Tuesday, June 20, 2023

Plato’s Republic and the Ecclesiazusae of Aristophanes

B.B. Rogers in the ‘Introduction’ to his edition of Aristophanes’ Ecclesiazusae (Assemblywomen) argues that the comedy was exhibited in the spring of the year B.C. 393, and that Plato wrote the Republic, or at least books II-V prior to it, which must have come into the hands of the Athenians before the termination of B.C. 394,

Before explaining Rogers’ dating of the Ecclesiazusae, I must say a few words on the main plot of the comedy. At Skirois, a festival celebrated by women alone, the women of Athens, under the leadership of Praxagora, decided to take the public affairs into their hands. To accomplish this, they dressed as men, attended the assembly early at dawn to get their seats in front, and, with the unfailing support of the Chorus, Praxagora persuaded the assembly to accept her proposal. Roger says that in the passage of her speech, which is crucial for the dating of the comedy, Praxagora ‘arraigns the policy of the people for its total want of continuity; she avers that they are perpetually chopping and changing; enamoured of one course today, and of the opposite tomorrow.’ In illustration she says:

‘Then again this alliance (to summachikon au touth’), when we were deliberating about it (hot’ eskopoumetha), they vowed (ephaskon) that not to conclude it (ei mȇ genoit’) would be the ruin of the state (apolein tȇn polin): but when once it was concluded (hote dȇ d’ egenet’); they were disgusted with it (ȇchthonto); and the orator who persuaded them into it (ho tout’ anapeisas) had straightaway to cut and run (euthus apodras ȏicheto).’ (193-196, tr. Rogers).

As Rogers points out, the alliance, to which Praxagora referred, was the Anti-Spartan League; it was accepted by the Assembly without a dissentient vote (B.C. 395) At first, everything seemed to promise well. And when in the following spring and summer (B.C.394) a large army, composed of contingents from all the members of the League, was gathered together at Corinth, the confidence of the leaders was unbounded. They decided to march on Sparta, and marched as far as the valley of Nemea, but then had to quickly retrace their steps to repel an attack of Sparta on their own headquarters. The battle between these two mighty Hellenic armies resulted in the total rout of the army of the League, and the main body of the Athenian troops, assailed at once in front and on their left flank by the Lacedaemonians, suffered more severely than any other contingent.

Thus within a few weeks the entire aspect of affairs had, as regards Athens, undergone a serious change for the worse. She had lost many citizens without any beneficial results; the bright hopes with which the year B.C.394 had commenced, had altogether died away. And it was quite natural that the Athenians should become disgusted, ȇchthonto, at the failure of those brilliant expectations, through which they had been induced, less than two years before, to take an active part in the formation of the Anti-Spartan League.

It was at this juncture, at the commencement of the year B.C.393, that Praxagora comes forward to condemn the vacillating policy of the men, and to propose that the government of Athens shall be henceforth entrusted to the women, as the more stable and conservative sex.

Rogers argues that Ecclesiazusae could not have been conceived and staged in B.C.392: ‘Before the spring of B.C.392 had arrived, a brilliant and marvellous change, one might almost say a resurrection, had taken place in the affairs of Athens. Conon had returned, bringing the Persian fleet, and an ample supply of Persian gold to secure her safety; the Long Walls had risen again, the fortifications of Piraeus were restored, and Athens was entirely delivered from the doubts and the dangers which had so long beset her. At the commencement of B.C.393 Athens was in a state of disquiet and perplexity, still halting between two courses. There was no doubt or wavering at the commencement of B.C.392. Her safety was assured. She has been finally launched on a new carrier of prosperity.

But how does Plato’s Republic come into all this? Rogers says: ‘Reverting now to Praxagora and her scheme of future government of Athens, we find that the main argument put forward in support of her proposed gunaikokratia [government by women] is based on the more conservative character of the female sex. Men, she says, are always in quest of novelty and change. Women abide by their principles, and the women of the present day use the same customs and follow the same practices that their predecessors have used and followed throughout all generations. Athens, imperilled by the restlessness of men, will be saved by the steadfast and sober adherence of women to ancient methods and venerable traditions. Yet no sooner does Praxagora by these arguments and for these purposes obtain the reins of power, than she develops a scheme so startling and novel, as to throw altogether into the shade the wildest extravagances of men. It is a scheme of naked socialism, involving the community of goods, the abolition of marriage, and the community of women.

