Archive for the paideia Category

Radial Raheem

Posted in Aristophanes, hypertext, Jaeger, Leroi-Gourhan, MM, paideia, Plato, rhetoric, Tech on March 17, 2008 by untimelymediations

Couldn’t decide what picture to use, so you get both.  First, invertebrate porn:

Starfish porn!

Second, Radial Raheem:

Radial Raheem

Yes, I know it’s “Radio Raheem,” but give a guy break, eh?  Onto the post:

I’m stealing a page from Lacey’s playbook and offering two minicomments rather than a single sustained response. I’m also using the “research fatigue” card since I spent my break getting little sleep and typing up 80 pages of notes and 10 pages of introduction for the M.A. only to find that, in fact, I didn’t really have any idea what I wanted to write about. This isn’t an excuse, per se, so much as a warning for possible incoherence in what follows.

I) Intellectuals vs. Technicians.

We’ve spilled a lot of ink . . . pixels . . .whatever . . . this semester trying to pin down what constitutes “sophistic rhetoric” and how critics have reacted to, adapted, co-opted, condemned, or otherwise responded to its promises of threats (depending, of course, on who we’re reading). Of course, the only we keep coming back to as the source of all this angst is Plato, who condemns sophistry on a number of counts. At times, it’s been easy to demonize Plato for just “not getting it,” and for insisting on an idealized ontology that appears to have little guidance for how to actually conduct one’s self and manage social problems.

However, I think Leroi-Gourhan helps to counteract this urge to demonization. As ALe-G writes, “in all historical periods and in all nations, even when their activities are closely integrated in the religious system, artisans were relegated to the back of the stage” (172). ALe-G argues that this is a typically “human” move, to denigrate those that work at the material level while valorizing those whose social function is dependent on intellectual or knowledge work. “Society’s discrimination in favor if the ‘intellectual’ as against the ‘technician,’ which still persists today,” ALe-G explains, “reflects an anthropoid scale of values on which technical activity comes lower down than language, and working with the most tangible elements of reality lower down than working with symbols”.

Yet much of what we’ve seen and read about sophistic Greece would seem to challenge ALe-G’s comments here. While they seem an apt description of Plato (whose Ideal Forms removed the intellect further still from the body), the notion of Jaeger’s paideia—the shaping of the Greek culture as reflected in the training of the Greek citizen—seems entirely bound up with rhetoric and rhetorical training. Is ALe-G off his chump here? Or does the age of the sophists represent an anomaly? Perhaps the artisan-intellectual shift is more periodic than constant: if we take Aristophanes’s The Clouds to be a reactionary response to sophistry, perhaps we can then see Isocrates’s work as a shift back to rhetoric-friendly times?

II) Radial vs. Linear Thought

I’m intrigued by ALe-G’s comments about the radial trajectory of archaic thought. As ALe-G describes it, “the thinking of pre-alphabetic antiquity was radial, like the body of the sea urchin or the starfish” (211). Radial thought provokes him to cosmological metaphor: “It was a time when the vault of heaven and the earth were joined together within a network of unlimited connections, a golden age of pre-scientific knowledge to which our memory still seems to hark back nostalgically today”.

It’s not difficult to prompt the comparison between the “network of unlimited connection” that ALe-G writes of and the networked Web we know and love today. What might be valuable to think through, though, is the way ALe-G ties the archaic network to “pre-scientific” thought. If scientific thought is thought dependent on the scientific method (as I understand it to be here), then we might point to a certain linear teleology implied in the method: whatever the result, the scientific method is still designed to move from hypothesis to conclusion. Perhaps this also implies a linear mode of expression as well? On the other hand, science also invites reiteration as means of testing one’s conclusions; in this sense, science is less bound to linearity than it is to recursive thought.

