Julie’s Thoughts
On Why We Study Ancient Greek Philosophy
Those of you who especially enjoy eastern philosophy that you might be tempted
to think that Greek philosophy is a step down from the use of the mind aspired to by
eastern visionaries. And, in a sense, you would be right – and Socrates, Plato, and
Aristotle would be the first agree with you. As Aristotle puts it, there are various levels of
mind (at least five), and the uppermost is simply beyond words. That said, he argued, we
can discuss the other levels very fruitfully, and should, since deep communication is
possible among humans, and words, for all their limitations, do give us the power to
conceive of and exchange abstract objects (thoughts, ideas, concepts, images, arguments,
conclusions, theories, etc.) that are as real as rocks, they are just more difficult to
apprehend. The knowledge that grows between us in this process may be a secondary
reality (or substance, as Aristotle calls it), but it is nonetheless worthy of our best
intellectual efforts as it can uplift us, individually and collectively, to our better selves.
Words are the best tools humans have for mutual education, and while self-knowledge is
the ultimate end of all learning, we have a great deal to learn from one another in the
process.
Aristotle says it like this:
"… the truth seems to be like the proverbial door, which no one can fail to
hit, [and] in this respect it must be easy, but the fact that we can have a
whole truth and not [just] the particular part we aim at shows the difficulty
of it....[N]o one is able to attain the truth adequately, while, on the other
hand, we do not collectively fail, but every one says something true about
the nature of things, and while individually we contribute little or nothing
to the truth, by the union of all a considerable amount is amassed."(Meta
Book II/Chapter I)
"… we should be grateful, not only to those with whose views we may
agree, but also to those who have expressed more superficial views; for
these also contributed something, by developing before us the powers of
thought. It is true that if there had been no Timotheus we should have been
without much of our lyric poetry; but if there had been no Phrynis there
would have been no Timotheus. The same holds good of those who have
expressed views about the truth; for from some thinkers we have inherited
certain opinions, while the others have been responsible for the appearance
of the former."(Meta Book II/Chapter I)
Plato puts it this way in his Seventh Epistle (Letter):
"After much effort, as names, definitions, sights, and other data of sense, are
brought into contact and friction one with another, in the course of scrutiny
and kindly testing by men who proceed by question and answer without ill
1
will, with a sudden flash there shines forth understanding about every
problem, and an intelligence whose efforts reach the furthest limits of human
powers."
And in Symposium:
"That, if ever, is the moment, my dear Socrates,” Diotima says, “when a man's
life is worth living, as he contemplates beauty itself."[Sym 211d]
And in the Republic:
“Here at last, then, we come to the main theme, to be developed in
philosophic discussion. It's...progress is like that of the power of vision...the
summit of the intelligible world is reached in philosophic discussion by one
who aspires, through the discourse of reason unaided by any of the senses, to
make his way in every case to the essential reality and perseveres until he has
grasped by pure intelligence the very nature of Goodness itself. This journey
is what we call Dialectic.” [Plato's Republic, p. 252]
Socrates goes on to say a great deal about dialectic thinking, including:
“To ask and answer questions, this is the highest of arts.(RepC 534e) It is
"only the process of inquiry that advances in this manner, doing away with
hypothesis, up to the first principle itself in order to find confirmation
there."(RepC 533d) "This...is the very law which dialectic recites...when
anyone by dialectic attempts through discourse of reason...to find his way to
the very essence of each thing...the nature of the good in itself,"(RepC 532b)
and "attempts systematically and in all cases to determine what each thing
really is."(RepC 533b) "[C]all this progress of thought dialectic."(RepC 532b)
"The detached studies in which they were educated as children will now be
brought together in a comprehensive view of their connections with one
another and with reality."(RepC, 259) For a "natural gift for Dialectic ... is the
same thing as the ability to see the connections between things."(RepC, 259)
"[Children] must devote themselves especially to the discipline which will
make them masters of the technique of asking and answering
questions....Dialectic...study..."(RepC, 255) "[T]here should be no element of
slavery in learning. Enforced exercise does no harm to the body but enforced
learning will not stay in the mind. So avoid compulsion, and let your
children's lessons take the form of play. This will also help you to see what
they are naturally fitted for."[RepC p.258]
"And the beginning, as you know, is always the most important part,
especially in dealing with anything young and tender. That is the time when
the character is being moulded and easily takes any impress one may wish to
2
stamp on it."(68) "The purpose is to bring the two elements into tune with one
another by adjusting the tension of each to the right pitch. So one who can
apply to the soul both kinds of education blended in perfect proportion will be
master of a nobler sort of musical harmony than was ever made by tuning the
strings of the lyre."(102)
And "there might be an art...of bringing this about."(RepC 518d) "If I could, I
would show you, no longer an image and symbol of my meaning, but the very
truth, as it appears to me"(RepC 533b)..."the nature of this faculty of
dialectic."(RepC 532e)
Many are tempted to think of Socratic dialogue itself as the art of dialectic, and to some
extent, it is. Socratic dialogue is a form of dialectic thinking, but dialectic thinking is not
merely Socratic dialogue, as some have surmised. But it is the beginning, and even this
dialectic art does not get its due in academia. While practically every course you will take
in college will draw some of its legitimacy or origin from the ancient Greeks, few (if any)
actually practice the art the ancients taught.
Much as we all love our jobs, most
educators will readily admit that academics are quite fond of calling their method
‘Socratic’ - as if to add an air of moral legitimacy to their teaching - even as they twist
that method to their own ends that usually have less to do with advancing truth than
advancing their careers. Questioning the authority of so many experts is practically
unheard of, even in graduate programs where one might expect it, let alone in
undergraduate institutions, where there is too often a virtual dearth of true dialectic
dialogue.
