Précis: Patriot Guilt in Pericles’ Funeral Oration

Adam

GSI: Kuan

Précis: Patriot Guilt in Pericles’ Funeral Oration

      Pericles’ Funeral Oration, recounted by Thucydides in his History of the Peloponnesian War, celebrates Athenian civic life and affirms the efficacy of words as deeds by eulogizing the city’s recent war dead. Through the dead, Thucydides depicts, via Pericles, features unique to a shared Athenian past and present that demonstrate the monumentality of its civic project and evoke a sense of guilty patriotism in the audience. Pericles eventually praises the honor of the war dead and demonstrates the power of words as deeds in his explicit demand for the audience’s participation in the war. But his initial focus is not a call to action or glorification of the dead, but instead the development of rhetorical decorum with his audience through descriptions of the city’s magnificent qualities in order to garner their support for his eventual argument.

      Pericles begins by presenting himself not a statesman with a political agenda, but a public figure tasked with a “duty to obey the law” and deliver panegyrical remarks. He then moves into a discussion of history, evoking a sense of commonality between himself and his audience. Not ancestors, but “our ancestors;” not fathers, but “our own fathers” (2). Pericles links this common history (“our history”) to a their present condition (“our position”) with the effect of producing identification with the audience and thereby credibility as a speaker (2). In doing so, he also claims to share the audience’s loss. It is his loss and the audience’s loss: their shared loss — a rhetorical move that produces ethos and an extrication of responsibility for the speaker. Pericles now stands on more equal footing with his audience, and in doing so absolves himself of some personal responsibility for his role as a wartime leader.
      Pericles continues with an extolment of the public and private virtues produced by Athenian civic life, which are portrayed in an attempt to inspire patriotism and guilt in his audience so that he can demand their wartime involvement later in the speech. Athens does not imitate its enemies—“it does not copy the laws of neighboring states,” like its enemy Sparta, which is indirectly referenced in this line. Athens is rather an exemplum of virtuous civic life, “a pattern to others [rather] than imitators [themselves]” (2). These statements serves to both solicit pride for the audience’s exemplary form of government and also subtly reshape that pride into a form of incipient anger toward an unnamed enemy, Sparta. But this indirect reference to Sparta is also a reference to the Athenian past, which, like Sparta, Pericles choses not to describe (1). Sparta and their shared Athenian history lacked such civic virtues, including that “afford equal justice to all in their private differences” (2). Pericles’ Athens and its production of equity evoke loyal pride and pleasure in the audience by means of compassion, since Sparta and their ancestor’s city lack a form of government that is both good and proprietary.

      In evoking their shared past and enemy, Pericles lays the ground for the call to action present in the second half of his speech: “sons of brothers of the dead, I see an arduous struggle before you (4). What appears on surface to be a tribute to Athenian civic life is actually an attempt to argue the importance of fighting (“approach [the dead’s] renown”) and supporting the war through “beget[ing] children”(4). Pericles is fostering a sense of Athenian pride while reminding his audience the freedom that they could loose if their enemies to be victorious or if they were to fall back into an archaic way of life.

      Pericles’ next move — explaining that the “freedom which we enjoy in our government extends also to our ordinary life” (2)  —is to evoke a sense of fault and guilt in his audience. The speaker says Athens should be celebrated because it “provide[s] plenty of means for the mind to refresh itself from business,” including games, celebrations, scarifies and luxurious produce from across the world (2). Here Pericles’ argument functions much like his earlier praise of Athenian democracy: Athenians should be prideful of their privileges, since Sparta and their past lack these comforts, which could be easily lost were Athens to lose the war. Like before, Pericles is working to create emotional backing for his later call to action, this time in the form of guilt.

      Pericles says that “the points in which our city is worthy of admiration” (3) come at a cost; they are made possible only through a sacrifice of life. But, except for a brief mention (“this funeral prepared at the people’s cost”) at the beginning of his speech (1), the speaker has yet to address this sacrifice. He focuses on “the character of our country” rather than the “heroism” of “these and their like [who] made her” (3). Pericles emphasizes the greatness of Athens and not the greatness of the dead because they are synecdochic with one another: the greatness of Athens represents the greatness of these dead men. This synecdoche is also apparent in the speech’s setting. Pericles does not need to remark on their death because, as Thucydides remarks, “the bones of the dead are laid out in a tent” before the audience (1).

