Philosophy-RAG-demo/transcriptions/HoP 311 - The Elements of Style - Rhetoric in Byzantium.txt

 Hi, I'm Peter Adamson and you're listening to the History of Philosophy podcast, brought to you with the support of the Philosophy department at King's College London and the LMU in Munich – online at historyofphilosophy.net. Today's episode – The Elements of Style – Rhetoric and Byzantium When was the last time you had to speak in public? Plenty of people find it a stressful experience, hence the popular advice that you should soothe your nerves by imagining that the audience are clad in nothing but underwear. I've never really understood that myself. I don't know how I'd react if I walked into a lecture hall and found a hundred people waiting for me in their underwear, but I doubt it would be to relax and think, okay, I got this. More helpful to my mind would be a set of rules you could follow – a list of foolproof techniques for winning over any audience, no matter how large – and apparently the Byzantines agreed. They set great store by manuals of rhetorical instruction that had been written in antiquity by now largely forgotten authors such as Hermogenes and Dionysius of Halicarnassus. These works were part of the Byzantine educational curriculum, so their terminology and conceptual tools were familiar to a wide swath of the Byzantine elite. Remember all those speeches of praise in honor of various emperors we talked about last time? Their authors could have told you, evoking the classificatory schemes found in Hermogenes, what type of speeches they were giving, what style they were adopting in any given passage, and which rules lay behind the eloquence of every single sentence. This presupposed a lot of training, and from an early age. Students began with grammar, where one first of all learned basic literacy and then moved on to the study of classical texts. Grammar students would read about 30 lines of Homer's Iliad each day, this monument of pagan Greek literature having retained its centrality even in a medieval Christian culture. Michael Pselos claims that as a boy he was made to memorize the entire epic and be prepared to explain every turn of phrase as well as the overall structure of the work. Next, the young scholars would move on to other antique authors like Sophocles and Aristophanes. As we already know, the dialogues of Plato were also admired as models of good Greek. Ideas gleaned from the rhetorical textbooks found their way into the teaching of all these texts. Marginal comments or scolia found in Byzantine manuscripts of Homer explain what sort of rhetoric is being deployed in various speeches delivered by characters in the poem, highlighting the features of each speech that make it particularly appropriate for its context. They are also compared to the works of ancient rhetoricians like Demosthenes or Isocrates. Isocrates was, of course, a version of Socrates released by Apple computers. For the most part, it was simple linguistic perfection that concerned the Byzantine teachers and students. That concern was embodied by new textbooks on so-called figures and tropes, in which it was explained why apparent flaws or solicisms found in literary classics are in fact acceptable and stylistically justified. We might think of how English-speaking kids are at first taught not to leave prepositions hanging and to not under any circumstances split and infinitive, though in due course they will learn that such departures from the norm can be rhetorically effective. Alongside the obsession with the niceties of composition and grammar, though, we do also find a recognition of the political and moral dimension of rhetoric. A recent study of Scolia on Homer points out that they commend the use of rhetoric as a tool for correct political behaviour and civic concord. Even attempts to define rhetoric gesture towards its role in political life. Thus we find Aristotle being criticized for saying that rhetoric is an art of persuasion on all topics. This attempted definition is too general, because rhetoric is really about persuasion in specifically political contexts. In this respect, rhetoric is unlike dialectic, an art of argumentation that really does apply to any subject matter whatsoever. Here we are brought back to themes first touched upon in some of the earliest episodes of this podcast series, when we looked at the ancient sophists and the criticisms they provoked from Plato and Aristotle. Plato was appalled by the fact that sophists like Gorgias did indeed boast of their ability to induce any belief on any topic in any audience. Against the seductions of sophistry, Plato championed the discipline of dialectic, the only route to certain knowledge rather than mere persuasion. Rhetoric, he argued in the dialogue named after Gorgias, is no true art or science, but a mere knack for pleasing an audience, something he compares to making delicious pastries rather than nourishing medically balanced meals. Yet, like an almond croissant, the charms of rhetoric were hard for the ancients to resist. In the 3rd century AD, the so-called second Sophistic saw a resurgence of rhetorical artistry, and rhetoric survived as a standard part of the liberal arts curriculum in both Latin and Greek Christianity. These tensions are visible in a body of texts well known to the Byzantines, the writings of the three Cappadocian fathers, Gregory of Nyssa, Basil of Raesarea, and Gregory of Nazianzus. A friend of Gregory of Nyssa once accused him of choosing rhetoric over Christian piety. When he responded by asking, Was I not a Christian while practicing rhetoric? He received the answer, Not to the extent that befits you. Gregory himself tells us that his brother, Basil, had to be dissuaded from a commitment to rhetoric by their saintly philosopher sister Macrina, and Gregory also contrasts Macrina's ascetic philosophy to worldly rhetoric in his hagiographical biography of her. As for Basil, he wrote a work with the self-explanatory title, To the Young, on making use of Greek literature, in which