And not only is this postmodern conundrum unnecessary, but seen properly, the diversity
of our perspectives would prove to be our greatest blessing. Dialectic reasoning
understands that two heads are better than one for the same reason that two eyes perceive
depth that one eye alone cannot. In a world so hostile to relativism (a subject we will take
up at length), the fact that we all see the same world differently is made to seem the
source of so much conflict, rather than the rich source of deeper understanding it could
be...if we understood what the ancients were trying to teach us. They clearly knew
something that we have forgotten, and I’m fairly convinced that rediscovering it may be
our only hope of healing the ubiquitous and increasingly hostile conflict that plagues us.
It does seem necessary that we discover this means to intellectual peace before we can
ever hope to achieve peace politically. What is war, after all, but failed dialogue?
True dialectic reasoning is widely misunderstood and seldom if ever practiced in our
modern methods of education—as the ancients warned it must be if healthy democracy is
our goal. Getting at the whole truth of any matter requires a healthier form of dialogue
than our analytic methods allow - one that promotes arguing to understand, not merely to
win—certainly in our political exchanges, but also in our interpersonal, scientific,
religious and educational methods.
By recognizing the value of all voices in their proper associations, this diverse group of
perfectly ordinary minds illustrate by example how the principle of multiplicity in unity
3
might actually work – and that is, only if each and every citizen masters himself instead
of each other. It is a principle of dialectic education, which is still and always
fundamental to a healthy democracy, though widely neglected in our own time. Until
human beings learn to honor the worthy and trust the just, the ancients learned the hard
way, human interests will continue to be dominated by those who least deserve power
precisely because they are most in love with it—rather than those who do deserve it
because they are in love with truth and justice.
Hence, the necessity of reasoned dialogue and deliberation, for it is only possible to
discover together what is objectively real and true—no matter how you look at it—as
distinct from what is merely constructed by any few who would have us see it their way.
One can imagine Socrates illustrating this point by tossing his sandal into the center of
the circle. We all have different points of origin, different experiences come of living
different lives and following different paths. Thus, we all see the world and every object
of knowledge in it from different points of view -- which does not entail that we all see a
different truth, nor that our diverse eclectic perspectives are somehow irreconcilable—as
some sophisticated relativists might conclude. For just as two eyes add depth to the
vision of only one, so the integration of different perspectives and voices adds depth to
our understanding of anything worthy of being called the whole truth—an ideal which we
approach by infinite approximation, if at all.
And whether the object of our knowledge is as concrete as a sandal or as abstract as our
conceptions of justice, beauty, and love, none of us defines the truth about such things by
virtue of any limited or privileged view. Since no one ever completely understands
anything, they surmise, there is always incentive to listen, to learn, and to ask questions—
for truth comes to light only by all things considered. Indeed, it may be that our worst
enemy would be our best teacher! There is a lesson in humility here, for if anything that
can be known can be viewed from an infinite number of points of view (including, if it is
alive, inside-looking-out!), then so what does it mean to talk of 'the truth'?
Thus, philosophy, in its truest sense, turns out to be the ability to see the connections
between things. It is by this dialectic process of gathering new perspectives that the
human mind grows. So it is that by stretching their minds to the proper consideration of
points of view other than their own, the Greeks got a glimpse of that big picture which
has eluded those with narrower minds since.
And despite all this, Socrates’ story remains untold...but by those who have an interest in
keeping it quiet. How is it that a man could be remembered as ‘the Father of Western
Philosophy,’ and yet remain cloaked in such mystery—like buried and reburied treasure?
For reasons that become apparent only in the telling, Socrates’ story is, arguably, the best
kept secret of all time, told only, if at all, by those who have an interest in keeping it
quiet. Which helps explain how he is, at once, the greatest and most misunderstood
thinker the world has ever known. Which is why it qualifies, I think, as the greatest story
never told – and the reason it has become the center of my life’s work.
4
For the sake of background, let me explain that my coming to teach this material and my
passion to offer a fresh appreciation of this dialectic method grew out of a larger project
to which I’ve been committed for almost two decades. It is, at heart, an adaptation of
Plato’s Socratic dialogues to film. For those of you who know Socrates mainly from
watching Bill and Ted’s Excellent Adventure, allow me to provide a more or less brief
introduction to this story.
We meet this notorious colonizer of dreams in the Dialogues of Plato (34 of them, by
most counts), as well as those of Xenophon (about 4 or 5, depending on how you count).
These are the only surviving sources of Socrates’ voice.
It was 5th century BC, Athens—the so-called Golden Age of Greece at the very height of
its glory. It was a time when humans still aspired to the highest of their potentials, and the
ideal of talking things out reasonably was held dear by men and women of honor and
justice.
We meet Socrates first as a young man, assisting his mother to midwife a birth — and
then again as a seventy-year-old father of toddlers, on trial for his life and presenting his
own defense against charges of corrupting the youth of Athens by teaching them to
question the gods of the state — charges brought against him by right-wing defenders of
traditional piety (some of whom are Plato's closest relatives).
Socrates begins his unapologetic defense by appeal to the audience—'You be the judge'.
He's not much of a speaker, he says humbly, as he begins his astonishing oration,
recounting the legendary mission that brought him to this destiny. He had been
challenged to the life of inquiry, he explains, by the Sacred Oracle at Delphi who had
declared him at a very young age to be the wisest man in Greece. In fact, Socrates of all
people knew how truly little he actually knew—which is to say, how very much he had to
learn! And so, in an attempt to find someone wiser than himself, he'd set out asking
questions, especially of those who had cultivated a reputation for knowledge.
Plato is, we learn at length, descended from great wealth and power and was expected to
take his place in the upper echelon of Athenian politics—before being challenged by a
higher purpose by his friend and teacher, Socrates. And so it was that, when the old
philosopher was finally silenced by the so-called democracy for being a threat to the
powers-that-be because he taught their sons, daughters (and importantly, their young
lovers) to question their authority too intelligently (undoubtedly the same reason his
voice is still obscured today), Plato dedicated his life to recalling Socrates’ voice for
future generations to remember. Aware of the power of words for both good and evil, he
resolved to take on the task of recalling for the future the astonishing events he has
witnessed and the powerful lessons he had learned.