      Only by viewing the speech in its proper context does Pericles’ attempt to provoke guilt in his audience become clear. As he compares the luxury and eminence of Athenian civic life to the past, the speaker is doing so in front of the city’s recent war dead. Pericles mobilizes this implied contrast between the audience’s current station and their dead comrades to produce an emotional sense of guilt that, alongside the previously evoked sense of pride, argues for a call to arms in the speech’s second half. 

Please note: page numbers refer to the printed form of the hyperlinked text. 

Polyxena

(click title to see passage)

E. P. Coleridge’s translation of Hecuba by Euripides asserts that in sound mind Polyxena chose death rather than it being forced upon her. Polyxena utilizes two major elements to come to this conclusion, syllogism, and logic. To describe her argument, her depiction shows that she made the choice of dying rather than to continue onward with the life she will lead. From line 342 -378 Polyxena backs two main premises leading to her choice; Her perception of slaves as fodder, and now that she was a slave her the conclusion was that she had become meaningless and worse than death. Throughout this passage, Polyxena’s goal is to prove that her death by her choice and no one else’s.

In the opening of the argument, Polyxena makes a point about her past, setting up for the initial premise about slaves being fodder. To Polyxena, her life only held value when she was in a royal and affluent family, she states “I was nursed on fair hopes to be a bride for kings, the center of keen jealousy among suitors” (352). This evidently points to her perception of value, that she only holds power when she is higher up on the societal ladder. On another note, she continues to depict her power only in affluence, stating “me! Admired among maidens, equal to a goddess, save for death alone, but now I am a slave!” (356). This implicates that being a slave she has literally lost any form of power she once had. She even states herself that, “I see nothing within my reach to make me hope or expect with any confidence that I am ever again to be happy” (371). She sees being a slave as such a burden that when she is called one she longs for death, “that name first makes me long for death, so strange it sounds…” (360). It seems that through her lens of perception she comes to the conclusion that in this world to be a woman and a slave she is the fodder of all things. Throughout the passage, her implications of slavery point to slaves being worse than anything in her world, with the information provided above.

In the premise that intertwines with the first, Polyxena points to her situation as a slave, choosing death over her inevitable sorrow. Her implications toward the sorrows of what is to come as a slave is what force her to feel as though there is no choice but death. She states “Why should I prolong my days?” further giving evidence toward the fact that she knows that her life will be significantly shorter because of her enslavement. In her argument she also imagines a situation in which that prove her thoughts are as sad as her perception, “one would buy me for money … who would make me knead him bread within his halls, or sweep his house or set me working at the loom, leading a life of misery;” (365). As you can tell her thoughts run wild and the preconceived notions of the negatives of being a slave take place in her thoughts. Her statements prove how she had already premeditated death for herself before even truly becoming a slave.

In conclusion, Polyxena’s utilization of logic of syllogism effectively underlines how even as a slave, one can still free themselves, when allowed the opportunity.

Encomium of Helen Precis

Nestor Torres Duarte

Instructor Jerilyn Sambrooke

Rhetoric 103A

October 8, 2016

Encomium of Helen Précis

(15) It has been said that if she was persuaded by discourse, she did no wrong but rather was unfortunate; I proceed to the fourth cause in a fourth section. If it was love that brought all these things to pass, she escapes without difficulty from the blame for the sin alleged to have taken place. For the things we see do not have whatever nature we will, but rather that which befalls each. The soul receives an impression in its own ways through the sight.

(16) For example, whenever hostile bodies put on their bronze and iron war-gear of ward and defense against enemies, if the visual sense beholds this, it is troubled and it troubles the soul, so that often panic-stricken men flee future danger <as if it were> present. For the strong habitual force of law is banished because of the fear prompted by the sight, which makes one heedless both of what is judged by custom to be admirable, and of the good that comes about by victory.

(17) Some who have seen dreadful things have lost their presence of mind in the present time; thus fear extinguishes and drives out understanding. And many fall into useless troubles and terrible diseases and incurable dementias; thus sight engraves in the mind images of things seen. And the frightening ones, many of them, remain; and those that remain are just like things said.

(18) But truly whenever the painters perfectly complete one body and figure from many colors and bodies, they delight the sight; and the making of statues and production of figurines furnishes a pleasant sight to the eyes. Thus it is in the nature of the visual sense to long for some things and for other things to give it pain. And in many there is produced much love and desire for many things and bodies.