How can we account for this singular phenomenon? It has no parallel in any other comedy of Aristophanes. The Chorus indeed will frequently go over to the side which it began opposing, and sometimes one of the principal characters will yield to argument, or the stress of circumstances; but there is always enough in the play itself to determine and explain the change. Here, however, the heroine, who has been earnestly seeking power for one purpose, immediately employs it for the opposite purpose: her special mission being to put a stop to all political novelties, she at once introduces a political novelty so vast and revolutionary, that she doubts if the men can be brought to accept it. And there is not a syllable in the play to justify or account for the sudden change. It is therefore necessary to look for the determining cause in something outside the play itself. And it seems impossible to doubt that the cause is to be found in the appearance, whilst Aristophanes was engaged on the Ecclesiazusae, of the Republic of Plato, or at all events of that part of the work which now constitutes Books II to V of the Republic. Plato’s Republic, either in its present, or in an incomplete, shape came into the hands of the Athenian people before the termination of B.C. 394.

Aristophanes’ Praxagora obtained supreme power in Athens, which she was to use to give free reign to the conservative character of women, with all the humorous situations it offered for comedy, when Aristophanes suddenly finds, all ready to his hand, the elaborate communistic schemes developed by Plato in the new philosophic treatise. Aristophanes was not the man to let such an opportunity to escape him. What mattered Praxagora’s consistency compared with the brilliant opening for philosophic chaff? And so the greatest novelty of all, a system of undiluted communism, is at once introduced, by the opponent of all novelty, into the practical everyday life of the people of Athens.

Rogers finds it strange that anyone could doubt or ignore the very obvious fact that in the latter half of the Ecclesiazusae Aristophanes is laughing at the communistic theories of the Platonic Republic. He notes that in his ‘Commentary’ he refers to many similarities of thought and diction between the Praxagorean and Platonic schemes. In the ‘Introduction’ he considers a single instance. In both systems children will be unable to recognize their parents, and parents their children. In both cases this fact is only brought out in answer to a question. In both cases the question is propounded in the same form, not ‘Will they recognize?’ but ‘How will they recognize?’ (pȏs diagnȏsontai, Plato; pȏs dunatos estai diagignȏskein, Aristophanes) the answer being of course, that no recognition is possible; all youths must consider themselves the children of the old people. Out of this novel state of things a variety of strange and startling results might arise; but in both cases one, and one only, and that by no means the most obvious, is selected, viz. the greater security of the old people.  For now, if a youth should assault (tuptȇi, Plato, Aristophanes) his elder, the bystanders would at once interfere; since, for all they can tell, they may themselves be the children (Plato adds “or the brothers or the parents”) of the sufferer. Is the identity of this particular train of thought, couched, as it is, in such similar phraseology, merely the result of an accident?

Monday, June 19, 2023

Herodotus and Plato, enter Aristophanes

After disposing of the Magi, the seven Persian noblemen discussed the future government. Otanes pleaded for democracy, Megabyzos for oligarchy, Darius for Monarchy, and the four remaining noblemen adhered to the proposal of Darius.

Then Otanes, whose proposal of equality under law for everyone was defeated, made another speech: ’Fellow partisans (Andres stasiȏtai) it is clear (dȇla gar dȇ) that one of us will have to be the king (hoti dei hena ge tina hȇmeȏn basilea genesthai) … I will not compete with you (egȏ men nun humin ouk enagȏnieumai), for I have no wish to rule or to be ruled either (oute gar archein oute archesthai ethelȏ). And on this condition (epi toutȏi de) I withdraw from the competition (hupexistamai tȇs archȇs), on which (ep’ hȏi te) I will not be ruled by any one of you (hup’ oudenos humeȏn arxomai), neither I myself (oute autos egȏ) nor any of my descendants (oute hoi ap’ emeu aei ginomenoi).’ The six having accepted this condition, Otanes stood down.

Herodotus remarks: ‘To this day the family of Otanes continues to be the only free family in Persia, submitting to the king only in so far as they wish to, while not disobeying the laws of Persia.’ (III.83)

The remaining six then discussed the fairest way of deciding who should be the king. They decided to mount their horses on the outskirts of the city, and he, whose horse neighed first after the sun went up, was to have the monarchy, thus leaving the matter to chance (III. 84). Darius’ crucial argument for Monarchy was: ‘One ruler, provided he is the best.’ But the remaining six didn’t even raise the question of who from among them was the best. But only five of the remaining six left the matter to chance.

