Apart from
philosophers, who promise their students ‘the whole stock of virtue and
happiness (sumpasan de tȇn aretȇn kai tȇn eudaimonian,
4), Isocrates in Against the Sophists
criticises briefly but incisively ‘those who profess to teach political
discourse’ (tois tous politikous logous
hupischnoumenois): ‘For they are themselves so stupid (houtȏ d’ anaisthȇtȏs autoi te diakeintai) and conceive others to be so dull that (kai tous allous echein hupeilȇphasi), although the speeches which they
compose are worse (hȏste cheiron graphontes tous logous) than those which some laymen improvise (ȇ tȏn idiȏtȏn tines autoschediazousin), nevertheless they promise (homȏs hupischnountai) to make their students such clever
orators (toioutous rȇtoras tous sunontas poiȇsein) that they will not overlook any of
the possibilities which a subject affords (hȏste mȇden tȏn enontȏn en tois pragmasi paralipein) … thinking (oiomenoi de) that because of the extravagance of their promises (dia tas huperbolas tȏn epangelmatȏn) they themselves will command
admiration (autoi te thaumasthȇsesthai) and
the teaching of discourse (kai tȇn paideusin tȇn tȏn logȏn) will be held in higher esteem (pleonos axian doxein einai) – oblivious
of the fact (kakȏs eidotes) that
the arts are made great (hoti megalas
poiousi tas technas), not by those who are without scruple in boasting
about them (ouch hoi tolmȏntes alazoneuesthai peri autȏn), but by those (all’ hoitines an) who are able to discover all of the resources
which each art affords (hoson enestin en
hekastȇi, tout’ exeurein dunȇthȏsin, 9-10).’
In this
criticism of ‘those who profess to teach political discourse’ Isocrates quite
clearly refers with his plural ‘those’ to a single person, namely Alcidamas; in
the preceding criticism of philosophers his plural ‘they’ is ambivalent,
sliding from pointing at Plato and his Phaedrus
to pointing at all Socratics
After the
brief excursion into the realm of political discourse, in which he criticised
Alcidamas for badly writing his speeches, Isocrates turned back to philosophy
and to philosophers: ‘I should have preferred above great riches (Egȏ de pro pollȏn men an chrȇmatȏn etimȇsamȇn) that
philosophy had as much power (tȇlikouton dunasthai tȇn philosophian) as these men claim (hoson houtoi legousin); for, possibly, I
should not have been the very last in the profession (isȏs gar ouk an hȇmeis pleiston apeleiphthȇmen) nor had the least share in its
profits (oud’ an elachiston meros
apelausamen autȇs). But since it has no such power (epeidȇ d’ ouch houtȏs echei), I
could wish (bouloimȇn an) that
this prating might cease (pausasthai tous
phluarountas, 11).’
Norlin’s reference to philosophy as a ‘profession’ in which –
according to his translation, which I am using – Isocrates would not have ‘the
least share in its profits’ is wrong. When Isocrates says that he should have
preferred above great riches that philosophy had as much power as these men
claim, he goes back to his original charge against the claim that life devoted
to philosophy secures a happy life here one earth, enunciated in the Phaedrus, which Isocrates in the first
paragraph dismissed as ‘lies’. Now he is more circumspect: ‘I should have
preferred above great riches that philosophy had as much power as these men
claim’. But what does he refer to when he says ‘for, possibly, we’ – Isocrates
slides from the singular ‘I’ (Egȏ into the plural ‘we’ (hȇmeis) – ‘should not have been the very
last in it nor enjoyed the least share of it (isȏs gar ouk an hȇmeis pleiston apeleiphthȇmen oud’ an elachiston
meros apelausamen autȇs)’? Prepared for it by previous
allusion to the Phaedrus, the reader
cannot fail thinking of Socrates’ reference to Isocrates at the close of the
dialogue: ‘Isocrates is still young, Phaedrus, but I don’t mind telling you the
future I prophesy for him. It seems to me that his natural powers give him a
superiority over anything that Lysias has achieved in literature, and also that
in the point of character he is of a nobler composition; hence it would not
surprise me if with advancing years he made all his literary predecessors look
like a small fry; that is, supposing him to persist in the actual type of
writing in which he engages at present; still more so, if he should become
dissatisfied with such work, and a sublime impulse led him to do greater
things. For that mind of his, Phaedrus,
contains an innate tincture of philosophy.’ (278e10-279b1, translation from
the Phaedrus are R. Hackforth’s)
Socrates
ends his prophesy with the words: ‘Well then, there’s the report I convey from
the gods of this place to Isocrates my beloved (tauta dȇ egȏ men para tȏnde tȏn theȏn hȏs emois paidikois Isokratei exangellȏ,
279b1-2).’ Hackforths
‘report I convey’ that renders Socrates’ exangellȏ, can hardly remind the reader of Norlin’s ‘straightway at the beginning of their
professions’ for Isocrates’ euthus d’en
archȇi tȏn epangelmatȏn, but in the Greek the link is
obvious. In the Phaedrus Socrates’
flattering exangelma (message) addressed
to young Isocrates goes hand in hand with another message (apangelma, cf. 278e8),
which is aimed at Lysias ‘and all other composers of discourses’ (kai ei tis allos suntithȇsi logous,
278c1). In it the ‘one who has nothing
to show of more value than the literary works on whose phrases he spends hours,
twisting them this way and that, pasting them together and pulling them apart,
will rightly, I suggest, be called a poet or speech-writer or law-writer’
(278d8-e2). For to be called a philosopher deserves only a man who ‘has done
his work with a knowledge of the truth
(ei men eidȏs hȇi to alȇthes echei sunethȇke tauta), can defend (kai echȏn boȇthein) his
statements when challenged (eis elenchon iȏn peri hȏn egrapse ‘when challenged concerning that of
which he wrote’), and can demonstrate the inferiority of his writings out of
his own mouth (kai legȏn autos dunatos ta gegrammena phaula apodeixai, 278c4-7)’.