(19) Accordingly, if Helen's eye, taking pleasure in Alexander's body, transmitted to her soul the eagerness and struggle of Love, is it any wonder? If Love, <being> a god, <has> the divine power of gods, how could the weaker being have the power to reject this and to ward it off? But if it is a human disease and an error of the soul, it ought not to be blamed as a sin but ought rather to be accounted a misfortune. For she went, as she started out, in the clutches of fortune, not by plans of the mind; and by the constraints of love, not the preparations of art.

Gorgias takes a deterministic approach in absolving Helen of the stigma she has so fervently accrued. His fourth and final argument on the matter is the most difficult to further as it deconstructs the most common held accusation towards Helen: that her promiscuity led to the war. In his approach, Gorgias denotes a sort of duality between rationality and instincts—a relationship in which instincts innately take precedence. And on the premise of these predispositions, Gorgias asserts Helen is merely a victim of circumstance.

Gorgias structures his argument in a logical manner. He begins his discourse on love by appealing to our innate human desire to enjoy. There is something that intrigues us all. What that something is varies from person to person. Nonetheless, there remains the common denominator of pleasure, which we are all subject to.

Gorgias goes on to relate the sentiment of pleasure to that of fear—another innate human sentiment. His discourse on fear helps to solidify his deterministic approach. Fear promotes a collectivity of opinion here. It is something we are all predisposed to. And in the moment we experience fear, Gorgias states “the strong habitual force of law is banished because of the fear prompted by the sight, which makes one heedless both of what is judged by custom to be admirable.” We act out of element and our instincts contradict our rationality. In paragraph 17, Gorgias harkens us to respect the trauma that can (and often does) arise from extraordinary circumstances. He honors the arduous mental and emotional labors social actors often endure, and asserts that these experiences shape our inner selves. We are ultimately products of our environments, according to Gorgias.

The next paragraph draws focus once again to pleasure. He states that just as we are subject to pain and suffering, we are also subject to joy and desire. How then, can the latter sentiments be devalued if the former were just conceded? Paragraph 19 reintroduces an appeal based on logos. Love is associated with Eros, a god. Love is thus divine, and as an act of the gods, then humans can only follow suit, for the gods are more powerful. The hierarchy denoted here pervades the text even in this fourth argument. Instincts take precedence over rationality. Gorgias tops this off by speaking of Helen’s motives. She had none.

Ultimately, Helen is asserted to be a victim of circumstance. The love she feels is one her humanity predisposed her to feel (or the gods). There are forces outside of her control which dictate her course of action. And for these she cannot be held accountable.

Enconium of Helen~ a Precis

Bailey Farren

GSI: Jerilyn

The 13th and 14th sections of Gorgias’ “Enconium of Helen,” hold the pinnacle conclusion of Helen’s defense, had she been persuaded by discourse.

In the introductive line of 13th section, the sophist formulates discourse as having the physical ability to “shape the soul” (Gorgias 13)  as it pleases. The manner in which Gorgias describes persuasive speech, shaping the soul “at will,” emphasizes a lack of consent experienced by the soul as it fails to resist discourse. Gorgias does not grant the soul any ability to defend itself against the shaping power and trickery of such sophistry.  As he continues through the section, Gorgias describes the three methods of persuasive speech and the physicality of discourse entwined within.  

The first method of soul-shaping discourse furthers this physicality by beginning with an instance of motion. Here, persuasive rhetoric is used by astronomers to “shift” aside one opinion, and in its place, make way for another to be built up. However, while discourse is used to clarify the “incredible and obscure things” experienced by the senses, (Gorgias 13) he does not place legitimacy or truth behind this clarification as being essential to the persuasiveness. Thus, whether or not these clarified obscurities embrace falsehood is irrelevant. Instead, he gives discourse the powerful role of enlightening and morphing the view of the listener, regardless of empirical reason or sound logic.

In the second method of persuasion, the thread of physicality is further entwined as speech “delights” the senses. Discourse is prepared in advance to convince an audience based on sheer beauty. Gorgias describes this speech as, “artfully written but not truthfully meant,” giving audience members an awareness of the artistic dishonesty behind the discourse they are presented with. However, while an audience member may be aware of the delightful purpose of argument—devoid of necessary truth— Gorgias has already made it clear that discourse shapes the soul as it pleases. And while this artistic rhetoric is present in all 3 methods of persuasion, only in this second one does Gorgias demonstrate audience members’ foreknowledge of falsehood, based on the delightful style of discourse itself.