Plato went on to found in the garden of Hacademus a school they would call his
'Academy', where Aristotle—arguably the most influential thinker of all time—would go
on to study for nearly twenty years (but that’s another story). And it is here that Plato
would undertake (against the will of his oligarchic family) what would become a lifelong
5
mission of recalling the dialogues of Socrates for the world—which might actually be
ready for them someday.
To this end, my goal has been to produce a faithful, albeit lean, adaptation of Plato’s
Socratic Dialogues to film. I certainly don’t pretend to be able to improve upon Plato’s
eloquent words, mind you, but only hope to inspire renewed interest in them, and perhaps
encourage reevaluation of our traditional interpretations of this amazing story. This is
what moved me to spend my years in graduate school (Philosophy-Madison) completing
a thorough exegesis of the works of Plato, as well all the relevant material from Aristotle,
Xenophon, Thudycides, Plutarch, as well as many other ancient voices we have yet to
truly hear. Only to discover in the process that it is as if Plato himself anticipated just
such an integration - “as if all lines of discourse converge on a common center.” This
subtle image presented on the first page of his Republic turns out to be the heart of his
dialectic method. And the sheer beauty of the cumulative integration that emerged as
these voices fell together compelled me to spend the next four years tuning these voices
to our modern ear and finishing the extensive background research necessary to present
this story accurately. For all that Plato did well, he did not give us the social and political
context that gives this story its rich meaning, which accounts in large part for how his
mentor could be so widely misunderstood, even (I was dismayed to discover) among
Socratic scholars.
So why film? Because, for all its limitations, film has the potential to uplift the human
spirit in the time that it takes to sit through a single college power lecture. Teaching the
works of Plato – who wrote for an under-stimulated audience – to 21st century Americans
– who are anything but! – cannot help but compel one to try to find a way to deliver the
oft’ maligned teachings of this misunderstood thinker in such a way that Socrates might
actually get a fair trial, once and for all. Besides being a means by which the parallels
between that so-called ‘golden age’ and our own can be dramatized (without being
fictionalized or trivialized), it may well be that film alone has what it takes to finally
reach the diverse audience to whom Socrates actually spoke - which is to say, anyone
who can suspend their disbelief in humanity for just a few short hours.
Socrates never wrote a word himself nor took a single drachma for his trade, though he
spent his entire life engaging the greatest minds of his day in a startlingly lucid discussion
that encompasses the most profound questions humans in all times and places face. What
is Justice? Wisdom? Courage? Temperance? Virtue? Happiness? Friendship? Love? By
the seeds of such poignant questions, Socrates implanted himself in the hearts and
memories of those who would follow him throughout his life – rulers and slaves, men and
women, young and old, citizens and foreigners (a cast of characters so familiar that one
can almost put contemporary names to them).
Despite his quirky weirdness, and by way of his penetrating wit, his unwavering faith in
human nature and his endearing way of treating everyone with equal respect, Socrates
proves to all who will listen that philosophy is indeed a power for the good. Socrates
teaches good teaching, good politics, and even good medicine, by example—which is to
6
say, by simple friendship. He shows by the way he lives that self-knowledge is selfmastery — and in mastering himself, he feels no need to master others. Through these
conversations, we see how the light of reason sparked a fire in Plato and his friends that
gave the age her golden glow.
By encouraging the youth and the elders of his city alike to question what they casually
assume and attend to the injustice they too comfortably ignore, Socrates reveals their
conceits and deceits in a way that is most amusing to the listener, and yet likely to leave
the most lasting best impression upon the person himself — a gentle method that was
both humbling and empowering to the young men who grow up listening at his feet – and
yet he did not hesitate to humiliate arrogance where ever he found it. And he found it
practically everywhere (as he, no doubt, would today). Enlightened by humility itself,
Socrates endeavors to find the wise, but inadvertently discovers the ignorant—and in the
process, comes to be thought of as a stinging gadfly to the lazy horse that is Athens. Yet
he never fails to credit wisdom wherever he finds it—and the refreshing twist is that this
unassuming old philosopher, turns out to be especially fond of citing Eastern visionaries,
slaves, women and children—from whom he claims to have learned the most.
Hardly the heartless intellectual he is so often misconstrued to be, Socrates examines
himself for the sake of his listeners. He takes us by the conscience and compels us to look
into our own eyes—to judge ourselves, rather than others—that we might see what is
possible and take aim to actualize what is still and always our higher human potential.
And what develops is truly a love story, in the very deepest sense of the word, for
Socrates is committed to the good of each individual as an end in their own right, with the
consequent that, by the end of the story, nearly everyone is, in a sense, ‘in love’ with
Socrates—even, and perhaps most especially, those who author his death.
We see through these talks the depth of Socrates' personal and untiring devotion to his
many friends. Among them are Crito, his boyhood and lifelong companion; Phaedo, once
prince of Ellis, made a slave to his Spartan captors, and ultimately freed by Pericles;
Aspasia, mistress of the brothel and lifelong companion to Pericles, to whom Socrates
introduced her. Socrates is also mentor to several of Plato's closest relatives, including his
older brothers, Glaucon and Adeimantus, his cousin, Charmides, and his blood-thirsty
oligarchic uncle, Critias.
Pericles, for his part, had all the tools of greatness, and yet all he really seemed to want
was to be an artist, a writer, an actor, and to produce plays that would retell history the
way it actually happened—rather than as the oligarchs would have it be told. Pericles and
Socrates had shared many teachers as young men, including Aeschylus, Anaxagoras, and
Damon—all of whom held both young men in high esteem. They also shared the
friendship of Xantippe, an artist and musician in her own right. She was the outspoken
daughter of one of the wealthiest oligarchs in the city, and was respected by many of the
young men for her candor and intelligence.