Darius had a clever groom called Oebares, to whom he turned for help. As soon as it was dark, Oebares took from the stables the mare Darius’ horse was particularly fond of, and tied her on the outskirts of the city. Then he brought along the stallion and led him round and round the mare, getting closer and closer in narrowing circles, and finally allowed him to mount her. Next morning just before dawn the six men, according to their agreement, came riding on their horses through the city suburb, and when they reached the spot where the mare had been tethered, Darius’ horse started forward and neighed. At the same instant, though the sky was clear, there was a flesh of lightening and a clap of thunder; it was a sign from heaven; the election of Darius was assured, and the other five leapt from their saddles and bowed to the ground at his feet. (III. 85-86)

Herodotus says that Darius’ first act was to erect a stone monument with a carving of a man on horseback, and the following inscription: “Darius, son of Hystaspes, by the virtue of his horse (giving the name of the horse to ounoma legȏn) and of his groom Oebares, won the kingdom of Persia (ektȇsato tȇn Perseȏn basilȇiȇn).” (III. 88)

***

Herodotus is a great narrator and we may presume that he was widely read in Athens. The Athenians would have found especially appealing Darius’ speech in favour of monarchy, in which Darius conjures up a democracy that develops towards the rule of the best man, which must have reminded every Athenian of the Athenian democracy in the days of Pericles: “Again, in a democracy (dȇmou te au archontos), malpractices are bound to occur (adunata mȇ ou kakotȇta engignesthai); in this case, however, corrupt dealings in government services (kakotȇtos toinun engignomenȇs es ta koina) lead not to private feuds (echtea men ouk engignetai toisi kakoisi) [as in oligarchy], but to close personal associations (philiai de ischurai), the men responsible for them (hoi gar kakountes ta koina) putting their heads together and mutually supporting one another (sunkupsantes poieusi). And so it goes on (touto de toiouto ginetai), until somebody or other comes forward as the people’s champion (es ho an prostas tis tou dȇmou) and breaks up the cliques (tous toioutous pausȇi). This (ek de autȏn) wins him the admiration (thaumazetai houtos dȇ) of the people (hupo tou dȇmou), and as a result (thȏmazomenos de an ȏn) he soon finds himself entrusted with absolute power (ephanȇ mounarchos eȏn) – all of which is another proof (kai en toutȏi dȇloi kai houtos) that the best form of government is monarchy (hȏs hȇ mounarchiȇ kratiston).”

When Plato in the Palinode in the Phaedrus gave voice to the view that the best should rule, he did not leave the choice of the best man to chance:

‘The region above the heavens (ton de huperouranion topon) has never yet been celebrated as it deserves by any earthly poet, nor will it ever be (oute tis humnȇse pȏ tȏn tȇide poiȇtȇs oute pote humnȇsei kat’ axian). But it is like this (echei de hȏde) – for one must be bold enough (tolmȇteon gar oun) to say what is true (to ge alȇthes eipein), especially (allȏs te) when speaking about truth (kai peri alȇtheias legonta). This region is occupied by being which really is, which is without colour or shape, intangible, observable by the steersman of the soul alone, by intellect, and to which the class of true knowledge relates (hȇ gar achrȏmatos te kai aschȇmatistos kai anaphȇs ousia ontȏs ousa, psuchȇs kubernȇtȇi monȏi theatȇ nȏi, peri hȇn to tȇs alȇthous epistȇmȇs genos, touton echei ton topon).’ (Pl. Phdr. 247c3-d1, tr. C.J. Rowe)

Clearly, only the man who has the true knowledge, who knows the truth, is entitled to rule the city.

***

Aristophanes’ comedy of the Frogs was produced during the Lenaean festival, at the commencement of the year B.C. 405; its production thus (roughly) coincided with the Phaedran Palinode of Plato (see ‘The Phaedrus and the Charmides: Plato in Athens 405-404’, History of Political Thought, Summer 2022). The comedy was so admired (houtȏ de ethaumasthȇ), that the Frogs were staged again (hȏste kai anedidachthȇ), as we learn from Dikaearchos, referred to in two ancient introductions to the play.