In the third role of persuasion, Gorgias once again highlights the power of motion. Here, the speed and reaction time of discourse plays a large role in the soul-shaping success of an argument.  Once again, Gorgias does not mention logic or empirical evidence as a means of persuasion. Instead, the speed at which an argument is made is the element used to convince an audience, rather that the argument itself. This speed of discourse is what Gorgius states to be the argumentative element that affects the “credibility of an opinion.” (Gorgias 13) There is no question of truth here, for that is not one of the aspects that persuades a listener, shapes the soul, or delineates credibility.

In the 14th stanza, Gorgias continues the physical analogy of discourse, but moves from the power of motion to a direct comparison between persuasion and drugs. He argues that discourse affects the soul in the same way that a pharmacopoeia changes the body itself. Analogizing discourse to drugs forces an audience member to analyze what the physical reaction to a drug would be and how that relates to an argument’s ability to shape the soul. Medicinal drugs cure bodily ailments, granting life and health; opiates distort and obscure reality; drugs of poisonous nature sicken the body, causing pain and horror; other drugs grant awareness and valour. This demonstrates the immense range of power held by speech, as Gorgias further demonstrates a direct correlation with these effects, stating of discourse, “some give pain, others delight, others terrify, others rouse the hearers to courage, and yet others by a certain vile persuasion drug and trick the soul.” (Gorgias 14) This comparison begins metaphorically, but Gorgias then conflates these effects with literality. By the end of this section, discourse does not simply act like a drug, it becomes one.  

Hecuba's Appeal: A Precis

In E.P. Coleridge’s translation of Euripides’ Hecuba, the first agon provides a glimpse into the desperation and despair of the former Queen of Troy as she is held captive by Agamemnon. When she is informed that her daughter, Polyxena, will be sacrificed over the tomb of Achilles as tribute for the pains of war, Hecuba begins a series of rhetorical appeals in an attempt to save her. Immediately, as she’s confronted with Odysseus and his demands to take Polyxena, Hecuba begins her plea. She implores Odysseus to remember the grace and mercy she employed when she saved his life; Odysseus, acknowledging her kindness, does not budge. In a lengthy speech, Hecuba then begins to appeal to the logic of the decree. She demands to know the “cleverness” the deciding group used to come to this decision, and whether or not their personal opinions (she may believe that Odysseus, individually, doesn’t believe Polyxena should die) were overridden by “duty” to “slay a human victim.”

She continues by asserting that the “sacrifice of oxen more befits” the situation than the murder of her daughter. Extrapolating from that original point (with the understanding that the sacrifice of a human will most likely be necessary), she then begins to situate her daughter amongst other women she deems more fitting for death. If the qualification of the sacrifice is she who has caused the most pain, Hecuba asserts that Helen, then, must be the one to die; Helen, in many ways, was much more directly correlated to the death of Achilles than Polyxena ever was. If we are to follow this logic, according to Hecuba, then Helen should suffer, “for she it was that proved his ruin.” If the qualification of the sacrifice, however, is based on beauty, then Hecuba provides another logical alternative. Polyxena, according to Hecuba, is not the most beautiful, by any means, “for the daughter of Tyndareus was fairer than all womankind.”

Hecuba then returns to her original argument: that Odysseus, essentially, owes her for the mercy she had once displayed to him. She explains her sadness, her despair, and her destitution: Polyxena “is my only joy,” she says, and “in her I forget my sorrows.” She implores Odysseus to understand the love of a mother, especially in the context of the devastation she and her people have just endured. She requests that Odysseus return to his camp and speak with his comrades, “saying how hateful a thing it is to slay women who at first ye spared out of pity” – again, this time more subtly, reminding Odysseus of her previous actions. One of the final lines of her speech, however, applies the theme of common law to her rhetorical argument: “For amongst you,” Hecuba says, “the self-same law holds good for bond and free alike respecting bloodshed.” After previously using her status as a downtrodden captive to her advantage and arguing that Odysseus and his camp should spare her daughter, Hecuba now invokes a higher moral law to try to assert that status matters none when it comes to human bloodshed. Realizing that her previous rhetorical efforts may not prove to be fruitful, she “levels the playing field,” so to speak, by imploring her captors to see her humanity above all else.

