Socratic Power Blues

Many a class meeting ago—in fact, it occurred when our class had only made it through Book I of Republic—the reading was presented to the class that Socrates himself, as an interlocutor, manipulated and tricked the other participants (Glaucon, Thrasymachus, Adeimantus, etc.) into agreeing to the argument that the philosopher was the only individual equipped with the necessary knowledge on how to rule the city. Effectively, in terms of the conversation happening in Cephalus' house, Socrates, in getting them to accept that proposition, has convinced the others that a) reason and persuasion are superior forces than brute force alone, b) whomever is able to provide the best argument will indisputably have the most true account of what justice is, and c) when, eventually, Socrates begins to dominate the conversation by posing statements as questions, and convinces his colleagues that the philosopher-king is the most ideal type of ruler, Socrates has convinced all members present that he himself, having bested the rest of them in dialectic, is the best fit for ruling. The argument goes that Socrates himself held this in mind from the get-go, skillfully besting each in order to accumulate the most power.

Socrates questions the questionable argument in question.

As much as I found that argument unappealing, I took it for what it was: a reading. What I found unappealing to think of was the adjustment that this would require me to make to my perception of none other than Socrates himself, who was presented to me as the absolute personification of philosophy in Apology. The adjustment made would be from that to a man who might sit down at the end of the day and perfect a plot to take over the world with the likes of Bismarck and Machiavelli and Foucault and The Brain. So many readers these days through some strange blend of cynicism and naïveté (as David Foster Wallace repeatedly pointed out, albeit in completely different contexts) attempt to scan Plato for some hint of corruption in Socrates' character. I think that ultimately we have to think about ultimate ends: one is impoverished if one comes away from reading Plato—the man who repeatedly pointed to the idea of a thing, holding it to be the all-encompassing true thing itself—with the assumption that Plato is only interested in making arguments in order to accumulate power (a thing sort of like oratory in that it can be either used for good or for ill) through the character of Socrates.

Platonism seems to me to hold that if we can see the existence of these ideas as the fundamental nature of the world, then we can attempt to make the ideas as physically unseeable things manifest in physical reality—it is hard, though possible. This is the case for other virtues such as the True, the Good, or the Beautiful.

It is contradictory for a man who questioned and developed standards for virtuous behavior among people to boldly claim that in political life, the only important thing for an individual is to accumulate power. The callipolis itself, interlocutors' ordering of the components of the city, and especially the comparison between the callipolis and the ideal human soul make strong arguments against the conclusion that Plato was purely concerned with power.

What I really want in all honesty is for Republic not to be boiled down to the concept of power: that it is power and only power that runs as an undercurrent through all phenomena in human society. In focusing on this as the pulse behind Republic, many individual arguments that fit into the whole of the work elsewhere begin to look somewhat extraneous. As a rule, I am always wary of such readings of texts. It's improper to read so far into the text that one begins to make the work contradict itself where it doesn't actually.

Unfortunately for my reservations, I've since stumbled across a passage that makes an extremely plausible case for Socratic power.

Darth Sidious adds further perspective to the matter.

In the few extracurricular conversations I've had with my peers over this troubling reading of the dialogue, we did not question precisely what kind of power it is that we are talking about; nor have we undertaken the laborious process of philosophically qualifying a definition of the idea of power. It occurred to me that it seemed unmentioned but yet still understood that in class what we were referring to was not power itself, but political power. It essentially does not make much of a serious difference in distinguishing between "political power" and "power" per se, but the thinking of power as specifically "political" brings with it the accompanying connotations of control, authority, obedience, and oppression that necessarily occur when one wields a fuller power against others with less.

It also occurred to me that Socrates himself did not seem to make much mention of the concept; still, however, I worried that behind every other page lurked the possibility that Socrates would finally reveal that he does indeed think of power (political power, that is, with the aforementioned accoutrements) as the ultimate truth rather than justice, truth, beauty, etc.—ideas to which he has referred more frequently in Republic and elsewhere.

In the midst of an argument regarding the nature and role of the philosopher in Book V, Socrates finally directs the focus of the argument to power itself.

"We will assert that powers are a certain class of beings by means of which we are capable of what we are capable, and also everything else is capable of whatever it is capable. For example, I say sight and hearing are powers, if perchance you understand the form of which I wish to speak."

"I do understand," he said.

"Now listen to how they look to me. In a power I see no color or shape or anything of the sort such as I see in many other things, to which I look when I distinguish one thing from another for myself. With a power I look only to this—on what it depends and what it accomplishes; and it is on this basis that I come to call each of the powers a power..." (477c-d)

What both my questions above and the first claim made in the first paragraph of the quote do is acknowledge that there are distinctions of types of power: there are different kinds, different degrees, and different things accomplished, all of which make up a part of power in general. Political power could then be acknowledged as something which exists itself as a distinction, but in general what it looks like is a different matter.