I shall argue that Plato wrote his Palinode inspired by the song in Aristophanes’ Frogs, in which the chorus celebrates Aeschylus’ forthcoming return to Athens: ‘Blest is the man (makarios g’ anȇr) who possesses keen intelligent mind (echȏn xunesin ȇkribȏmenȇn). This full often we find (para de polloisin mathein). For this man (hode gar), having shown that his thinking was propitious (eu phronein dokȇsas), now to earth reascends (palin apeisin oikad’ au), for the good of the citizens (ep’ agathȏi men tois politais), for the good of his relatives and his friends (ep’ agathȏi de tois heautou sungenesi te kai philoisi), just because he possesses a keen intelligent mind (dia to sunetos einai).’ (1482-1490)

The song that follows, I believe, is the addition made by Aristophanes for the re-staging of the Frogs in response to Plato’s Phaedran Palinode:

‘Right it is and befitting (charien oun), not by Socrates sitting (mȇ Sȏkratei parakathȇmenon), idle talk to pursue (lalein), stripping tragedy-art of all things noble and true (apobalonta mousikȇn ta te megista paraliponta tȇs tragȏidikȇs technȇs). Surely the mind to school fine-drawn quibbles to seek, fine-set phrases to speak, is but the part of a fool (to d’ epi semnoisi logoisi kai skariphȇsmoisi lȇrȏn diatribȇn argon poieistai, paraphronountos andros). (1491-1499, tr. B.B. Rogers)

The only comment on this passage I could find is that of B.B. Rogers: ‘Nobody could be long in the company of Socrates without being drawn into some argumentative conversation. This perpetual talking which surrounded Socrates is in truth the adoleschia of which the comic poets speak, and to which Plato makes such a pathetic reference in the Phaedo (70c1).’ Rogers appears to have missed Plato’s reference to adoleschia in Phaedrus 269e1-270a8: ‘It is not surprising, I suppose, my good fellow, that Pericles (kinduneuei, ȏ ariste, eikotȏs ho Periklȇs) turned out to be the most complete of all with respect to rhetoric (pantȏn teleȏtatos eis tȇn rȇtorikȇn genesthai). All sciences of importance (pasai hosai megalai tȏn technȏn) require the addition of babbling (prosdeontai adoleschias) and lofty talk about nature (kai meteȏrologias phuseȏs peri); for the relevant high-mindedness (to gar hupsȇlonoun touto) and effectiveness in all directions (kai pantȇi telesiourgon) seem to come to a man from some such sort as that (eoiken enteuthen pothen eisienai). This is something that Pericles acquired in addition to his natural ability (ho kai Periklȇs pros tȏi euphuȇs einai ektȇsato); for I think because he fell in with Anaxagoras, who was just such a person (prospesȏn gar oimai toioutȏi onti Anaxagorai), and became filled with such lofty talk (meteȏrologias emplȇstheis), and arrived at the nature of mind and the absence of mind (kai epi phusin nou te kai anoias aphikomenos), which were the very subjects about which Anaxagoras used to talk so much (hȏn dȇ peri ton polun logon epoieito Anaxagoras), he was able to draw from there and apply (enteuthen heilkusen) to the science of speaking (epi tȇn tȏn logȏn technȇn) what was applicable to it (to prosphoron autȇi).’ (Translation C.J. Rowe)

Aristophanes in the Frogs does not mention Pericles by name, but Pericles was very much on his mind just as he was very much on the mind of his audience. When Dionysus could not decide whether to prefer Euripides or Aeschylus as tragedians, he asked them to declare what plan of safety for Athens each of them has got (peri tȇs poleȏs hȇntin’ echeton sȏterian, 1436). Aeschylus suggested that Athens will be safe ‘when the Athenians shall count the enemy’s soil as their own (tȇn gȇn hotan nomisȏsi tȇn tȏn polemiȏn einai spheteran), and theirs the enemy’s (tȇn de spheteran tȏn polemiȏn): when they know that ships are their true wealth (poron de tas naus), their so-called wealth delusion (aporian de ton poron).’ Rogers notes: ‘It is, as the Scholiast remarks, the counsel which was given by Pericles at the commencement of the war.’

But let me return to the lines 1491-1499. Clearly, with the words – ‘Right it is and befitting (charien oun), not by Socrates sitting (mȇ Sȏkratei parakathȇmenon), idle talk to pursue (lalein) – the chorus introduces these lines as one of Socrates’ associates. At whom but Plato can Aristophanes be pointing at? Indicative are the words apobalonta mousikȇn ‘having thrown away the art’ – which Rogers leaves untranslated – which refer to Plato’s first philosophic encounter with Socrates: ‘When Plato was about to compete for the prize with a tragedy (mellȏn agȏnieisthai tragȏidiai), he listened to Socrates in front of the theatre of Dionysus (pro tou Dionusiakou theatrou Sȏkratous akousas), and then consigned his poems to the flames (katephlexe ta poiȇmata) (Dion. Laert. III. 5).’