Socrates, for his part, was never sure what to make of the well-educated, ambitious and
sweet voiced son of a military hero. Pericles was somewhat older than Socrates, and
7
though he seldom engaged him in dialogue, he did seem to listen closely to Socrates’
discussions with others and even to hang on his every word. Neither was competitive, and
yet both seemed challenged by the others’ intelligence.
As it turned out, however, the artistic life was not to be an option for either the daughter
of an oligarch or the son of a war hero. Pericles, who had all the talents required of a
statesman, found he had little choice but to go into politics when his city called him to
lead. Following the dictum, ‘Of those to whom much is given, much is required,’ Pericles
stepped up to the power he was born into.
Whereas Socrates, the son of a stone mason, was much freer in this regard to follow the
lead of his own inner voice and the calling of the sacred Oracle. Xantippe did not have
the freedoms or choices of either, and found herself—despite Socrates’ and Pericles’ best
efforts—married off in an arrangement that suit her father’s business interests, as well as
his interests in keeping her away from the young free thinkers whose company she so
enjoyed. And yet all spent their days in the Agora whenever possible, talking and
listening with anyone else who happened to be there. And together, their complimentarity
brilliance had all of the city in awe, for each in their own right seemed capable of
drawing out the brilliance in others.
And so, while Pericles answers the call of his own responsibilities, Socrates takes up the
challenge of uplifting the democratic soul to its higher potentials. For the difference in
good and bad men, he knew, is not whether they want what is good for them—as all do.
It is rather how well they understand what that is. Alcibiaded did not understand.
All, for their part, were worried about the bigger-than-life Alcibiades, ward of Pericles,
who least of all deserved anyone’s love. But Socrates, above all, was uniquely committed
to him. Exalted by birth, elated by wealth, puffed up by his power, and spoiled by the
people, Alcibiades suffered from his early miseducation, as well as his own inability to
master his want of pleasure, especially of a sexual nature. Alcibiades was nonetheless
able to constrain his ignoble desires as long as he kept company with Socrates. But a
longing distance sets in when Alcibiades, still a boy, is seduced by the powerful
democrat, Anytus, thereby alienating Socrates from his trust. And so we begin to
understand why Socrates thereafter agonizes over the ubiquitous exploitation and
corruption of the young. When, some years later, Socrates saves Alcibiades' life in battle,
the two undertake what would become, for Socrates, a lifelong struggle to uplift
Alcibiades to his better self—which no one else would even believe that he had.
Pericles and Socrates both go out to battle, and upon their return to Athens, the social and
political conditions to which they have returned are overwhelming. The fifth century BC
has seen a fervent return to democracy, at least in name. But society as a whole is in a
period of transition, flux, and insecurity, and clings for safety to convention. There is
considerable fear of intellectualism, and playwrights and orators play to this fear.
Pericles finds himself constantly at struggle with the conservative right wing, the oligoi
(meaning 'the few'), both within his own government as well as with those who rule over
8
Sparta—the other Greek superpower, which directly rivals Athens. The Spartans zealots
(ephors) are especially threatened by this intelligent form of government called
democracy, and appalled by the free speech that Pericles’ champions. They have gotten
into the habit of terrorizing the countryside, a technique designed to goad the Athenians
into fighting—which is the one thing at which the Spartans excel. But Pericles recognizes
the trap, for both cities are connected by an alliance of the rich and powerful who take
their own side against the demos ('the many') of both cities alike, and want nothing more
than to destroy democracy by any means possible. For democracy, more than any
external enemy, threatens the privilege and property rights of the few – even those who
are themselves the Athenian elite. While it helps keep order to call one’s city democratic,
and to play along with elections and juries to a point, it is best of all if a city can pass as
democratic in name, without actually having to follow popular and participatory rule in
practice.
To his eternal regret, Pericles had stumbled into an oiligarchic snare early in his young
administration, having been persuaded (on the grounds it would prevent Athenian fathers
from trading away their daughters to foreign merchants) to constrict the criteria for Greek
citizenship strictly to those whose parents had both been Greek. Generosity would trickle
down, he was assured by Cimon and Plato's uncle Critias, who was mainly interested in
securing the public funds for 'the few' rather than 'the many'. A kinder and gentler attitude
would grow among the people by way of his own generous treatment of the wealthy
class, he was assured. In this, Pericles had helped set a trap into which he himself would
one day step. For no sooner had Pericles passed the decree which constricted the line
between citizen/voter and metic (in effect entrusting the good of the ever-growing many
to the judgment of the ever decreasing few), when the oligarchs embarked upon myriad
abuses of their growing power.
By custom, wealthy Athenians had long bought and sold slaves from among those
captured in war and offered this hard life as reprieve from an equally hard death. But this
was the first instance in Athens’ already ancient history that Athenians were now free to
buy and sell other Athenians. As political relations were severed, economic relations
came to dominate, and before long, enslavement for debt became widespread and severe,
until nearly one quarter of the Athenian population had been subsumed or sold off into
slavery.
For these and many other reasons, what would come to be called ‘Pericles’ law of
Citizenship’ turned out to be a mistake that would haunt the otherwise popular leader
throughout his forty-year administration. Most tragically, it would prevent him from
marrying Aspasia—his only true love—and would render his only truly worthy son
illegitimate in the process.
Thus, by the time he becomes General, Pericles has already learned who not to trust. And
though the Spartans, the oligarchs, and the most corruptible democrats never let up in
their attempts to move him to serve their interests, Pericles keeps himself busy with the
work of the people, engaging them in ongoing dialogue, espousing the cause of the poor
wholeheartedly in public declarations, and excelling all speakers in this regard.
9
Toward this end, Pericles developed a work program designed to bring the idle energy,
skills, and imagination of the many unemployed together into great public construction
projects—which were already giving rise to the great monuments that are going up all
around. This irks the oligarchs for many reasons, for besides diminishing the army of
unemployed needed to do the work of providing for the leisured upper class, it brakes the
illusion of dependence that is needed to maintain control of the demos.