This message
must have cut Isocrates to the quick, for he was first and foremost a composer
of speeches, and so from the first paragraph of his discourse he directed his
criticism against philosophers who ‘pretend to search for truth, but straightway at the beginning of their
professions are engaged in telling lies’. Socrates based his criticism of the
written speeches on comparing writing (graphȇ) to painting (zȏgraphia): ‘The
painter’s products stand before us as though they were alive (hestȇke men hȏs zȏnta): but if
you question them, they maintain a most majestic silence. It is the same with
written words: they seem to talk to you as though they were intelligent, but if
you ask them anything about what they say, from a desire to be instructed, they
go on telling you just the same thing for ever (hen ti sȇmainei monon t’auton
aei).’ (275d5-9) It
is against this deprecatory picture of written compositions that Isocrates
turns next (paragraph 12):
‘But I
marvel (Thaumazȏ) when I observe (d’ hotan idȏ) these men setting themselves as instructors of youth
(toutous mathȇtȏn axioumenous)
who cannot see that they are applying the analogy of an art with hard and fast
rules to a creative process (hoi poiȇtikou pragmatos tetagmenȇn technȇn paradeigma pherontes lelȇthasi sphas autous). For, excepting these teachers, who
does not know (tis gar uok oide plȇn toutȏn) that the art of using letters (hoti to men tȏn grammatȏn ‘that the use
of letters’) remains fixed and unchanged (akinȇtȏs echei kai menei kata t’auton ‘does not move and stands put in the same way’), so that we
continually and invariably use the same letters for the same purposes (hȏste tois autois aei
peri tȏn autȏn chrȏmenoi diateloumen), while exactly reverse is true of the art of discourse (to de tȏn logȏn pan t’ounantion peponthen)?’
Isocrates
protests against Plato’s depicting written discourses as fixed and deprived of
movement. It is the use of letters which is subjected to fixed rules (tetagmenȇn technȇn), ‘does not
move and stands put in the same way’, he argues, rejecting Plato’s depiction of
the written discourses in the Phaedrus
as such. The art of composing discourses (to
de tȏn logȏn) is quite the opposite (pan t’ounantion peponthen):
‘For what
has been said by one speaker (to gar
huph’ heterou rȇthen) is not equally useful for the
speaker who comes after him (tȏi legonti met’ ekeinon ouch homoiȏs chrȇsimon estin);
on the contrary, he is accounted most skilled in this art (all’ houtos einai dokei technikȏtatos) who speaks in a manner worthy of
his subject (hos tis an axiȏs men legȇi tȏn pragmatȏn) and yet is able to discover in it
topics which are nowise the same as those used by others (mȇden de tȏn autȏn tois allois heuriskein
dunȇtai).’
While Plato
in the Phaedrus makes a sharp
division between the written and the spoken word, depicting the former as an
imitative phantom (eidȏlon) of the
latter, which ‘is ‘living and has soul’ (zȏnta kai empsuchon) (276a8-9), Isocrates makes no such distinction. His forte were the
written discourses. To speak indiscriminately about logos (discourse) spoken/written was particularly natural for him,
since ‘reading’ meant reading aloud. In the Antidosis
he advises his ‘readers’: ‘I urge all who intend to acquaint themselves with my
speech (chrȇ de tous diexiontas auton [ton logon]),
first, to make allowance, as they listen
to it, for the fact that it is a mixed discourse, composed [‘written’ see gegrammenou]
with an eye on all these subjects (prȏton men hȏs ontos miktou tou
logou kai pros hapantas tas hupotheseis tautas gegrammenou poeisthai tȇn akroasin
‘make the listening’); next (epeita),
to fix their attention (prosechein ton
noun) even more (eti mallon) on
what is about to be said (tois legesthai
mellousin) than on what has been said before (ȇ tois ȇdȇ proeirȇmenois); and lastly (pros de toutois), not to seek (mȇ zȇtein) to run through the whole of it at
the first sitting (euthus epelthontas
holon auton dielthein), but only so much of it (alla tosouton meros) as will not fatigue the audience (hoson mȇ lupȇsei tous parontas, Antidosis 12).’
In Against the Sophists 12 Isocrates goes
on to emphasize the difference between the use of letters and the art of
giving/composing discourses: ‘But the greatest proof of the difference between
these two arts is (megiston de sȇmeion tȇs anomoiotȇtos autȏn) that the oratory is good (tous men gar logous ouk hoionte kalȏs echein ‘the
discourses can’t be well composed’) only if it has the qualities of fitness for
the occasion, propriety of style, and originality of treatment (ȇn mȇ tȏn kairȏn kai tou prepontȏs kai tou kainȏs echein metaschȏsin ‘unless
they have …’), while in the case of letters there is no such need whatsoever (tois de grammasin oudenos toutȏn prosedeȇsen).
Making it
clear and obvious that the paradigm of the use of letters is completely alien
to the art of giving/writing discourses, Isocrates ends his rejection of it as
follows: ‘So that those who make use of such analogies (hȏst’ hoi chrȏmenoi tois toioutois paradeigmasi) ought to more justly to pay out than to accept fees (polu an dikaioteron apotinoien ȇ lambanoien argurion), since they attempt to teach others when they are themselves in great
need of instruction (hoti pollȇs epimeleias autoi deomenoi paideuein tous allous epicheirousin).’
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