Sentencing Proposal

Jes Armenta-Roman

Professor Carrico

Rhetoric 103A

GSI: Jerilyn Sambrooke

8 Oct 2016

Plato: “ Perhaps you may think that I am braving you in saying this, as in what I said before about the tears and prayers. But that is not the case. I speak rather because I am convinced that I never intentionally wronged anyone, although I cannot convince you of that - for we have had a short conversation only; but if there were a law at Athens, such as there is in other cities, that a capital cause should not be decided in one day, then I believe that I should have convinced you; but now the time is too short. I cannot in a moment refute great slanders; and, as I am convinced that I never wronged another, I will assuredly not wrong myself. I will not say of myself that I deserve any evil, or propose any penalty. Why should I? Because I am afraid of the penalty of death which Meletus proposes? When I do not know whether death is a good or an evil, why should I propose a penalty which would certainly be an evil? Shall I say imprisonment? And why should I live in prison, and be the slave of the magistrates of the year - of the Eleven? Or shall the penalty be a fine, and imprisonment until the fine is paid? There is the same objection. I should have to lie in prison, for money I have none, and I cannot pay. And if I say exile (and this may possibly be the penalty which you will affix), I must indeed be blinded by the love of life if I were to consider that when you, who are my own citizens, cannot endure my discourses and words, and have found them so grievous and odious that you would fain have done with them, others are likely to endure me. No, indeed, men of Athens, that is not very likely. And what a life should I lead, at my age, wandering from city to city, living in ever-changing exile, and always being driven out! For I am quite sure that into whatever place I go, as here so also there, the young men will come to me; and if I drive them away, their elders will drive me out at their desire: and if I let them come, their fathers and friends will drive me out for their sakes.

Someone will say: Yes, Socrates, but cannot you hold your tongue, and then you may go into a foreign city, and no one will interfere with you? Now I have great difficulty in making you understand my answer to this. For if I tell you that this would be a disobedience to a divine command, and therefore that I cannot hold my tongue, you will not believe that I am serious; and if I say again that the greatest good of man is daily to converse about virtue, and all that concerning which you hear me examining myself and others, and that the life which is unexamined is not worth living - that you are still less likely to believe. And yet what I say is true, although a thing of which it is hard for me to persuade you. Moreover, I am not accustomed to think that I deserve any punishment. Had I money I might have proposed to give you what I had, and have been none the worse. But you see that I have none, and can only ask you to proportion the fine to my means. However, I think that I could afford a minae, and therefore I propose that penalty; Plato, Crito, Critobulus, and Apollodorus, my friends here, bid me say thirty minae, and they will be the sureties. Well then, say thirty minae, let that be the penalty; for that they will be ample security to you.”

In Plato’s Apology, Socrates has been found guilty of not recognizing the gods recognized by the state, creating new gods, and, thus, corrupting the youth. Socrates has been found guilty and must deliver a proposal for his sentence. In the passage this precis will focus on, Socrates explains why death, imprisonment, a fine, and exile would not be suitable punishment, eventually opting for a minae. Throughout this passage, Socrates’ goal is to prove that his sentencing will not deter his beliefs. We will look at Socrates's use of refutation, rebuttal, and diction to see how these support his argument.

First, refutation. Socrates begins by going down the list of possible punishments and provides succinct refutation for why each type of punishment: death, imprisonment, fine, and exile, would not be suitable. In response to death, Socrates replies “When I do not know whether death is a good or an evil, why should I propose a penalty which would certainly be an evil?” To imprisonment, “And why should I live in prison, and be the slave of the magistrates of the year.” To a fine, “for money I have none, and I cannot pay.” And finally, exile, “ if I were to consider that when you, who are my own citizens, cannot endure my discourses and words, and have found them so grievous and odious that you would fain have done with them, others are likely to endure me.” These are all presented succinctly and one after another. This structure of refutation (identify, counter, support) is an effective tool of argumentation.

Now that we have looked at Socrates use of refutation, we can discuss his use of rebuttal. Prescribing to the structure of the Toulmin Model of Argument, Socrates includes a rebuttal in this passage. Despite the careful consideration of the different types of punishment that may be prescribed to him: death, imprisonment, fine, and exile -- Socrates address the counterargument, “Someone will say: Yes, Socrates, but cannot you hold your tongue, and then you may go into a foreign city, and no one will interfere with you?” He responds to the rebuttal with two primary arguments: the first argument states that if he were to hold his tongue, it would be a disobedience to a divine command and the second argument states that he cannot hold his tongue because the greatest good of man is to converse about virtue. This rebuttal is effective because it employs powerful, loaded diction like “divine” and “greatest good of man”. This shows us that reverence to the divine is of highest importance to Socrates. Even if he is exiled, he will continue to speak his beliefs.