he advises them to enjoy the delights of classical pagan writing selectively, like bees gathering honey, or, I like to think he meant to add, podcasters gathering almond croissants. Readers of the Cappadocians thus got a rather mixed message, especially given that their writings were, themselves, outstanding achievements of Greek style. As we'll see, Gregory of Nazianzus in particular will later be held up as both a great theologian and a great, perhaps even the greatest, rhetorician of the Greek language. In the early Byzantine period, pious fears about rhetoric seemed to have weighed more heavily than the enticements of eloquence. Between Procopius in the 6th century and the 10th century, we find no author styling himself as a rhetorician. Better to engage in philosophy, according to the definition of that term found in John of Damascus, the love of wisdom meaning ultimately the love of God. But things change in the 11th century, when Psellos and other authors like John Doxopatres initiated something we might fairly call a third Sophistic. By the first half of the 12th century, it is possible to find Michael Italikos, not to be confused with John Italos, blaming Plato for his unjustified criticisms of rhetoric, and saying that he finds philosophy quite lacking in comparison to rhetoric. Around the same time, John Siciliotis writes a commentary on the rhetoric of homogenies, and in it explains the importance of mastering rhetorical improvisation. Indeed, Siciliotis adds, without his proficiency in rhetoric, he would be unworthy to bear the name and fame of philosophy. For the notion that philosophy and rhetoric are ideal partners rather than rivals, and for the use of rhetoric as a path to fame and reputation, we must return to Michael Psellos. He occasionally shows signs that rhetoric is a less exalted pursuit than philosophy, just as he recognizes that the concerns of the soul trump those of the body. But much as he says that he is content to live only half for the body, Psellos cannot help but devote himself to both eloquence and wisdom. He proclaims that he mixes in his soul as if in a mixing bowl both philosophy and rhetoric, and writes to a student in praise of this combined ambition in the following terms. But there were practical as well as aesthetic benefits to be had from mastering rhetoric. In the competitive world of 11th century Constantinople, brilliant speechmaking could be a crucial tool for advancements and a way of defeating rivals. As Stratus Papyrannou has put it in his book on Psellos's use of rhetoric, his mastery of discourse was the main asset that he brought to the struggle for preferment. Psellos gives us a vivid sense of just how powerful and politically profitable the effects could be in his Conographia. In the midst of what Papyrannou calls a disturbingly self-confident praise of his own rhetorical nature, Psellos speaks of the enthusiasm his rhetoric provoked in Constantine Manomakos. Upon hearing these speeches, the emperor was like a man possessed and nearly moved to shower kisses upon Psellos. For an ironic confirmation of the way Psellos presents himself here, we can look to a 12th century satirical work called the Timarion. It pokes fun at both Psellos and his student John Italos, both of whom are imagined attempting to take seats alongside the great figures of Hellenic philosophy. The treatment of the unfortunate Italos is particularly harsh, though amusing. The philosophers roughly reject his advances, Diogenes the Cynic even bites him, and Italos stumbles away crying out, O syllogism, O sophism, where are you now that I need you? Psellos, by contrast, is treated politely by the ancient philosophers, but not actually offered a seat. He winds up sitting among so-called rhetorician sophists, a collection of figures from the late antique Second Sophistic. But it is not these ancient sophists who draw most admiration from Psellos himself. Among pagan authors, he follows the Neoplatonists in extolling the style of Plato in particular, but his all-time favourite is the aforementioned Cappadocian church father Gregory Nazianzus. As Psellos puts it, Gregory is for Christian readers what the orator Demosthenes is for the opposing side, that is, the pagans. Gregory combines the best features of Demosthenes and other Hellenic authors like Plato, managing to bring together what seem to be contrary qualities like brevity and expansiveness, solemnity and beauty, or the political and the philosophical, so that his language represents the ultimate summit of excellence in seriousness as well as charming graces. Or as Psellos says in a longer passage, Gregory's discourse is not an aggregate of foreign and disparate elements, rather it is both uniform in nature like the rose rising from the womb of the earth along with its natural colour, and also multiform if one were able to divide the colour as if it were some kind of mixture into different tones and shades. The idea that rhetorical speech should be varied, multiform or many-coloured in fact runs throughout Psellos' descriptions of well-executed rhetoric. Its effect upon Psellos is not unlike Psellos' own effect on his emperor patron. Wandering into the rose garden of Gregory's words, Psellos says, It is no accident that Psellos turns to this sort of erotic language when he wants to describe the effects of eloquence. Where other Christian authors, including Gregory himself actually, sought to justify beautiful language by arguing that it can turn us towards higher ends, Psellos is unafraid to say that pleasant speech is wonderful in part because it brings pleasure, and not only as a vehicle for theological insight. Nor is he embarrassed by the thing that so bothered Plato, the power of rhetoric to persuade an audience to believe in falsehoods, or at best to believe in truths but for the wrong reason. To the contrary, Psellos admires the myths of the ancients because the compelling falsehoods of their fictional tales are such a powerful way of conveying deeper truths. On the other hand, he does think