Pericles had been pitted as a youth against Cimon, the son of his own father’s political
enemies, who had gained popularity and political support by appearing to be the most
generous of benefactors, surrounding himself with anyone whose service could be bought
for land and privilege, just as the Spartans had come to control Athenian nobles. To
encourage the illusion that the oligarchs were needed to support the poor, Cimon
occasionally opened his orchards and groves to the public, which made him appear to be
a most compassionate man. In fact, many recognized that he was providing just enough to
keep the Athenian people dependent, and therefore under his less-than-trustworthy
control.
Pericles’ work program, on the other hand, provided opportunities for the people to earn
their own way by doing something they love, thereby freeing them from their dependence
on the whimsical benevolence of the wealthy—and making their labor immortal in the
process. No one would remember Sparta when both cities are gone, Pericles assured
them, but thanks to these grand monuments, the whole world would remember Athens for
all time. All the great monuments of ancient Greece, including the most awesome of all,
the Parthenon, were completed within the reign of Pericles’ forty year administration. It
was a feat of divine proportion, and the people of Athena’s city were lifted to their
highest potentials by the inspiring grandeur of their creation. At the grand opening of the
Parthenon in 436 BC, Athens could see visibly the zenith and unity of the life she had
reached—her statesmanship, art, science, literature, philosophy, and morals—all woven
into one many-colored fabric by the hands and imagination of her free and equal citizens.
And while the oligarchs all attended, it made them furious.
Meanwhile, a revolution had occurred in education, for before 450 BC, ones’ parents or
‘society’ had been the teachers of traditional wisdom and values (nomos). Whereas now,
due in part to a multicultural infusion into the cities, nomos has come to appear merely
relative, and the old ways of teaching face widespread skepticism. A class of professional
teachers, called 'Sophists,' has grown out of this uncertainty, and their teachings were
suspected by many (including Socrates, though for reasons other than most) to subvert
the fabric of society. Socrates worries, not because of the loss of tradition, per se
(injustice, for example, has a long tradition that ought to go out with the bathwater), but
because rhetoric is a skill that is readily used to play on people's insecurities, fears, and
emotions; it is a tool of deceit and control.
The Sophists, for their part, mix well with the oligarchs, the cities wealthy elite, who
cling heartily to nomos—if only because it preserves their privilege. The oligarchs are
willing to pay large sums to be told what they want to hear, which includes, most
10
especially, how to win favor in the law courts and generally keep their wealth by bending
the public ear. So the sophists pander to the wealthy by teaching them to use words as
weapons and tools of power, rather than as instruments of understanding. By subtly
manipulating the appearance of what is real, true, good, and right, sophisticated
rhetoricians spin the minds of even careful listeners, and are able to stir up public
insecurity, hate, and confusion by the mere suggestion of impropriety and scandal. By
their purposeful use of rhetoric, the powers that be were able to fan the flames of appetite
in the public, enraging the people's bigotry and greed, catching them up in partisan
bickering, thus ensuring that democracy would be poisoned from within.
The only antidote to this, Socrates knew, was encouraging the proper function of
language toward the good use of reason. But in an environment where rhetoric and
‘double-speak’ are the order of the day, this long-term solution did little to ward off
ongoing short-term abuses. Receiving their education in the Sophist sense, the young
were being turned away from the good of the psyche. It may seem a small difference, but
as they say in the east, the flight of an arrow shows that what is far depends on what is
near. Analogously, Socrates knew that children are sensitively dependent upon initial
conditions, and the adults they grow into will always bear the mark of their early
experience and the effects of their teacher’s errors. Mistaking the physically beautiful for
the truly beautiful, the material for the whole of reality, they likewise mistake the mere
appearance of justice, knowledge, power, and wealth for the real thing. Errors in
education about such fundamental matters, made early, can actually thwart human
potential—not only in this life, Socrates feared, but in the next.
And so it became clear that what was corroding values in Athens was the conceits and
deceits of wolves in sheep's clothing—the powerful few who lust after, prey upon, and
corrupt the young and otherwise dependent of Athens with words, pleasure, power, and
wealth, rather than treating them as true teachers ought. While sexuality was treated by
the Athenians as a marvelous fact of life, the sexual desires of the oligarchs too often
became the object of their ‘education’ of the young, and these seemingly small missteps
took on tragic dimensions. The ancient Greeks were what we would call gay-friendly, but
Socrates and his friends knew the fine line between healthy and unhealthy relationships
of any form. Only exploitive sexuality (whether homo- or hetero-) is considered immoral.
For all their talking, the topic of ‘homosexuality’ (which might seem most controversial
to some modern frames of reference) is never much of an issue for the Greeks -- except in
as much as 'sexuality' itself is a favorite topic for discussion. Since no offense is taken,
no defense is required, and they move on to more pressing subjects.
Meanwhile, unable to influence or bribe Pericles, the oligarchs have been stirring up the
population in worry about ‘the tyranny of his administration.’ Pericles' preeminence as a
speaker was made to seem suspect, as if strong leadership were incommensurate with
democracy. In curious contradistinction to this, Pericles’ having his ear to the general will
of the public was touted by his political enemies as evidence of his having no will of his
own, and thus, no leadership capabilities.
11
When their attempts to paint Pericles as a mere puppet of popularity prove ineffective,
the oligarchs took up a more severe tactic. They arrest Anaxagoras, the natural
philosopher and teacher who was known to be responsible for Pericles' fearlessness in a
time of widespread superstition. Next, they attacked his work program as misuse of
public funds, and while the people, for the most part, knew better, the oligarchs were
nonetheless able to stir up suspicion among the allies of Athens that the money they'd
contribute to their own defense was being used to glorify the city.
While Pericles effectively reassured the allies that their money was indeed protecting
them, he took drastic measures to show them that the monuments were indeed being built
with the just spoils of a successful Athenian defense. He presented them with Pheidias,
the chief architect of the Parthenon, and made display of his meticulous bookkeeping.
