I. Introduction
Though Plato never wrote a dialogue that explicitly asks, "What is
education?", few argue that he is uninterested in the subject; after all, Plato, like
Socrates, was a teacher.(1) In his magnum opus, the
Republic, Plato deals with education repeatedly. The education of the guardian class and
the allegory of the cave present two landmark pedagogical passages. Yet to catch a glimpse
of Socratic pedagogy, we must first sift through the intricacies of dialogue. In addition
to the complexity inherent in dramatic context, it seems clear that Socrates' remarks are
often steeped in irony.(2) Thus, we stumble upon a problem:
how should we read these passages on education? Does Plato mean for us to read them
genuinely or ironically?
I will argue that Plato uses the dramatic context of the Republic to suggest that
Socrates presents the education of the guardians ironically, while reserving the allegory
of the cave for a glimpse of Socrates' genuine pedagogy. The first portion of this paper
will analyze various dramatic elements that indicate Socrates' ironic intent with respect
to the education of the guardians. The second portion will focus on the allegory of the
cave as Socrates' genuine conception of ideal paideia (or education).
II. Dramatic Context and the Introduction of Irony
A. Conventional Irony
Unfortunately perhaps, we cannot look at Plato's treatise on education to learn about
his educational theory because he does not write analytical treatises. Instead, Plato
employs written dialogues to inspire philosophical insight in his students. In light of
Plato's dialogical style, the dramatic context introduces new complexities to the project
of figuring out Socratic pedagogy.
While many may find Plato's drama a refreshing alternative to the dry argumentation of
a treatise, it is likely that Plato's purposes are not limited to reading ease. In fact,
in many ways the use of drama makes reading Plato a great deal more complex. Plato
certainly makes use of arguments, yet frames them in real life contexts. Thus, the reader
must consider not only the nuances of argumentation, but also the characters' abilities
and motives behind presenting the argument in a particular way. So the argument should not
necessarily be taken at face value; instead, such arguments must be read within the
dramatic context.(3) The dramatic context furnishes readers
with invaluable clues for interpreting the arguments presented and will provide the
interpretative framework for this paper. At the very least, the dramatic context of
Plato's dialogues introduces the use of conventional irony. By conventional irony I simply
mean that the implicit truth pronounced within the work is different than what is
explicitly said; there is a separation between what is said and what is meant. Thus, the
reader's approach in reading a dialogue differs significantly from the approach required
by a treatise or an exposition. Rather than simply comprehending the words and stringing
together the explicit argument put forth in a treatise, the reader of Plato's dialogues
must move beyond the words and view the drama to ascertain Plato's genuine meaning. One
way to determine whether something is ironic is to observe whether the events within the
dialogue, that is, the drama, match up with what is said in the dialogue. If Socrates
makes a comment about the way things are, do the events in the dialogue demonstrate the
veracity of his proposition? In short, does the drama match the argument?
Drew Hyland proposes several valuable heuristics for identifying irony within a
Platonic dialogue. First, Hyland recommends determining the plausibility of what is said.
The less plausible the statement, the more likely it is ironic. Second, does the
potentially ironic statement fit with other statements in the dialogue? To the extent that
the statement seems an anomaly or breaks the internal consistency of the dialogue, it is
likely ironic. Third, is the statement consistent with the rest of Plato's dialogues? Is
Socrates speaking in character? If Socrates says something that radically contradicts the
body of his philosophy as presented in the Platonic corpus, there is good reason to
believe he is speaking ironically.(4) While these heuristics
are not foolproof, they do provide clues for effectively approaching Socratic irony.
B. Mimetic Irony
Though conventional irony certainly plays a significant role in Socratic pedagogy, it
is not the only type of irony Socrates employs. Among the most popular of the tools in
Socrates' repertoire is mimetic irony. Mitchell Miller describes the process of mimetic
irony in this way:
In each case the philosopher holds back from giving explicit, authoritative criticism
and instead puts the interlocutor on stage before himself. This reticence and indirectness
preserves for the latter the possibility of self-confrontation, of coming by his own
action to recognize his ignorance and his need for philosophy.(5)
Rather than using his position of authority to correct the misguided notions of a student,
the teacher who uses mimetic irony takes on the student's mistaken views in hopes that the
student will see the mistakes in his own thinking when observing it in his teacher. Thus,
the student confronts the error of his ways while the teacher just serves as a mime. But
according to Miller, while Socrates' student is hopefully reaping the benefits of mimetic
irony, Plato hopes that his students—the readers—will also use this opportunity
for self-examination:
In each case, however, the tacit challenge to the audience is basically the same; the
hearer is invited to recognize himself, actually or potentially, in the figure on stage.