I’m not exactly sure I have a point to make here, but I’ve always found the contrast between radial and linear textuality interesting, so I want to make something of this passage but I’m not clear what. Maybe there’s something to be said for the body as a cue for material, radial textuality; ALe-G seems to be suggesting that as intellectual came to be more and more divested from material experience, writing, contemporaneously, became more and more linear. So what might a bodily-derived writing experience be like had it evolved without science’s linearizing influence? Might we point to something like Rotman’s gesturo-haptic writing?

What happens when I get writer’s block:

Posted in Berlin, Derrida, Foucault, paideia, pedagogy, social-epistemic, White Mythology on February 11, 2008 by untimelymediations

An odd week’s readings these.  Foucault’s work on parrhesia seems to have some obvious ties to earlier things we’ve read, especially Detienne’s history of aletheia and the masters of truth, and to the various critiques of sophistry that condemn them for an apparent equivocation that denies truth.  In this emphasis on truth, then, Derrida’s work makes a certain amount of sense, if we understand his question in “White Mythology” to be one that interrogates metaphor’s relationship to truth: does it represent “true” meaning or displaced meaning?  What is its relationship to metaphysical truth?  How is any metaphysics dependent on  the slippage between “metaphorical” meaning and “true” meaning (what I understand Derrida to imply by “the metaphor of metaphor”)?

 

These are all good questions, but I’m not sure I want to take them up today.  I want instead to raise some questions about how parrhesia and the parrhesiastes might work or fail to work in contemporary discourse.

 

It seems plain that any parrhesia we might recognize would, like parrhesia’s use in Orestes, be a somewhat tempered one.  This use of parrhesia, Foucault argues, is tempered by the demands of qualification, of personal worth:

There is a discrepancy between an egalitarian system which enables everyone to use parrhesia, and the necessity of choosing among the citizenry those who are able (because of their social or personal qualities) to use parrhesia in such a way that it truly [Is this a Foucaultian pun?—MM] benefits the city.  (72)

 

In the early polis, as Foucault demonstrates, all citizens were assumed to possess the qualities necessary to serve as parrhesiastes.  Foucault’s earlier summary of parrhesia implies no sense of qualification or certification necessary to speak the truth; rather, “the speaker uses his freedom and chooses frankness instead of persuasion, truth instead of falsehood or silence, the risk of death instead of life and security, criticism instead of flattery, and moral duty instead of self-interest and moral apathy” (20).  But by the time of Orestes, during an era of political turmoil in Athens, parrhesia has become a more rarified skill:

The parrhesiastes’ relation to truth can no longer simply be established by pure frankness or sheer courage, for the relation now requires education or, more generally, some sort of personal training.  But the precise sort of personal training or education needed is also an issue (and is contemporaneous with the problem of sophistry).  (73)

 

So: some questions.

 

1) What is the role of the parrhesiates today?  While Foucault goes to some effort to suggest that parrhesia is most typically a technology of the subject in its post-Platonic guise, I wonder if there is a role for a public parrhesiastes today.  This question is, in part, occasioned by watching far too much primary-election coverage lately.  Much has been made of several candidates use of the “outsider” trope to win voter identification: Obama, Romney, Huckabee, Edwards, and even McCain (in his “maverick” mode) have sought to convince voters that they can stand apart from typical Washington politics and get things done.  On one hand, it’s easy to dismiss this as political pandering and an empty rhetorical gesture.  I wonder, though, if this is the only public role the parrhesiastes serves today—a rhetorical trope, the “outsider” politician.  Or, rather, would we have to look slightly outside the realm of professional politics (and in that I include the pundits and analysts) and look to someone like Cindy Sheehan, or even the “Don’t Tase me, bro!” guy?  Someone who is disinvested from the process but wants those involved to do the right thing?