The Phaedran Palinode made it possible for Aristophanes to gesture towards Plato as the man who could bring about peace, and save Athens. The opening scene of the Phaedrus brings us to the time of Nicias’ peace: Socrates and Phaedrus leave the city walls, both barefooted, enjoying their walk along the river Ilissus, and finding a nice place below a plane tree, where they then spend the whole day in philosophic discussions.

Socrates: ‘By Hera (Nȇ tȇn Hȇran), a fine stopping place (kalȇ ge hȇ katagȏgȇ)! This plane-tree (hȇ te gar platanos hautȇ) is very spreading (mal’ amphilaphȇs te) and tall (kai hupsȇlȇ), and the tallness and shadiness of the agnus (tou te agnou to hupsos kai to suskion) are quite lovely (pankalon); and being in full flower (kai hȏs akmȇn echei tȇs anthȇs) it seems to make the place smell as sweetly as it could (hȏs an euȏdestaton parechoi ton topon). The stream, too (hȇ te au pȇgȇ), flows very attractively under the plane (chariestatȇ hupo tȇs platanou rei), with the coolest weather (mala psuchrou hudatos), to judge by my foot (hȏste ge tȏi podi tekmȇrasthai). From the figurines and statuettes, the spot seems to be sacred to some Nymphs and to Achelous (Numphȏn de tinȏn kai Achelȏiou hieron apo tȏn korȏn te kai agalmatȏn eoiken einai). Then again, if you like (ei d’ au boulei), how welcome it is, the freshness of the place (to eupnoun tou topou hȏs agapȇton), and very pleasant (kai sphodra hȇdu); it echoes with a summery shrillness (therinon te kai liguron hupȇchei) to the cicadas’ song (tȏi tȏn thettigȏn chorȏi). Most delightful of all is the matter of the grass (pantȏn de kompsotaton to tȇs poas), growing on a gentle slope (hoti en erȇma prosantei) and thick enough to be just right (hikanȇ pehuke) to rest one’s head upon (kataklinenti tȇn kephalȇn pankalȏs echein).’ (229b2-c5, tr. C.J. Rowe)

In the days, when these lines were written, the city being surrounded by the forces of the enemy, one could only dream about staying outside the city walls and experiencing such delights. Reading these lines, one could not but berate bitterly the idiocy of Cleophon, the leading demagogue, because of whom the offer of peace by Sparta was rejected (the offer was made in 406, after the naval victory of the Athenians at the battle of Arginousae.

The chorus of the Frogs ends the play with the words ‘Let Cleophon now and his band battle, if battle they must, far away in their own fatherland.’ It would be better to say ‘in their own motherland’ if one could say it in English; Cleophon’s mother was from Thessaly.

Clearly, Plato and Aristophanes were in accord in their desire for peace; this unity of purpose animates both the opening scene of the Phaedrus and Frogs 1491-1499: ‘Right it is and befitting, not by Socrates sitting, idle talk to pursue …’ But there is a problem: How many Athenians would have read the opening scene of Plato’s Phaedrus? A few dozens at best. But the choric song of Frogs 1491-1499 presupposes that the audience as a whole, enthused by the vision of peace with which the Frogs culminate, realises that the associate of Socrates to whom Aristophanes alludes can become the new Pericles, can bring about peace and save Athens. Let me quote the closing choric song:

‘First (prȏta men), as the poet triumphant [i.e. Aeschylus] is passing away to the light, grant him success on his journey (euodian agathȇn apionti poiȇtȇi es phaos ornumenȏi dote), ye powers that are ruling below [i.e. in Hades] (daimones hoi kata gaias). Grant that he find for the city good councils to guide her aright (tȇi te polei megalȏn agathȏn agathas epinoias); so we at last shall be freed from the anguish, the fear, and the woe (panchu gar ek megalȏn acheȏn pausaimeth’ an houtȏs), freed from the onset of war (argaleȏn t’ en hoplois xunodȏn). Let Cleophon now and his band battle, if battle they must, far away in their own fatherland (Kleophȏn de machesthȏ k’allos ho boulomenos toutȏn patriois en arourais).’ (Tr. B.B. Rogers)

It is here that Herodotus’ implicit mediation is essential. The information that Plato’s view of the best man’s rule coincided with Darius’ view could spread through the audience as a whole while the chorus sang the lines 1491-1499.