Now that we have explored Socrates use of refutation and rebuttal, we can discuss how he employs diction as a tool to support his argument. Despite the strong messages he is communication, Socrates implements a conversational, relaxed tone when appropriate. For example sentences like, “I speak rather because I am convinced that I never intentionally wronged anyone, although I cannot convince you of that” or “And yet what I say is true, although a thing of which it is hard for me to persuade you.” evoke a generally passive tone that prevents Socrates from seeming too argumentative. In both sentences, Socrates admits to a preemptive compromise and readily admits that convincing the audience will be challenging if even at all possible. These word choices maximize efficacy because - as stated above - Socrates will remain firm in his beliefs, while avoiding being seen as headstrong.

In Plato’s Apology, Socrates has been found guilty of not recognizing the gods recognized by the state, creating new gods, and, thus, corrupting the youth. This precis explored Socrates’ use of refutation, rebuttal, and diction in relation to Socrates goal to prove that his sentencing will not deter his beliefs.

Plato’s Apology: Socrates and the Rhetoric behind Denying Knowledge

Win Kyaw

GSI: Kuan Hwa

Rhetoric 103A

October 7, 2016

In Plato’s Apology, Socrates gives an account of how his notoriety emerges from being associated with a certain kind of wisdom: intending to refute the oracle of Delphi, Socrates sets out in vain to find someone wiser than himself among politicians, poets, and artisans. In the account, Socrates effectively utilizes the language of knowledge denial to produce various argumentative effects like exposing the pretensions of his adversaries in a convincing manner and making a strong case for his own innocence. Upon closer examination, it can be seen that numerous phrases consisting of the verb ‘to know’ are used figuratively, two of which are identified in this figurative analysis as hyperbole and litotes, and that Socrates powerfully concludes his account with the use of height metaphor and the parting gift of a paradox.

            Socrates describes his initial impressions of a reputedly wise politician as follows: “When I began to talk with him, I could not help thinking that he was not really wise, although he was thought wise by many, and wiser still by himself.” Initially, the issue is not about knowing but about being wise, which Socrates subsequently defines as “know[ing] anything really beautiful and good.” But, instead of getting into his particular definition of wisdom, Socrates reflects upon himself in relation to the politician: “he knows nothing, and thinks that he knows. I neither know nor think that I know. In this latter particular, then, I seem to have slightly the advantage of him.” It is significant that Socrates initially speaks in terms of wisdom but he almost immediately shifts to the language of knowing ‘nothing’. In the sentence “he knows nothing”, for instance, Socrates denies knowledge by using the word ‘nothing’ in conjunction with the verb ‘to know’. Some of the intuitive things to say in this situation might be that the politician does not know everything, that he does not know a lot, or that he does not know some things. But, Socrates chooses to say in terms of an extreme on the spectrum of knowledge – he knows nothing! Thus, Socrates’ choice of the word ‘nothing’ counts as an instance of hyperbole because he exaggerates the littleness of what the politician knows. This instance of using figurative language also conveys Socrates’ disillusionment with the pretentious politicians whose public images have now started to deteriorate with Socrates’ charge that they know ‘nothing’.  One other argumentative merit that this choice has is that of clarity as it rules out the more complicated issues like, for example, whether the things that the politicians are ignorant about are in fact insignificant or whether some things the politicians really do know are significant (eg. laws, politics, etc.).

On the other hand, it is significant that, when Socrates shifts focus from the politician to himself, the claim he makes about himself is that “I neither know nor think that I know.” It is not that Socrates knows that he knows nothing. Regardless, what Socrates does say about himself is argumentatively effective on its own terms. It is an instance of litotes as Socrates is actually proving the very thing he avoids by denying associations with knowledge or even the activity of knowing. Also, Socrates’ claim about himself illustrates pathos or appeal to emotions from the audience as Socrates presents himself in the image of an underdog in the game of knowing. Not only does Socrates achieve securing credentials for himself as the ‘true’ knower, he also succeeds in persuading the audience to root for the underdog, who is now armed with the single advantage, namely knowing through claiming to not know, over his absolutely ignorant adversaries who later come to include entire categories of politicians and poets.