 2) What is our role as educators in crafting parrhesiastes?  Last week, I tried to draw some comparisons between Isocrates’s notion of paideia and James Berlin’s social-epistemic rhetoric.  While both of these would seem to be valuable here—Isocrates for his insistence on civic participation, Berlin for offering a way to understand truth is established through language use—neither quite seems to offer the model of parrhesiastes described by Foucault: Isocrates (whether her admits it or not) is still devoted to the use of rhetoric (which Foucault says is not true of the parrhesiastes), while Berlin offers s-e rhetoric as an inventive and analytic tool without insisting on involvement in practical politics.  So, what models are open to us if we want to see ourselves as helping craft the next generation of truth-sayers?Still the creepiest Derrida I’ve found:

 And, not technically a picture of Foucault, but the creepiest image that came up when I image-searched him on Google:

three rhetoricians walk into a bar

Posted in Berlin, Isocrates, MM, paideia, rhetoric, social-epistemic on January 31, 2008 by untimelymediations

The cast of the dialogue: Isocrates, James Berlin, an unnamed graduate student.

Student: Hi Isocrates!

Isocrates: Good day, Unnamed Graduate Student. What business have you in fourth century BCE Athens?

Student: Well … It’s sort hard to explain. This isn’t really Athens, see? It’s just an imaginary space I’m using instead of writing a regular blog post about some speeches of yours that I read recently.

Isocrates: [Stares blankly at Student.]

Student: Um … I’m buying a trireme.

Isocrates: A fine civic-minded student you are then! By chance, I am headed to the agora, which abuts yon trireme shop. Let us discourse awhile as we walk together.

Student: Oh … well … I was gonna go see Socrates on the way, but … okay. I guess.

Isocrates: I myself have funded several triremes, you know. Actually, I’m being sued by someone who claims I need to do more for the polis than I already have.

Student: I heard about that. In fact, I was reading your speech composed in response to the trial. The Antidosis.

Isocrates: How did you come upon that speech? I started composing it but yesterday!

Student: Well … look, here’s copy of the speech. Don’t tell anyone where you got it, okay?

Isocrates: This is wondrous strange!

Student: Yeah, I know. But it’s good that you have it ‘cos I have a few questions to ask about it. Take this part, for example. I’m a little fuzzy on how you expect oratorical training to make someone a better person.

Isocrates: [Scanning speech] Ah, but the answer is simple: “People improve and become worthier if they are interested in speaking well, have a passion for being able to persuade their audience, and also desire advantage—not what foolish people think it is but that which truly has this power”.

Student: Yeah, I get that, but how does it actually work? I mean, is there more to it than that?

Isocrates: There has to be. Consider: “Someone who is accustomed to examine and evaluate such topics will have this same facility not only for the speech at hand but also for other affairs. … Moreover, anyone who wishes to persuade others will not neglect virtue but will devote even more attention to ensuring that he achieves a most honorable reputation among his fellow citizens. Who could fail to know that speeches seem truer when spoken by those of good name than by the disreputable, and that arguments acquire more authority when they come from one’s life than from mere words”.

Student: Oh … So it’s a two-part process, then. First, oratorical training teaches how to reason and make correct choices; as you describe it, the training helps speakers avoid “topics that are unjust or insignificant or that deal with private arguments”. Instead, they learn to look for and argue about “public issues which are important and noble and promote human welfare”.

Isocrates: Yes, that is very true—proper paideia builds citizens capable of reason and who show wisdom in speech.

Student: But that’s just the first element. The training of reason—of evaluation and discernment—is valid not just for the assembly or for the agora, but for all parts of life: speech and action, public and private. So where the sophists profess to teach virtue simply through instruction of right and wrong, your method actually describes the process through which a student learns to make those distinctions for herself?

Isocrates: Himself. Who ever heard of a woman learning oratory and philosophy?

Student: Well, there’s Diotima, and Aspasia, and Hypatia—

Isocrates: Alright, alright. Yes, you describe my method well.

Student: So once students—male or female—are accustomed to the proper use of reason and oratory, and have made a virtuous name for themselves, they have to keep exercising these powers of reason and virtue in order to keep being persuasive?