If the hearer can do so, then the elenchtic action of the dialogue will have an internal
significance for him; Socrates' examination of the interlocutor will be, for the hearer,
an opportunity for self-examination.(6) Whether the student
resides inside or outside of the dialogue, mimetic irony hinges on the belief that if the
student realizes his own error (as opposed to the teacher explicitly pointing it out to
him), then the new philosophic notion presented thereafter will have greater
"internal significance."
III. Mimetic Irony in the Education of the Guardian Class
The education of the guardian class may very well be the most explicit account of
education in the Republic. So it makes sense to examine this account with an eye to
Socratic pedagogy. However, prudence dictates that we proceed cautiously; for as we have
established, Plato's drama proves an indispensable tool when attempting to glean his
genuine views.
The need for guardians arises in the fleshing out of the "feverish city."(7)
However, it is not altogether clear that the feverish city is what Socrates has in mind
from the beginning. In fact, the entire construction of the feverish city arises out of an
interruption from Glaucon: "'You seem to make these men have their feast without
relishes'" (Republic, 372c). It seems as though Glaucon approaches the philosophical
question of developing the ideal city as a sort of fantasy. In this light, Socrates'
construction seems to curiously leave out the pleasures and luxuries that are desirable in
an fantastic city. Wait a minute, thinks Glaucon, if we are going to fantasize about an
ideal city, why not include the luxuries? Socrates' response is interesting. He does not
rebuke Glaucon for thinking so shallowly nor even gently redirect him toward the original
conception of the ideal city. Instead, he asks, "'Well, how should it be,
Glaucon?'" (Republic, 372d). Perhaps, Socrates is interested in allowing Glaucon to
reach his own conclusions rather than mindlessly swallowing the conclusions of his mentor.
If this is indeed the case, we can more clearly see the mimetic irony with which Socrates
portrays the feverish city, or city of pigs; for it seems that mindless acceptance is just
the sort of education that is encouraged in this paradigm. Socrates goes to great lengths
to emphasize that censorship should be used generously to prohibit the possibility of
dangerous conclusions by the guardians. Regardless, Socrates indulges Glaucon's
whim—but not without first admitting that this city of pigs is not at all what he had
in mind: "'Now, the true city is in my opinion the one we just described—a
healthy city, as it were. But, if you want to, let's look at a feverish city, too'"
(Republic, 372e). But Socrates' ironic comments about the city of pigs (8)
does not stop at its inception; the entire description of the city is rife with ironic and
disparaging comments. Remarks like "'[t]his healthy one (city) isn't adequate any
more, but must be gorged with a bulky mass of things, which are not in cities because of
necessity...'" (Republic, 373b) typify Socrates' attitude toward the new endeavor.
Furthermore, we can be more confident about reading the feverish city ironically in light
of Socrates' ascetic attitude toward pleasures of the body. For example, in Book VI of the
Republic, Socrates states that a philosopher "'...would be concerned with the
pleasure of the soul itself with respect to itself and would forsake those pleasures that
come through the body—if he isn't a counterfeit but a true philosopher'"
(Republic, 485d). In the Symposium, Socrates stands contemplatively for twenty-four hours
disregarding the bodily desires for food or sleep (Symposium, 220c-d). Again, in the
Symposium, Socrates pertinaciously fends off the bodily desire to have sex with
Alcibiades, who is among the most attractive in the land, despite Alcibiades attempts to
seduce him (Symposium, 217b-219a). Thus, it seems implausible that Socrates speaks
genuinely here since the characteristics of the feverish city radically conflict with the
asceticism portrayed in the rest of the Platonic corpus.