Pheidias encouraged the assembly to weigh gold of the statues, which had been designed
so that they could. Twisting this evidence, the oligarchy undertook to rouse the people's
jealousy, painting Pheidias as a pimp who brought Pericles lovers under the pretext of
showing them the monuments.
In a crowning blow, Pericles is accused of sexual indiscretion of every kind, including an
affair with his own sons’ wife. Though nothing could be further from the truth (his
daughter-in-law had come to him for council and out of trust, as women often did), the
public was by this time thoroughly confused by the sheer number of accusations brought
against their leader, unable to believe that at least some of them were not true. It was
ironic indeed that the harder the oligarchs tried to prove Pericles rotten, the more they
actually succeeded in proving his goodness.
When the assembly finally indicts Pheidias for embezzlement, and removes him from the
public eye to detention, Pericles, in his anger and frustration, takes his case directly to the
people, offering to pay for the monuments out of his own pocket. In light of this noble
gesture, the Athenian people are ashamed and begin to backpedal—so perhaps they don't
mind paying for the monuments after all, they say.
To counter this ambivalence of public opinion, the oligarchs rally against Pericles’ true
love, the foreign born and politically astute Aspasia. And in a final blow, they try and
succeed to seduce both of his older sons, turning them against their father for no better
reason than that he would not increase their allowance – which the oligarchy has
managed to persuade the spoiled boys that he should. Pericles is deeply anguished at this,
and just when he is about to lose all faith, a worker is severely injured in a fall from one
of the monuments, and as it turns out, no one but Pericles (who learns the cure from a
goddess in a dream) is able to save him.
And so the people's faith in their leader is temporarily restored—though not before
Pheidias—Pericles’ friend and the greatest architect Athens had ever produced—has been
put to death in prison. So when the oligarchs begin to encourage the Athenians to ask
Pericles to sign an agreement that he would not make himself tyrant over them, Pericles
draws his line. He has had enough, and righteously insulted, tells his people that they will
simply have to trust him and take it at his word that he would not abuse the power they
12
have given him, or let him go. Partly out of regret, out of fear of losing him, and as a
gesture of restitution for having taken the life of his friend, the assembly complies, and
Pericles is restored to his rightful pinnacle of power – albeit too briefly.
Meanwhile, all this Athenian renown is working up the insecurity of the Spartans, and
there is a growing foreboding of war. The Spartan step up efforts to terrorize the Attic
countryside, destroy Athenian crops and food storages, and threaten trade routes which
are essential to Athenian survival (from Pericles’ point of view), though a mere means to
Athenian domination (from the Spartans’ perspective). Pericles, who knows the choice is
to protect those routes from the Spartan wolves or starve, calls a council of all the cities
of the Hellas. He also begins bringing those who live outside the walls of Athens back
within the city for protection—unwittingly setting up conditions favorable to plague in
the process. When the Megarians (once allies who had gone over to Sparta) are reported
to have killed the messenger who came to invite them to the council, Pericles puts out a
decree of sanctions ordering economic embargo until arbitration brings them to peaceful
terms. When the oligarchies of both Megara and Sparta resist arbitration, Pericles refuses
to rescind the decree, and tensions begin to grow.
Though he too is furious, Pericles can barely restrain the hotheaded young Athenians
from taking their revenge. He is famous for his ability to communicate a calming caution
though, and he dissuades the angry troops from going prematurely into battle, saying, "If
you will not listen to me, you would do well to wait for that wisest of all counselors,
Time." When many good citizens who would not wait end up dead, these words ring
loud in the memory of the city, and bring Pericles great repute.
Feeling war swooping down upon Athens and observing the growing signs of plague in
the overcrowded city, Pericles consults the seer, Lampon, and the natural philosopher,
Anaxagoras, on the wisdom of going to war—a war the sacred Oracle at Delphi had
warned the Athenians would lose. The seer brings forth from Pericles country-home a
one-horned goat, claiming this to be a sign that all the people of Greece would come
together under one power. Whereupon Anaxagoras quickly beheads the goat and cuts
open the head to show the natural cause to be that the brain of the animal had grown in an
abnormal way. Pericles, properly appalled at the display, nonetheless duly considers the
advice of both, and concludes just because there is a cause does not indicate that there is
not also a meaning. And so with this he proceeds to prepare for war, which is beginning
to appear inevitable.
Before long, Pericles' sons come down with plague, his sister dies, as do some of his
advisors, one by one. And as the oligarchs’ campaign to corrupt the voice of the people
grows ever more effective, Aspasia herself is put on trial for impiety. In his sorrow and
anger, Pericles takes on the assembly full force, and manages to free his lover and
cherished advisor. Soon thereafter, Anaxagoras is again arrested, and it takes the efforts
of both Pericles and Socrates to find him in exile, where he has been starved and is near
death. Loving his friend, Pericles blames himself, lamenting that ‘one who needs a lamp
ought at least provide it with fuel.’
13
And when the opportunity comes for him to revenge the myriad indignities that the
Spartans had visited upon the Athenians, Pericles proves himself to be above it—for it
was not a war between cities, after all, but a war of the rich and powerful few against the
many poor to whom democracy would give voice and power. Until finally, his anger at
the oligarchy for their role in deceiving and confusing the public—particularly his own
sons—could be restrained no longer, which brings him at last to take up arms against the
enemies of democracy.
Thus, after thirty years of peace, the Athenians are flung into the Peloponnesian War—a
campaign that would last 27 years and keep the city too preoccupied ever to realize her
full potentials again. Despite a lunar eclipse, which spooks his superstitious troops,
Pericles is able to restore their confidence and move them to defend themselves, their
city, and their rightful freedoms. And Pericles, stricken with plague himself by now, is
said to have fought best of all.