            The rhetoric of denying knowledge takes a new turn in Socrates’ encounter with artisans. Surprisingly, Socrates states that “I was sure that they knew many fine things; and in this I was not mistaken, for they did know many things of which I was ignorant.” However, the undoing of artisans consists of claiming to know “all sorts of high matters.” Unlike in the case of politicians and poets, Socrates’ conclusion in this case is that his advantage lies in “neither having their knowledge nor their ignorance.” In order to understand Socrates’ peculiarity in this last encounter, one needs to unpack the metaphor of height or matters being ‘high,’ which is done by Socrates himself in the conclusion of his account when he asserts that “God only is wise” and that the oracle of Delphi means to say “the wisdom of man is little or nothing; he is not speaking of Socrates, he is only using my name as an illustration as if he said, He, O men, is the wisest, who, like Socrates, knows that his wisdom is in truth worth nothing.”

It is interesting that towards the end Socrates moves back to the notion of wisdom and adds a new dimension to his rhetoric of denying knowledge. Human knowledge in general, including what artisans know, is not of ‘high’ matters but of matters down in the human realm, down in the hierarchy of worthy knowledge. The metaphorical lowering of the status of human knowledge produces the argument from quality that what one knows as a human being is worth so little it is not wrong to say she knows nothing of worth or, in short, nothing. This can also be construed as a pathos move for both Socrates and his adversaries as one transcends beyond individual ignorance and now comes to perceive the human condition itself. It might not be wrong to say that this conclusion leaves readers with an example of paradox, especially when one realizes that the acknowledgement of deficiency in human knowledge is, as Socrates demonstrates throughout the account, the only way to cure the human condition of knowing ‘nothing’ and not knowing it.  

The Power of Speech

 The Power of Speech

            In Encomium of Helen, translated by Brian R. Donovan, Gorgias utilizes the practice of rhetoric to defend Helen of Troy from blame for starting the Trojan War. Helen of Troy and Prince Alexander eloping sparked a war between Greece and Troy, a war that many blamed on Helen for leaving her husband and throne. In his text, Gorgias displays the influential power of rhetoric and how, through persuasive and dishonest discourse, Helen is relinquished of any guilt relating to the ten year war. Gorgias creates a series of potential reasons why Helen left and the reasoning behind them. Each reason supports the claim that Helen holds no blame, from divine intervention to brute physical force. If the Gods wanted her path to leave Troy, their rule is higher than humans and she must loyally obey with no fault. If she was violently assaulted and physically removed against her will, she is obviously released of blame because she had no control over the situation. Gorgias moves from these obvious points to zero in on just how powerful rhetoric can be in thought, action, and discourse.

            Beginning with (8), Gorgias points out that the influence of speech and how it can “stop fear and assuage pain and produce joy and make mercy abound”. Gorgias delves into the power of persuasive speech and how it can mold anyone to the argument present. Speech alone has the ability to soothe, excite, forgive, and much more depending on the context and how it is used. He continues to explain this point in (9) on how influential rhetoric can be, the emotions and opinions a carefully crafted argument can produce or unfold. To Gorgias, “the soul experiences a particularly feeling, on account of the words”. Therefore, persuasive speech has the power to create actions in ignorant people, who thus cannot be blamed for their actions. If words have the power to produce emotions, opinions, and actions, then persuasive speech is as powerful as any other external force that relieves Helen of blame. Gorgias places the same weight of rhetoric as he does in divine intervention, showing just how important and powerful persuasion can be.

            In (10), Gorgias begins to talk more about the deceptive side of persuasive speech. Words can “enchant and persuade [the soul’s opinion] by trickery. The errors of the soul” and “deceptions of opinion” do not put Helen at fault. Gorgias separates ‘deceptions of opinion’ and ‘errors of the soul’ to distinguish an individual’s ignorance, a more internal flaw, and an external deceptive force, which is an outside influence. Errors of the soul allow for an individual to be more easily persuaded and tricked, whereas deception of opinion is a carefully pieced together lie that the persuader has created with an agenda. Helen is therefore not at fault because one is helpless to their soul being deceived by a swindler with a plan.

            According to (11), Gorgias claims that there is a slippery slope between persuasion and deceit. People who persuade are “shapers of lying discourse” who rely on dishonest rhetoric to shape opinions and persuade those who are less aware. If poor Helen was the victim of false rhetoric, she is not at fault for leaving her home and throne to elope with Prince Alexander. However, the liar that persuaded her to leave is the one responsible. The persuader that purposefully deceived and tricked someone into a series of actions is the puppeteer holding the strings, knowingly tricking people with perfectly pieced-together arguments. The person that tricked Helen was not truthful to her and managed to abduct Helen on the basis of lies and deceit.