Thus, the education of the guardians in the feverish city must be read within its
ironic framework. Surely teachers like Plato and Socrates desire to provoke philosophical
insight in their students. Therefore, one fundamental question that must be addressed is
whether the guardians are philosophers or not. Before we pursue this issue, an important
distinction must be made. Socrates development of the guardian class changes in content
and arguably in purpose. By Book V, the guardians have donned a new nature and become
philosopher-kings. While this move is certainly interesting, I will not explore it fully
in this paper. From this point on, any references to the guardian class will describe the
pre-Book V variety. Though Socrates admits that the guardians will be "truly
philosophic," (Republic, 376a) there is good reason to believe that he speaks
ironically. After all, he repeatedly likens the guardians' philosophic nature to that of a
dog (Republic, 375a, e; 376a). Even his argument is steeped in irony. Socrates says of a
dog,
"When it sees someone it doesn't know, it's angry, although it never had
any bad experience with him. And when it sees someone it knows, it greets him warmly, even
if it never had a good experience with him" (Republic, 376a).
The guardians are similar to the dog "'[i]n that it (the dog and analogously the
guardians) distinguishes friendly from hostile looks by nothing other than by having
learned the one and being ignorant of the other'" (Republic, 376b). Socrates'
depiction of the guardians' philosophic nature describes those who embrace anything that
they know and are hostile towards what they do not know. Surely, this description is of
the fertile breeding-ground for just the sort of spoon-feeding and censorship that
Socrates goes on to develop in the construction of the city of pigs. Socrates
intentionally censors some information from the guardians and the rest of the city hoping
that in their "philosophic nature," their ignorance will cultivate hostility.
For example, Socrates censors corrupting instances of poetry from the guardians' ears
because they are "'...poetic and sweet for the many to hear, but the more poetic they
are, the less should they be heard by boys and men who must be free and accustomed to
fearing slavery more than death'" (Republic, 387b). Socrates fears that the lilting
words of the poets may hinder a noble conception of death—a vital characteristic for
the guardian class. Thus, poetry must be "rigidly censored and controlled."(9)
Interestingly, Socrates' approach precludes presenting the guardian class with all the
evidence, trusting them to arrive at true conclusions. Instead, Socrates wants to prohibit
the possibility of undesirable(10) conclusions by censoring
the evidence altogether. Thus, the nature of this "philosophic nature," is not
philosophic at all; the guardians are not to think but rather to mindlessly accept the
education presented and resent everything unknown. However, Socrates is renowned for his
elenchus, his knack for driving his interlocutors to aporia with the hope of newfound
philosophical insight. If this elenchtic process remains a genuine aspect of his pedagogy,
it makes sense to label the education of the guardians an exercise in mimetic irony.
If indeed Socrates is employing mimetic irony as I have argued, then the education of
the guardians does not assert educational ideals, but attempts to bring the interlocutor,
in this case, Glaucon, to realize the mistakes of this paradigm. Once the paradigm has
been refuted (i.e. the interlocutor has moved to aporia), then the ideal paradigm for
paideia can be voiced to new ears.
IV. The Allegory of the Cave as a Genuine Representation of Ideal Paideia
A. Dramatic Context in the Allegory of the Cave
If mimetic irony is the basis for viewing the education of the guardians in an
aporietic schema, what is the justification for regarding the cave as a genuine
representation of ideal paideia? Adding to the burden of the project is the fact that the
allegory of the cave is an allegory. At least the education of the guardians speaks
explicitly about education. The cave, on the other hand, is an extended analogy; thus, one
must argue for interpreting the subject matter of the cave to be education—or so it
seems. Werner Jaeger makes an important observation that lends credence to interpreting
the cave as Socrates' genuine concept of paideia:
...few pay any attention to the first sentence of the seventh book, which leads into
the image of the cave. There Plato actually states that it is an image of paideia: or,
more exactly, that it represents the nature of man, and its relation to culture and
'unculture', paideia and apaideusia.(11) With this
observation firmly in place, it is safe to say that Socrates presents this analogy as
"an image of our nature in its education and want of education..." (Republic,
514a). This explicit admission removes any doubt about the subject of the cave. However,
let me be perfectly clear about what this overt admission proves. This explicit preface
merely establishes that Socrates wants Glaucon (and probably the rest of us) to hear the
cave as an analogy for education. That we know the subject matter of Socrates' analogy
tells us nothing of whether Socrates means the allegory to be genuine or ironic. To
untangle this perplexity, we must look for more clues as we move through the material of
the cave.