And at the funeral of his last 'legitimate' son, Pericles breaks down and cries for the loss
of his city. The people of Athens, ashamed and filled with sympathy, are so moved that
they vote to exempt his only truly worthy child, the son of his beloved Aspasia, from the
law of citizenship that Pericles himself had decreed—thereby conferring upon Young
Pericles his father's name and succession, and effectively forgiving the elder Pericles for
his tragic humanness in the process.
Pericles, like all humans, could only do his best, which was, after all, never perfect. He
made up for what he could not do by doing what he could. And to the best of his ability,
Pericles kept an ideal of participatory democracy before the eyes of his people, knowing
they could never hit a target they did not aim at.
Pericles died soon thereafter, but not before all the great monuments had been completed
in the course of his administration, all while the public treasury had steadily increased,
and the people themselves had been fed and well kept.
Though the plague had carried off a full quarter of her population, Athens herself has
survived and ultimately prospered. And when it was discovered that in all his forty years
at the pinnacle of power, Pericles had not increased his own estate by a single drachma,
his loss was swiftly appreciated, for another like him was nowhere to be found.
For this reason, Pericles would be remembered as having achieved the balance of courage
and temperance in his rule that Socrates so idealized – a goal that is seldom achieved in
any human life, least of all one given to politics. But this was not without cost to his
sons, including his ward, Alcibiades, whose proper rearing he was charged in hindsight
with having neglected, as if anything more could have been done. This proved especially
tragic considering that Alcibiades—despite Socrates best efforts—goes on to singlehandedly become the ruin of Athens.
After Pericles' death, the great general Nicias (Socrates' friend, student, and comrade in
arms) was able to secure the peace for some time. Like Pericles, Nicias pledged to protect
the city above all else, but his best efforts prove inadequate in the task, and his tenure as
14
elder statesman proved ineffective. When Alcibiades got it into his head to invade
Syracuse, the richest port in the sea, he preys on the people's discontent and is able to use
the power of the mob to put down the well-respected Nicias, his political rival. Nicias
was picked up bodily by the crowd on Alcibiades' urging, and set onto the boat that was
to take him to his death – and he was remembered by all who witnessed it to have wept
like a sad child as the shores of his homeland receded from his sight for the last time.
When a messenger reported back to the Athenians that this once-great general, who had
never lost a battle in his life and was well-loved by the people for it, had been taken
prisoner and died in the custody of the Spartans, the story seemed so unbelievable that the
messenger was stretched on the rack until word came that his story was actually true. At
this, the mob was stupefied—for how could such a terrible end come to such a good
man?
Capable of such treachery as this, it is no surprise to anyone that Alcibiades was the first
to come to mind when the sacred statues of Hermes were separated from their penises.
The assembly was quick to charge him with this most offensive impiety, and was about to
arrest him, when Alcibiades fled to the enemy camp. Once there, Alcibiades took readily
to Spartan ways, and quickly made friends with the king. It wasn’t long before he was
giving away Athens’ war strategies, impregnating the king’s wife, and ultimately fleeing
for his life to Persia, of all places, where he proceded to trade both Athenian and Spartan
military secrets for his protection.
By this time, the so-called democracy, long since poisoned by the rhetoric of those who
would profit by her, bares little resemblance to the real thing. Under the influence of
Cleon, who corrupts the people's respect for the minority voice by breaking down the
decorum of listening in assembly, public deliberation degenerates into partisan argument,
and we see why democracy is vulnerable to manipulation and so-called ‘mob rule’. When
the loudest and most solicitous voice can carry the day, participatory democracy is
perverted into 'representative'—which it hardly ever is—and people then must face the
problem of who to trust, having little choice but to believe the best liar.
Indeed, it is just such a mob which, acting on Cleon's urging, rashly puts Young Pericles
to death. And so we see what happens when reason fails and lies assert themselves as
truth, for when honesty, self-knowledge, and dialogue—all essential to a healthy
democracy—are lost, Athens quickly declines into a series of bloody massacres,
including the brief 'Tyranny of the Thirty Oligarchs', in which Plato's uncle Critias is a
prime and most bloodthirsty mover.
And so, without a shepherd, the sheep come to be ruled by the wolves, and it is not long
before the dissident voices are all eaten alive.
Refusing to be made complicit in this or any tyranny, Socrates defies the wrath of the
oligarchs by denying their order for him to assist in putting his friends to death. Critias
cautions Socrates to desist from asking questions, or else—at which point Socrates seizes
the moment to inquire of Critias himself, ‘What is happiness made of, after all?’ and
15
‘What good is a tyrant, to himself, or to the state?’ This discussion (which comes down to
us as ‘The Republic’) spanned the reaches of human knowledge—further advanced then
than now. And in it, they sort what is from what could be, holding up the authoritarian
pretext that passes for ideal to ask, ‘What is wrong with this picture?’ And in the process
they discern the difference between the mere appearance of democracy and the real
thing—a lesson we need desperately to remember!
The Ancient Athenians learned the hard way that democracy, like everything else that is
alive, is always changing—always either getting better or getting worse, either toward
justice or away from it. The critical variable, it turns out, is not how many rule, but how
well, which is to say, how justly—for democracy is as open to corruption as any other
form of government that forgets to properly deliberate. And true ideals are easy to lose
sight of, for what comes to light in our dialogue can disappear in our silence. Yet it
remains to be remembered with the help of an inspired voice—and Socrates is certainly
this—the ultimate coach giving the supreme pep talk to the human race.
And ultimately, it is the beautiful Alcibiades, who (much to the chagrin of his many other
lovers) publicly proclaims his lifelong love for Socrates, and makes clear that it was
indeed the power of love that the old philosopher was trying to teach. For ‘love is the
only thing,’ Socrates once said, ‘I ever claim to know anything about.’ Being dedicated
sincerely to the boy's true good, rather than to his own physical pleasures, Socrates was
unlike Alcibiades’ other lovers in the temperance that he lived by. For having resisted
Alcibiades' sexual advances all these many years—a fact the seductive Alcibiades could
hardly believe possible—Socrates had proved himself capable of almost super-human
inner strength. And in his final drunker stupor, Alcibiades confesses to his full host of
sins, including trading military secrets with the enemy, and worse, selling out the
democracy herself to the oligarchs in exchange for safe passage home.