Isoccrates: You have said it well: “The more ardently someone wants to persuade his audience, the more he will strive to be a gentleman and to have a good reputation among the citizens”.

Student: Ah. So, perhaps scholars of rhet—er, “philosophy”—in my day can look to your work as perhaps one way to teach civic virtue: by training students to reason and evaluate among different choices when composing, we can also use those skills to instruct them how to make choices about ethical and civic action.

Isocrates: I see little fault in your discourse.

Student: In fact, your method is sort of familiar … where could I possibly have read about it before?

Voice: [Offstage] Perhaps you read it in my book, Rhetorics, Poetics, and Cultures.

Student: Gosh! Isocrates, look: it’s James Berlin!

[Berlin enters, clad, like Socrates in Aristophanes’ The Clouds, in a dirty toga and bare feet.]

Student: But, Dr. Berlin, aren’t you dead? And what are you doing in Athens?

Berlin: That’s not important. What is important is that you’re right: Isocrates’s paideia does seem to have some interesting points of comparison with my ideas about social-epistemic rhetoric.

Isocrates: [Aside] Damn skippy.

Student: That’s just what I was thinking. Like Isocrates’s pedagogy, social-epistemic rhetoric uses principles of rhetorical critique and analysis to forward and agenda of responsible citizenship.

Isocrates: Dammit, Jim, I’m a philosopher, not a speechwriter!

Berlin: Of course, of course. [Berlin and Student share a conspiratorial glance; they are both skeptical of Isocrates’s claim.] Well, whatever you call it, we both seem to be after the same thing. Our friend here has described your method pretty accurately, wouldn’t you say, Isocrates?

Isocrates: [Still huffy.] I would have to admit that he has.

Berlin: I ask my students to do something similar. Using principles of social-epistemic rhetoric, students “should locate principles for discovering the available means of persuasion, principles that distinguish true from untrue knowledge, indicating what counts as real and what is ephemeral, what is good, and what is possible”. With these skills, students learn to understand how power structures use language and rhetoric to achieve ideological ends.

Student: That’s right! So by understanding how language and rhetoric are deployed by power, students can be better prepared to critique power!

Berlin: Exactly. Training in social-epistemic rhetoric “is a part of students actively becoming agents of change in a democratic society. Students in this kind of course are at every turn asked to challenge accepted wisdom and to come to their own positions about the issues under consideration. In addition, the reading and writing practices that the course encourages will further their ability to enter public dialogue, to master the operations of signification in the distribution of power. Students in such a course should thus become better writers and readers as citizens, workers, and critics of their cultures”.

Student & Isocrates: Hmm.

Berlin: “Hmm” indeed.

Student: So, what social-epistemic rhetoric has in common with Isocrates’s paideia is the conjoining of rhetorical skill and analysis to the construction of skills necessary for ethical citizenship?

Berlin: Precisely. Granted, although what constitutes ethical citizenship is not the same for each of us.

Isocrates: He’s right, you know.

Student: Well, obviously. Isocrates’s notion of virtue is dependent on a public estimation of the speaker’s ethos, which, as we have seen, he contends is nearly as if not equally as important as the argument itself in effective persuasion.

Isocrates: Well, you wouldn’t listen to a turd like Protagoras, now would you?

Student: Maybe not. On the other hand, Dr. Berlin’s idea of ethical citizenship is that of a citizen who understands the way representation and language use are deployed to shape ideology, behavior, and political action. It seems like your goal, Dr. Berlin, is to make students who use language in ways that are perhaps more ethical than the uses it is put to by power. So for you, civic virtue means being able to use rhetorical analysis to evaluate the truth content of ideological language use.

Berlin: Yes, that seems like a pretty fair description.

Student: I’m glad we got all that settled. Hey, do you guys want to go get a gyro?

[Suddenly, the Persian empire invades and all three are put to death. Finis.]