Socrates begins the analogy by telling a story of human prisoners who are perpetually
shackled in an underground cave. The large mouth of the cave moves upward toward the light
so that the entire width of the cave is exposed to light. The prisoners are bound from
childhood in such a manner that they cannot move their heads and are therefore forced to
see only what is in front of them. With their backs to the mouth of the cave, they only
see the shadows projected by the light onto the back wall.
Glaucon's response to the introduction of the analogy is important: "'It's a
strange image...and [strange] prisoners you're telling of'" (Republic, 515a). Note
the contrast between Glaucon's response to the cave and his response to the education of
the guardians. With respect to the cave, Glaucon is perplexed by the image from the very
beginning. Thus, if Glaucon is going to ultimately embrace the allegory of the cave, he
must first overcome his notion that the image seems so bizarre. In contrast, since
Glaucon's request for luxury in the ideal state sparked the discussion of the education of
the guardians, he naturally had an affinity for the idea. Remember, when Socrates uses
mimetic irony, he hopes that the student will progress from a misguided affinity for a
mistaken notion to aporia. Once reduced to aporia, the interlocutor can accept new
philosophic insight. Though we see at least the initial stages of this progression in the
education of the guardians, the allegory of the cave presents a different approach
altogether. The fact that Glaucon does not readily see the analogy of the cave lends
weight to the notion that Socrates means to be genuine here not only because the pattern
does not follow that of mimetic irony, but also because the dramatic context portrays
Glaucon as a real life example of the allegory. If the allegory of the cave is in fact
meant to be read as a paradigm for ideal paideia, then Glaucon's response is particularly
fitting. Reasoning by analogy, Socrates exposes Glaucon to the truth—the real world
that is outside the cave and illumined by the sun. Just as the cave dweller who is
compelled to see the real world finds it very strange at first and then gradually realizes
the truth of the things he hears, so Glaucon finds Socrates' image very strange initially,
then progressively begins to think the image is right.
B. The Progressive Nature of Education
Socrates continues with the analogy supposing that these prisoners who spent their
whole life in the cave would believe that the projected shadows of people walking outside
the cave were not merely images of real things but the real things themselves:
"'...such men would hold that the truth is nothing other than the shadows of
artificial things'" (Republic, 515c). Since this existence is all they have known,
the cave dwellers do not believe they are prisoners. But what if someone on the outside, a
non-cave dweller, released a prisoner from his shackles and exposed him to the realities
of life external?
"What do you suppose he'd say if someone were to tell him that before he saw silly
nothings, while now, because he is somewhat nearer to what is and more turned toward
beings, he sees more correctly; and, in particular, showing him each of the things that
pass by, were to compel the man to answer his questions about what they are? Don't you
suppose he'd be at a loss and believe that what was seen before is truer than what is now
shown?" (Republic, 515d).(12) The initial response of
the cave dweller to the real world is disbelief. The power of convention(13)
still imprisons him as he moves outside of the cave. Even when his eyes are "'full of
its (the light's) beam...[he will still] be unable to see even one of things now said to
be true...at least not right away'" (Republic, 515a). Here Socrates hits on a
fundamental point of paideia. Light-bulbs do not flash as one realizes the good in a
moment of sudden epiphany. The nature of education is that it is progressive. That is, it
is a step by step gradual process:
"Then I suppose he'd have to get accustomed, if he were going to see what's
up above. At first he'd most easily make out the shadows, and after that the phantoms of
the human beings and the other things in water; and, later, the things themselves. And
from there he could turn to beholding the things in heaven and heaven itself, more easily
at night—looking at the light of the stars and the moon—than by day—looking
at the sun and sunlight" (Republic, 516a-b).
If we follow the analogy, then we see that just as human eyes that have spent a
lifetime in darkness must take steps to be able to see clearly in the sunlight, so too,
the student who has lived a lifetime in an aphilosophical world of darkness must also take
steps in order to see the good clearly.
It is also important to note the nature of the progression; the cave dweller first sees
the shadows—an entity that he is accustomed to seeing. The next step of the
progression is to see reflections of real things in water. The images in water are closer
representations of the real thing than shadows since they have color and better-defined
shape. Then the cave dweller moves to the things in the heaven and the heaven itself, a
move to looking at real objects rather than mere representations of real objects. The
passage also indicates that it will be easier for the cave dweller to see these real
objects at night probably because they are less complex (less hues and less intense light)
than in the day when things are fully colored and defined in their perfect complexity. At
this point, the cave dweller sees things as they really are.