that in a political context, the best speech is one that marshals persuasive speech for the sake of truth. In his Con agrafia he writes, The pride of rhetoric is not persuasive falsehood merely or speaking on both sides of an issue. It blossoms with philosophical thoughts and finely spoken turns of phrase, and its audience is willingly drawn in by both. Its greatness is to be neither confusing nor unclear, but to fit itself to the circumstances and the facts. Of course, Psellos would say that Gregory uses rhetoric like this too, as a perfect wordsmith. And it's telling, by the way, that he singles out Gregory on this basis and not just because he's a Christian theologian, whereas the other great authors were pagans. Sure, Gregory has substance, but he would carry the day on style alone. It's pretty obvious that Gregory did not reach these heights simply by reading rulebooks like the ones written by homogenes. His rhetoric is true artistry, not a kind of paint by numbers. To use analogies, Psellos is fond of, crafting language is like sculpting a statue or finishing a gemstone. No one can simply tell you how to write this well, and in fact Psellos himself is unable even to understand how Gregory manages it. This is a matter that lies beyond rational explanation. Ultimately, the best comparison for Gregory is not any other ancient author, but a divine creator like the craftsman god of Plato's Timaeus. Here, we should recall the idea that various opposed elements should be blended into a single harmonious speech, since it is of course precisely this sort of assembly of disparate elements that a god must achieve in fashioning the cosmos. With his exaltation of god-like, genius authors, his admiration for the beauty of language as such, and his analysis of the features that make for perfect eloquence, Psellos is obviously going far beyond the rather dry and technical conception of rhetoric we find in the textbooks and their commentaries. He seems to be articulating a conception of rhetoric that is closer to what we might call literature. Now, if you can remember back to the earliest episodes of this podcast series, or if you're my colleague Christoph Rapp, there's a question that may be nagging at you. What about Aristotle? He did write a treatise called The Rhetoric. Did it play no role in the discussions of rhetoric offered by Psellos and others? The work was certainly available to the Byzantines, but it does not seem to have been much read until around the turn of the 12th century. This was no doubt in part because homogenies and other authors of rhetorical textbooks were perceived to have covered the subject adequately. Also, Aristotle is not always an easy or pleasant read. Psellos contrasts the difficulty of reading him to the wonderful clarity of Gregory Nazianzus and adds that Aristotle was making himself hard to understand on purpose. But in due course Aristotle would find readers who were ready for the challenge. The circle of scholars gathered together by Anna Komnena for the purpose of producing commentaries on the Aristotelian corpus produced not one, but two commentaries on the rhetoric. We can't be sure why, but one reason must have been the simple fact that they had no late ancient commentaries on this work as they did for many other Aristotelian treatises. For these commentators, one anonymous, and the other identified as Stephanos Skelitzes, Aristotle's rhetoric is one of his works on logic. This may seem strange, but it's an idea that goes back to the late ancient commentary tradition. After treatises setting out the elements of logical proof, and then in the prior and posterior analytics articulating a theory of syllogisms in general, and demonstrative proofs in particular, Aristotle wanted to say something about proofs that are defective in various ways. The treatise that most obviously pursues this task is the Sophistical Reputations, which analyzes the kind of bad arguments deliberately used by those paradox-mongers, the Sophists. And since we're interested in language at the moment, can I just point out that there are very few things that have mongers, just cheese, fish, and paradoxes, which coincidentally would probably all have been on offer at a dinner hosted by Michael Psellos and John Italos. Alongside Sophistical Arguments, Aristotle supposedly saw rhetorical speeches, dialectical arguments, and even tragedies as inferior ways to prove a point, hence his treatises Rhetoric Topics and Poetics. This is a rather unpersuasive attempt at systematizing Aristotle's writings, but it must be agreed that at least the topics and rhetoric do seem to have a close relation to his more properly logical works. Whenever they can, the Byzantine commentators stress this feature of the rhetoric, contrasting the merely persuasive discourse of the orator to the perhaps less persuasive, but in reality far more decisive proofs offered by the philosopher who was proficient in the theory of demonstration. It's a very different idea of rhetoric than we find in Psellos, who could be said to pursue a more classically Platonic project in which philosophy is combined with literature. It won't be the last time in our survey of Byzantine thought that we'll be contrasting Aristotelians and Platonists. But that won't be on the agenda next time. Instead, we'll be taking our cue from a work of Psellos I have mentioned in this episode, his Chronographia. This account of the reigns and personalities of numerous emperors makes Psellos one of the most important historians of Byzantium. We've also just mentioned Anna Komnina, who didn't just organize scholars to comment on Aristotle, but also wrote a history called the Alexiad. So as a kind of bridge between these two crucial figures of Byzantine philosophy, we're going to be doing a bit of history monging as we look at historical chronicles, their methodological principles, and the implicit philosophical attitudes we can glean from such works. Join me next time, then, as we put some history into the history of philosophy, without any gaps.