            In (12), Gorgias compares forcible abduction to the powers of influential rhetoric. He states, “for discourse was the persuader of the soul, which it persuaded and compelled to believe the things that were said and to agree to the things that were done”. The persuader may as well be a forcible abductor, and the one abducted (in this case, Helen) is wrongly blamed. Gorgias shifts the blame away from Helen and onto the persuader, for their tactics of dishonest rhetoric were as strong as physical force. The power of persuasive rhetoric thus proves to be influential, controlling, and comparable to divine intervention and kidnapping.

            Throughout this text, Gorgias explains and reasons how Helen of Troy is not at fault for starting the Trojan War. Persuasion is the sole perpetrator, and therefore the persuader is the one to blame for influencing Helen’s actions and placing emotions and ideas into her mind that she would not have thought of without persuasive rhetoric.

           

A Final Appeal to the Melians

In The Melian Dialogue, the people on the isle of Melos have been given a proposition by the Athenians: either submit to the Athenians, or face certain destruction under the might of the Athenian military. The Melians have stated that being colonist of the Lacedaemonians, they expect them to come to their aid if they were attacked. Additionally, the Melians feel as though they are the righteous ones in this exchange and can count on assistance from the gods – and therefore feel thoroughly protected. This précis is based on paragraph 111 of the dialogue, in which the Athenians are arguing that the Melians are making a nonsensical choice in refusing their offer of alliance, especially given their lack of viable options.

The paragraph starts out with the Athenians conceding that yes, the Melians may be able to convince Lacedaemon to come to their aid, but that still is not going to save them. They continue in saying that there has never been a time in the past that a state coming to the aid of an Athenian target has ever deterred Athens from attacking, and this time is no different. Furthermore, the Athenians point out that despite the Melian’s initial claim that their first and foremost priority is the safety of their people at large, that they have yet to give any counterarguments, nor have they broached anything of note that would lead any reasonable man to believe that they would be delivered from destruction.

They base this assertion on the fact that the Melians are placing their hopes of salvation not on their own ability to defend themselves, but on the goodwill of others outside of their control, and that is a completely unreasonable expectation to base the very existence of their entire civilization on. This is especially true when Melos has zero efficacy in the face of the force shown from Athens as it is well established that the isle of Melos has little to no chance in matching the military might of Athens.

In the face of continued Melian dissention, the Athenians were utterly shocked in their lack of reason lamenting: “For surely you cannot dream of flying to that false sense of honour which has been the ruin of so many when danger and dishonour were staring them in the face.” Being consummate realist, the Athenians held the door open for their reversal of their conclusion as they reasoned with the Melians that there have been several men who have fallen prey to conjectures such as honor. And that these men, while holding on to their pride have suffered all sorts of injurious things far worse than merely the loss of their honor. But this need not be the case with the Melians, Athens argued, because there is no honor lost in submitting to a stronger city, and no profit in willfully walking towards certain death.

However, the Melians remained obstinate, no doubt holding fast to the belief that they would be reduced to slaves if they would submit to Athens. This is interesting because within this short dialogue, slavery is mentioned three times – but never by the Athenians and always by the Melians. There was a short inference when the Athenians said in response to accusations of wanting to enslave the Melians that “To you the gain will be that by submission you will avert the worst; and we shall be all the richer for your preservation.” By using the word “submission” one could properly infer that the Athenians meant slavery. The problem with that line of thought is that there are several other means of submission that would just as easily fit within the broad stroke of “submission”.

Here in paragraph 111, we have the first clear and unequivocal statement of intention from the Athenians when they say “If you are wise you will not run this risk; you ought to see that there can be no disgrace in yielding to a great city which invites you to become her ally on reasonable terms, keeping your own land, and merely paying tribute; and that you will certainly gain no honour if, having to choose between two alternatives, safety and war, you obstinately prefer the worse.” So no, they would not be turned to slaves, in contrast they would maintain ownership of their land, while paying a tax. And while at this point they have no allegiances to anyone in this war, being an “ally” infers a further benefit by way of protection from Athens – the ruler of the waters that surround their island.

The Athenians close their argument by allowing the Melians more time to think about what they were doing, imploring them to deliberate over this decision “over and over” and to truly ponder over the fact that they only have one shot to get this right. And with this one decision they will either save or destroy their entire country. The dialogue eventually ends with the Melians continued refusal – followed shortly thereafter by their swift annihilation.