Plato eventually posits through the mouth of Socrates here that, at least in terms of Republic, we are to understand power as an altogether broad quality that exists between people or between people and things: there is essentially a relationship between a person and a second entity. Powers, regardless of what kind, refer to the capabilities of a single thing to do a particular act. In Books I through VIII, this is the only explicit part of the conversation that lingers on the topic; if it occurs elsewhere, it is only in passing.

In terms of sight, one is capable of apprehending the world—the entire world—with just the eyeballs. Should I perceive a target on a tree at an archery range forty feet away, I am capable of doing so. Should we pose a blind man and point him in the same general direction, he would not be able to apprehend anything at all. Until he could touch the target with his fingers, it only exists theoretically.

There is a huge disparity of power in the sight example, in that I am much more capable and thus more prepared for the situation by being able to apprehend the target. In a given event where we were to shoot arrows at the target, I would be prepared to hit it. The blind man might alternatively shoot a wayward human.

This is a way of referring to power that I am willing to accept as at work—even constantly—in Republic. It gets slightly more complicated, however, in trying to apply this to the argument in Cephalus' house: to what kind of power—what kind of capability—are we saying that it is that Socrates has after being roped by Thrasymachus and co. into this nightlong sober symposium to justice?

Well, in a word, it could be many different things: when we're talking about power, we're talking about a measurement of the possibilities that an individual can make manifest as reality in a particular realm. But it begins to make more sense as we continue with the passage from Republic quoted above:

"Now, you best of men, come back here to knowledge again. Do you say that it's some kind of power, or in what class do you put it?"

"In this one," he said, "as the most vigorous of all powers." (477d)

In pursuing wisdom and knowledge, Socrates inherently attempts to pursue a type of power. In attempting to discern the ways in which the world works, both physically and metaphysically, knowing how to do something or what something is gives one an advantage over another in a distinct way. As "the most vigorous of powers," Glaucon gives us a peculiar wording to describe the swiftness with which knowledge can be disseminated and yet at the same time how quickly it works by itself. The point made by Glaucon is vague, Socrates hardly even dallies on the point, and it can almost be seen as mostly meaningless digression in an otherwise more important conversation about the distinction between knowledge and opinion, leading up to the explication of the Divided Line argument; but it does give perspective and plausibility to the argument that Socrates has set out to gain the most power over the rest in the house: elsewhere he has posited that he wishes to pursue knowledge, and that he is continually ignorant of what is true, good, or beautiful, but in pursuing those in a different way than his contemporaries, the sophists, in every dialectical conversation he is fishing for more knowledge and more wisdom, and thus, vaguely, a bit more power over others. As he continues to learn more from everyone he meets, Socrates continues to accumulate whatever knowledge is in question, expanding his knowledge to the point where, as a power, he is more easily able to provide a reasoned argument than his colleagues. Then he dominates. And this continues for as long as he is alive. Exponentially. Ad infinitum.

Gourmand Buster Simcus has all of the power.

To reiterate: power, the idea, is solely capability for action for Plato. I still hold that Socrates does not wish only to accumulate political power over the rest. (However, it would be amusing if the real thought behind Plato's mind in writing Republic is that Socrates has to philosophically justify why he should be able to leave Cephalus' house.) If there is a power that he is attempting to accumulate, it could perhaps only be rightly understood as philosophic power—that which includes both knowledge and wisdom. And, in that case, it is almost as if Socrates is purely a conduit for reason to lead him wherever the truth is, a slave to the philosophical power that he is developing, only in it to ride the waves. In which case, truth would be the only standard for philosophic power. Truth is the master. 

But whither virtue?

Democracy: What a Peach

A passage I find peculiar is 557e-558a. It summarizes a person that is not forced to do anything, and Socrates defines it as a passing of time that is "divinely sweet for the moment." I'm brought back to a comment earlier in the dialogue that mentions that the best person to rule is the one who doesn't want to but is most capable. With these two passages in mind, I think this is commentary on the philosopher. The philosopher king is never discussed as the person who does not want to rule. It is simply understood that the philosopher should rule because he is most capable and must rule. However, in a democracy, like Athens, a philosopher, like Socrates, doesn't have to do anything— especially rule, make war, or be a judge, though they may be the most capable for some of these things. Anyone, including the philosopher has free will, to choose to do or not do something.

Perhaps we are brought back to a force persuasion argument. In the philosopher king's city, this passing of time that is divinely sweet, is absent. The auxiliaries are compelled by the philosopher to keep the desiring class in-line, having no choice or evaluation in what it is they are upholding for their opinion is supposed to be the philosopher's opinion. They must do their job. The desiring class is forced to do what the philosopher wants by the auxiliaries. The philosopher is appointed to the position of king by the past philosopher king, having been the best in all of their tests. Choice is never mentioned in this city. 

In contrast, the healthy city doesn't mention anything about force, and doesn't really have any comment about choice. People just act according to their nature. Like a democracy though, it seems the healthy city has "the absence of any compulsion" (557e). 

Though I've made these connections, I am unable to make a connection with what "divinely sweet" means, and how the element of divine sweetness relates, or doesn't, to the other cities or rulings.