So let me end with Herodotus’ Darius: “Again, in a democracy, malpractices are bound to occur; in this case, however, corrupt dealings in government services lead not to private feuds [as in oligarchy], but to close personal associations, the men responsible for them putting their heads together and mutually supporting one another. And so it goes on, until somebody or other comes forward as the people’s champion and breaks up the cliques. This wins him the admiration of the people, and as a result he soon finds himself entrusted with absolute power – all of which is another proof that the best form of government is monarchy.” (Herodotus III. 82, tr. Aubry de Sélincourt, revised by A.R. Burn).

Monday, June 12, 2023

2a Herodotus and Plato

The seven foremost Persian aristocrats took on the two Magi, who usurped the power. When they killed them, they cut off their heads and ran out of the palace, calling on Persians and showing them the heads. Then every Persian found it right to kill any Magi they could put their hands on. Had not the night fall on, all Magi would have been wiped out on that day.

Five days later, when the situation calmed down, the seven discussed the future government. Otanes, who was the first to speak, rejected the monarchy as neither pleasant (oute gar hȇdu) nor good (oute agathon): ‘How could a monarchy ever be the right system of government, in which a monarch may do whatever he likes without any responsibility or control? Becoming a monarch, even the best of man is bound to change for the worse; the typical vices of monarch are envy (phthonos) and insolence (hubris).’ Having rejected monarchy, Otanes pleaded for democracy: ‘First, it has the finest name of all names to describe it, equality under law (isonomiȇn); and, secondly, the people in power (plȇthos de archon) do none of the things that monarchs do; a magistrate is appointed by lot (palȏi men archas archei) and is held responsible for his conduct in office (hupeuthunon de archȇn echei), and all resolutions (bouleumata de panta) he puts up for open debate (es to koinon anapherei).  I therefore propose (tithemai ȏn gnȏmȇn) that we do away with the monarchy (metentas hȇmeas mounarchiȇn) and raise the people to power (to plȇthos aexein). (III. 81)

Then Megabyzos, enlarging on the weaknesses of democracy, pleaded for oligarchy: ‘What Otanes said against monarchy, I agree with him (lelechthȏ k’amoi tauta); but in asking us to transfer power to people (ta d’ es to plȇthos anȏge pherein to kratos) he missed the best proposal (gnȏmȇs tȇs aristȇs hȇmartȇke); for there is nothing more witless and wantonly violent than useless mob (homilou gar achrȇiou ouden esti asunetȏteron oude hubristoteron). Let us choose a certain number of the best men (hȇmeis de andrȏn tȏn aristȏn epilexantes homiliȇn) and give the power to them (toutoisi peritheȏmen to kratos); and the best men (aristȏn de andrȏn) will presumably (oikos), produce the best policy (arista bouleumata gignesthai).

 Darius was the third (III. 82):

‘I support all Megabyzus’ remarks about the masses (ta men Megabuzos eipe eis to plȇthos) but I do not agree with what he said about oligarchy. Take the three forms of government we are considering – democracy, oligarchy, and monarchy – and suppose each of them to be the best of its kind; I maintain that the third is greatly preferable to the other two. One ruler: it is impossible to improve upon that – provided he is the best. His judgment will be in keeping with his character; his control of the people will be beyond reproach; his measures against enemies and traitors will be kept secret more easily than under other forms of government. In an oligarchy, the fact that a number of men are competing for distinction in the public service (en oligarchiai polloisi aretȇn epaskeousi es to koinon) cannot but lead to violent personal feuds; each of them wants to get to the top, and to see his own proposals carried; so they quarrel. Personal quarrels (echthea) lead to open dissension (ex hȏn stasies engignontai), and then to bloodshed (ek de tȏn stasiȏn phonos); and from that state of affairs the only way out is monarchy (ek de tou phonou apebȇ eis mounarchiȇn) – a clear proof that (kai en toutȏi diedexe) monarchy is the best (hosȏi esti touto ariston). Again, in a democracy, malpractices are bound to occur; in this case, however, corrupt dealings in government services lead not to private feuds, but to close personal associations, the men responsible for them putting their heads together and mutually supporting one another. And so it goes on (touto de toiouto ginetai), until somebody or other comes forward as the people’s champion (es ho an prostas tis tou dȇmou) and breaks up the cliques (tous toioutous pausȇi). This (ek de autȏn) wins him the admiration (thaumazetai houtos dȇ) of the people (hupo tou dȇmou), and being admired (thȏmazomenos de an ȏn) he became a monarch (ephanȇ mounarchos eȏn) – all of which is another proof that the best form of government is monarchy. To sum up: where did we get our freedom from, and who gave it to us? Is it the result of democracy, or of oligarchy, or of monarchy? We were set free by one man [Darius was pressing on; Otanes was procrastinating] and therefore I propose that we should preserve that form of government, and, further, that we should refrain from changing ancient laws, which have served us well in the past. To do so would lead only to disaster.’

