realist insofar as he seeks to describe a world independent of the acts of perception; as idealist insofar as he looks upon the concepts and theories as free inventions of the human spirit (not logically derivable from what is empirically given); as positivist insofar as he considers his concepts and theories justified only to the extent to which they furnish a logical representation of relations among sensory experiences. He may even appear as Platonist or Pythagorean insofar as he considers the viewpoint of logical simplicity as an indispensible and effective tool of his research. (Einstein 1949, pp. 683-684)
Bearing in mind that Einstein’s purpose here is yet again gently to repudiate the versions of empiricism promoted by Schlick, Reichenbach, and their mid-century legatees (the unnamed “systematic epistemologist”), we should not take too seriously his self-deprecating description of his own position as a species of epistemological opportunism. Instead, we should do him the favor of assuming that there is as much system in his philosophy of science as in the physics out of the doing of which it grew. Given that working assumption, let us then ask how Einstein’s empiricism can comfortably accommodate the Platonism that so discomfits the empiricisms of others, starting with the Platonic moment that he chose, himself, to thematize: simplicity.
After this long prelude or prologue, we may begin to look at the Gorgias
itself.
Gorgias is an orator and rhetorician. Socrates and his companion arrive
late upon the scene, just missing Gorgias' demonstration of expository
speaking.
We should keep in mind that one of the charges against Socrates at his
trial, in addition to corrupting the youth of Athens, was that he taught
people the art of "making the weaker argument defeat the stronger."
I sometimes wonder if our contemporary educational system isn't
corrupting the youth by heaping scores of sheet music before the
symphony and never attempting to tune the instruments in the orchestra.
Society shall prepare and drink its own cup of hemlock for that crime.
An offer is made to have Gorgias repeat his performance for Socrates'
benefit, but Socrates convinces Gorgias to enter into a simpler dialogue of
brief questions and answers. Socrates gleefully compliments Gorgias on
how well he complies with the rules of this simple form of dialogue.
Socrates is leading Gorgias into his dialectic trap. I once saw a cartoon in
a magazine depicting a dog, who has laid down a trail of cat food, leading
to an open dryer, hiding and gleefully waiting for the cat to step inside
the dryer. Once the cat is in, the dog will slam the door shut and rejoice
as the cat spins round and round. Once Gorgias agrees to enter Socrates'
"laundromat" of syllogisms, then poor Gorgias will find his head spinning
like that cat.
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