And so, despite Socrates’ best efforts, Alcibiades turns out to have been a chameleon,
after all. And with this Alcibiades ultimately proved himself both the greatest general and
the worst turncoat the Athenians had ever known. For though he managed to resist the
worst elements of the democracy, he falls prey in the end to the seduction of the worst
oligarchs, ultimately selling out the democracy for the sake of safe harbor. Thus, we are
not surprised when all—the Spartan King, the Persian satrap, the oligarchs and democrats
alike—unleash their respective thugs to do away with Alcibiades. And his fiery death
comes, as Socrates had foreseen, because the failure of his reason to master his appetites
had ruined him and his country.
And if this wasn’t bad enough, Socrates' dear friend and Plato's elder cousin, Charmides,
is slain in the process as the so-called democracy expunges Athens of all her dissident
voices. Plato himself is witness as Charmides is coerced by their own uncle Critias into
the hopeless and ill-fated battle where he was certain to meet his death.
And in his grief, Socrates is left wondering at the irony of it all—for saving Alcibiades'
life had seemed like the right thing to do at the time. But since he had gone on to single-
16
handedly ruin Athens and bring down her only hope for democracy, it was not at all clear
in the end that it was for the good after all.
And with this, we return to the courtroom, where Socrates concludes his provocative
defense. And among his closing arguments are his famous claims that the unexamined
life is not worth living, and being afraid of death is just another way of pretending to
know what we cannot possibly in this human life. For all we know, death might be the
greatest good, for no harm can come to a good person! If you will do justice by me, he
entreats them, make sure to behave toward my sons just as I have behaved toward yours.
Only time would tell if these mournful seeds would grow into something better, for while
nothing dies that is remembered, nothing is remembered by those who die. It is up to
those who live to carry the flame of truth forward. And so Plato takes up his mission.
Plato himself shows up in these dialogues only once or twice, most pointedly when
Socrates turns to him in court that fateful day and suggests that perhaps Plato would be
the one who will remember all this for posterity. In fact, so loved was the quirky old
Socrates by the many young men who grew up listening at his feet that, under the
influence of his teaching, they would go on to change the world in a way no single
generation ever had or would again. No less than twenty-nine of the young men of
Athens undertook dialogues to commemorate Socrates voice after his death. Only Plato’s
survive in their entirety.
Plato's has adventures of his own (that are worthy of their own movie), and the Academy
itself would carry on continuously for nine full centuries, becoming the longest lasting
educational establishment the world would ever know. But all along the sad and supreme
irony remains that 'academics' so often become, like their ancient sophist counterparts,
seduced by the political power of rhetoric as a tool of wealth and privilege, rendering
democracy virtually incapable of the intelligent deliberation, which is essential to justice.
This is only true, Plato would remind us, unless and until we remember those Socratic
potentials that human beings still and always have within. For men may forget, malign,
and ignore it, but the good thing about the truth is that it stays true—and the challenge to
humanity is to remember. For anything that can be understood in one inspired moment
lives on to be recalled in yet another.
Though Socrates' demise is held by generations since to have been the death of the
Golden Age, it was also the birth of Western Culture—for whatever that's been or may
yet be worth. Little did anyone realize then that it would take 2000 years and the
discovery of a ‘new world’ before the seeds of democracy would find fertile soil once
again. Still, the dialogues they undertook during those days gave birth to our science,
education, politics, economy, religion, art, theatre, and medicine—many of which have
gone awry in our time, making this is a tale well worth remembering. There is arguably
nothing we need more these days than the kind of moral pep talk for which Socrates was
so well known. Unfortunately, given the intellectual demand of ancient literature, we’re
unlikely to ever get it in our attention deficient age. Is it any wonder young people make
17
it all the way to college learning virtually nothing about Socrates but what they could
glean from Bill and Ted’s Excellent Adventure? Still, it’s become abundantly clear to me
through so many hundreds of hours of teaching these remarkable dialogues that, once
inspired by this ancient idealist, we cannot help but take deliberate aim at our better
selves - an effect one cannot help but want to encourage on a much broader scale.
In the end, the corrupt democracy of Athens was—like our own—confused by the
deceits, conceits, and violence of its age. And in 399 BC, the assembly voted to put
Socrates to death for the crime of honoring the worthy by teaching the young to think for
themselves.
And it is Anytus, jealous lover of Alcibiades, who brings the charges against Socrates of
‘corrupting the youth of Athens’ – an ironic play of rhetoric, since it was he who had first
corrupted Alcibiades.
For his part, Socrates only purpose was "to give the young a respite, lest they become
disheartened by the cynicism of their age"—a relief for which they have more need today
than ever. Whether or not he succeeded remains to be seen, for as he made clear in his
defense, you can easily kill the dreamer, but not so easily the dream.
I’m sure you can tell by now why I say that the story of the decline of the world’s first
democracy in Periclean Athens rings hauntingly familiar to us. And while this is exactly
the reason we need this story told, it is also the reason it’s unlikely to get its due in the
American film industry, to which the concept of a ‘writing ethic’ is apparently
completely foreign. So, while I continue to work on what has become a 1500 page
manuscript (25 hours of film, as screenplay formatting goes), after so many years of
authenticating this story, I cannot possibly bring myself to simply ‘sell it’ and watch all
my careful research and meticulous referencing can go out the window for the sake of the
bottom line. I owe it to Socrates not to let that happen. So I resolved that, if I want to see
this done well, I’m going to have to either produce it myself -- or find filmmakers whose
hearts and motivations are beyond profit and politics.
Meanwhile, it’s become fodder for many other good things, such as this class. More
later…
18