These were the three views set out (Gnȏmai men dȇ treis hautai proekeato), and the four of the seven men (hoi de tesseres tȏn hepta andrȏn) sided with this proposal (prosethento tautȇi).

 

Friday, June 9, 2023

What have I done?

 

I ended my previous post with a detailed description of a particularly serious intrusion into my work. The question is, what have I done to deserve it?

Two days ago, on Wednesday June 7, I contacted the Department of Education with a complaint, which the Department duly acknowledged:

Thank you for getting in touch. We can confirm that we have received the information you submitted.

A copy of your submission is below.

Disclosure details:

Since my arrival at Oxford in 1980 I addressed philosophers with a request 'Let us discuss Plato'. In vain. Nothing would please me more than if Arif Ahmed found me wrong in my conviction that philosophers at Oxford cannot discuss Plato with me

 

 

2 Herodotus and Plato

For several weeks I’ve been reading Herodotus. In the third book I came across passages 80-82 that reminded me of Plato. I went on, ploughing through the third book, and came as far as 115-116, in which Herodotus, after discussing countries at the furthest limits of Asia and Libya comes to the west limits of Europe, of which he can say nothing with certainty (atrekeȏs legein). But all this time I was thinking that I should put the passages 80-82 on my blog.

What made me reluctant to undertake this task was the amount of work it involved; for it involved an introduction, which would cover a lot of ground, but which I should make as short as possible. I might begin with 61 : ‘Cambyses, son of Cyrus, after going out of his mind (paraphronȇsanti), still lingered on in Egypt; and while he was there, two brothers, who belonged to the caste of the Magi, rose in rebellion against him at home. One of them – Patizeithes – had been left by Cambyses as controller of his household (meledȏn) during his absence, and this was the one who planned the revolt. Aware that Smerdis [the younger brother of Cambyses] was dead, but that his death was concealed from all but a few of the Persians, most of whom believed that he was still alive, he took advantage of this state of affairs to make a bid for the thrown. The brother [of Patizeithes] bore a strong resemblance to Cyrus’ son Smerdis, Cambyses’ murdered brother. Besides the physical likeness, it also happened that he bore the same name. Patizeithes having persuaded this brother of his made him take his seat upon the royal thrown, and then sent out a proclamation to the troops that they should take their orders in future not from Cambyses but from Smerdis.’

61 tells the story from the point of view of Magus Patizeithes. How did it look from Cambyses’ point of view? At 62 we learn that the herald sent to Egypt found Cambyses and his troops in Syria: ‘Here he took his stand before the assembled troops and proclaimed the new order. Cambyses at once supposed that what the herald said was true and that Prexaspes, whom he had sent to Persia to get rid of Smerdis, had failed to do so, and betrayed him. He looked at Prexaspes and said: “So that is the way you carried out my orders?” Prexaspes replied: “Your brother Smerdis has not rebelled against you. I did what you told me to do, and buried him with my own hands. My advice to you is, that we catch this herald to find out who it was that sent him with this order to obey King Smerdis.” When the herald was brought in, Cambyses asked: “Did Smerdis in person give you these orders, or was it one of his subordinates?” The herald replied that since Cambyses went with his army to Egypt he never set eyes upon Smerdis the son of Cyrus; it was the Magus Patizeithes, whom Cambyses made steward of his household, who gave him the orders: “He said it was on the authority of Smerdis that I was to give the message.” Cambyses then turned to Prexaspes: “You have carried out my orders like an honest man; but tell me – who can it be who has assumed Smerdis’ name and risen in revolt against me?” Prexaspes replied: “I think, my lord, that I understand what has happened: the rebels are the two Magi – Patizeithes, whom you left in control of your household, and his brother Smerdis.”