In the same way the non-philosophical soul must also make the same sort of progression,
moving from things that are less real (hazy representations of the good) to those things
which are more real (sharper depictions of the good) to real things that are easiest to
understand (the simple parts of the good) to things that are fully real (the good in all
its splendor and glory). Thus, the ideal teacher does not begin by presenting his
philosophically immature student to the good in all its majesty and complexity, but builds
up to it in small steps. For example, an algebra student is taught concepts that perhaps
oversimplify concepts taught in calculus. However, those simplistic concepts reflect a far
more complex concept. To understand the concepts of calculus one must first understand
simpler notions taught in algebra; a student who has not taken any algebra will have a
very difficult time mastering calculus.
The cave poignantly illustrates that education is not only progressive in terms of the
complexity and accuracy of the material studied (progressing from vague representations of
the real to the real itself ) but also progressive in terms of the students' attitude
towards it. Recall that the cave dweller is "'compelled to stand up, to turn his neck
around, to walk and look up toward the light...'" (Republic, 515c). Though free from
his chains, someone must still "'drag him away from there (the cave) by force'"
(Republic, 515e). Initially, the student feels absolutely repulsed. He wants to remain
entrenched in the comfort of ignorance, couched in convention. And surely the student is
partially right; for in order to see the good, one must ascend the "'rough, steep,
upward way'" (Republic, 515e). Because the affinity for comfortable ignorance far
outweighs the trek for costly knowledge, the teacher must "'...drag him out into the
light of the sun...'" (Republic, 515e). Furthermore, the student is
"'...distressed and annoyed at being so dragged'" (Republic, 515e-516a).(14)
However, as the student progresses from vague representations of the good to the good
itself, he also progresses from repulsion to affinity: "'What then? When he recalled
his first home and the wisdom there, and his fellow prisoners in that time, don't you
suppose he would consider himself happy for the change and pity the others?'"
(Republic, 516c). Thus, through the process of education, the student not only learns
progressively but also loves learning progressively.
V. Conclusion
In a very real sense, pedagogy is always an eminent issue in Plato's dialogues. Even
when the subject of the dialogue is not explicitly about education, the drama which
portrays Socrates' interactions with his students invariably deals with Socratic pedagogy.
So it makes sense to conclude with the pedagogical progression we find in the drama of the
Republic. I have argued that Socrates' first attempt to teach Glaucon about the nature of
education employed mimetic irony. In many ways mimetic irony is the best approach; for as
Miller notes, if the interlocutor can identify his misguided conceptions freely, on his
own, then the epiphany will have greater "internal significance."(15)
However, what mimetic irony gains in ends, it loses in means; for mimetic irony often
requires complete negation, wholesale abandonment of one's idea. If the student is unable
to see the error of his ways, he will not reap the "internal significance"
Socrates desires.(16) To Socrates' credit, when Glaucon
fails to see the mimetic irony of the feverish city, he wisely changes his approach.
Surely the task of interpreting an allegory is easier than the negation required by
mimetic irony. Glaucon merely has to understand what the allegory symbolizes to reap the
benefits of its meaning. Interestingly, the easier approach may not provide equally
fruitful results. Recall that mimetic irony dictates that Socrates intentionally limit
himself from an overt refutation so that the student arrives at his conclusions freely. In
contrast, the cave presents a conception in which the student is compelled to see the good
by force. If it is the freedom in mimetic irony that cultivates the internal significance
that Miller describes, then it is safe to say that when the student is forced to see the
good, the internal significance may not be as profound.
However, all students are not created equal. While Glaucon may not reap the benefits of
mimetic irony, Plato's students, the readers, may very well be changed. That is the beauty
of drama, the reader is not relegated to passively receiving the arguments presented.
Instead, the very act of reading the dialogue places the reader inside the dialogue. The
reader is indeed an interlocutor himself. As Miller notes, "Socrates' examination of
the interlocutor will be, for the hearer, an opportunity for self-examination."(17)
Even if Socrates' students prove themselves dimwits, his efforts are not in vain; for
through clever mode of drama, Socrates' tenure as a teacher will live as long as its
readers.
|