The moment Cambyses heard the name, he realized that his dream that Smerdis was sitting on the thrown with his head touching the sky, had been fulfilled, the murder of his brother was to no purpose; in bitterness and anger he leapt upon his horse, meaning to march in all speed to Susa and attack the Magus. But as he was springing into the saddle, the cap fell of the sheath of his sword, exposing the blade, which pierced his thigh – just at the spot where he had previously struck Apis the sacred Egyptian bull.’

***

Under normal circumstances, I would now go back to the story of Cambyses and the sacred Apis. But I am afraid to do so, for in my original ‘Herodotus and Plato’, which I wrote a day before yesterday, the first two pages suddenly disappeared. What I was left with was the beginning of the third page – a snippet from Darius’ speech, which reminds me of Plato’s discussion of democracy in the Republic – which follows:

‘Nd so it goes on, until somebody or other comes forward as the peoples’ champion and breaks up the cliques which are out of their own interests. This wins him the admiration of the mob, and as a result he soon finds himself entrusted with absolute power – all of which is another proof that the best form of government is monarchy.’

Note the opening ‘Nd’. I wrote ‘And’, which in front of my eyes turned into ‘Nd’. I tried to change this intruding ‘Nd’ back into ‘And’, in vain.

I noted in my posts many interferences in my work on the computer, but this is something new.

Saturday, June 3, 2023

Letter to The Times

Free speech tsar warns: Democracy is at stake

Emma Yeomans writes: ‘Democracy is at stake if universities do not protect freedom of expression, the government’s new free speech tsar says. Arif Ahmed, a professor of philosophy at Cambridge, has been appointed director for freedom of speech and academic freedom at the Office for Students, the higher education regulator.’

Arif Ahmed says: ‘We settle disputes by discussion, not censorship or violence. Today that idea is fading across our institutions. Universities must defend it by precept and example. Democracy itself is at stake.’

Arif Ahmed must turn his eyes to philosophers. Since my arrival at Oxford in 1980 I addressed philosophers with a request ‘Let us discuss Plato’. In vain.

From time to time, I emphasised my request with a protest at Balliol. Why at Balliol? In April 1980 Dr Kenny, the Master of Balliol, came to my unofficial philosophy seminar to give a talk on Aristotle’s Ethics. The Czech police interrupted the seminar before it properly started. ‘Anthony Kenny and his American-born wife had been the first to be driven to Bartolomějská [the Police Headquarters], were held until three in the morning and interrogated in separate rooms … The Kennys were delivered to the border-crossing with West Germany, and carrying their luggage, walked through the woods of Rozvadov in the frosty dawn of an April morning’ says Barbara Day in The Velvet Philosophers.

Subsequently, the Police intervened every time I intended to reopen my seminar.

Unable to reopen my seminar, I accepted the invitation to Balliol, which I was sent in 1979, but could not follow as long as my seminar was running. I had to give priority to my students, who were deprived of higher education simply because of the involvement of their parents in Prague Spring 1968, (an attempt ‘to give Socialism a Human Face’, as our attempt to combine socialism with basic human rights was then called).

I came to Oxford in late summer 1980. and wanted to reopen the discussion interrupted in Prague. To my surprise, all my requests for an open discussion on Plato were rejected. And so, from time to time, I emphasised my requests with ‘Protests at Balliol.’ In fact, not long ago I contemplated another protest at Balliol – for which see ‘One more protest at Balliol’ on my Blog (May 8, 2023)’: https://www.blogger.com/blog/post/edit/194300280536685468/4123069851560566558

In the following two posts (‘Why now?’, May 10, and ‘To the Editors of Cherwell Magazine’, May 20) I consider my reasons for one more protest at Balliol, but on May 31 I put on my blog ‘No more protests at Balliol’, from which I quote the introductory lines:

‘It took me quite a time – forty-three years and thirty-six days, if I count it from Aril 12 1980, i.e. from the visit of Dr Kenny, the Master of Balliol, in my seminar - to realise, that when I addressed Oxford Dons with my 'Let us discuss Plato', I was asking an impossibility. What has helped me to see the light? A sombre re-evaluation of all my life spent with the Greeks, and Plato in particular, seen against the background of my relationship with Oxford. I just needed a nudge.’

 

Nothing would please me more than if Arif Ahmed found me wrong in my belief that philosophers at Cambridge and Oxford cannot discuss Plato with me.