Cal Godot's Open Salon Blog

Socrates and Me

Fri, 27 Apr 2012 15:04:55 -0400

The way I remember it, sometime during the summer of 1975 I picked up a copy of Ripley’s Believe It or Not comics for 25-cents from the local pharmacy. The cover depicted the ghostly apparitions of a coonskin-cap-wearing frontiersman and an Indian with a mohawk clenched in mortal combat. Behind them a stunned night watchman nearly drops his flashlight in horror.

Inside there was a story to match the cover. But there was also another story, one whose title caught my eye: “The Demon of Socrates.” I had no idea who or where “Socrates” was (and yes, I thought it was pronounced the way Bill & Ted say it) , but I liked stories about demons. I’d also learned a little about Ancient Greece in history class and so the opening caption piqued my interest:

Socrates, perhaps the greatest of Greek philosophers… taught in Athens during the fifth century B.C. He also struggled against those his honesty angered! But few know that he followed the advice of a “demon!”

The story’s action begins not unlike a Platonic dialogue, with an excited Xenophon running up to Plato on the streets of Athens. Xenophon informs Plato that their beloved teacher Socrates has been condemned to death by “the council.” Insisting that the only thing Socrates does is teach them to question, Plato runs to find his teacher. He quickly finds the philosopher, but Socrates is not alone.

Plato sees, perched atop a boulder next to his teacher, what appears to be a transparent replica of Socrates that stands about a foot in height. The young student is surprised by this “spectre” and asks his teacher to explain. Socrates reminds Plato, “Do you remember me telling you of my ‘demon’?” The teacher further explains that this apparition is actually his ghost, who has for many years warned Socrates of impending trouble. He surprises Plato by informing the lad he already knows of his impending execution because the ghost has already foretold it.

Suddenly Xenophon and others arrive. “We have arranged for your freedom,” they tell Socrates: a boat will be waiting to take him away during the night.

But the teacher refuses to flee. He has no reason to fear death, he tells them; the presence of his ghost confirms the existence of the afterlife. “I could not have taught you what I have if I were afraid of death,” he tells them. “I could not have spoken out! And yet my ghost gave me courage!”

The brief story concludes:

And so it was that Socrates – following the advice of his own ghost – gave up all hope of escape and was forced to drink hemlock! His belief in the afterlife was so strong that it could not be shaken, even by poison!

Aside from my interest in Ancient Greece, the story captivated me for a somewhat secret reason. Since the age of about five, I’d had an invisible (“imaginary”) companion of my own. He wasn’t my ghost, but was instead a pooka. On occasion he would leave me a message typed on an old typewriter I’d found in a closet. Other times he drew pictures in the dust, dirt, or fog on the windows. The pooka spent most of his time in the guise of a rabbit, sometimes giant but usually normal-sized; among his other disguises were a kangaroo, a long-haired hobbit-like man who had had a very large mouth that was constantly smiling, and a train conductor with black eyes and mouth full of shark’s teeth.

The origin of this giant rabbit can be likely attributed to my fondness for the movie Harvey. The image of the wide-mouth hobbit is likely inspired by Tolkien as well as the Cheshire Cat. The ‘roo most likely from Pooh, and the train conductor was probably partially drafted from the Twilight Zone episode, “A Stop at Willoughby.” The pooka’s habit of leaving me messages on an old typewriter seems lifted straight from Archy and Mehitabel. All these influences synthesized in the over-active cerebellum of a precocious eleven-year old to construct an imaginary creature. That’s a reasonable explanation and should work for most people. Unless, of course, you choose to believe me when I assure you with all sincerity and sanity:

The pooka was – is – real.

But more on that later. For now, let’s get back to Socrates.

The story of this philosopher and his nearly-invisible friend fascinated me. I had to know more, so off to the library I went. There weren’t a lot of books for an eleven-year old that deal with Socrates. That didn’t matter much to me; my reading skills were quite precocious and advanced. I knew how to use the card catalog and the local librarian was familiar enough with me that she didn’t bother me as I perused the books on the “adult” shelves. But she did make comment when I brought Jowett’s hefty Complete Dialogs of Plato to the counter.

“Are you sure you want to read this?” she asked. “It’s a little advanced, even for you.”

I frowned. “I want to read about Socrates,” I told her. I showed her one of the other books in my stack: Plato for Pleasure, by Adam Fox. “This is supposed to be easier.”

She looked it over. “This will probably be easier for you to read,” she said of that small book. “But let me show you something else.” She walked over to the shelves where I’d found the books on Plato and came back with a large book. I could tell it had more pictures in it than these two. But it was a book about philosophy, not Socrates, so I had only skimmed the book earlier. She opened it and thumbed through a few pages, then set it on the counter to show me. “See here, this is more basic. You might start here.”

I looked at it and turned the pages. There were pictures of Socrates and Plato (and some chap named Aristotle, which I knew to be the name of Jackie’s second husband), including a large two-page spread of Jacques-Louis David’s painting depicting Socrates’ classic death scene. Then I looked past those pages and into the majority of the rest of the book. There were more pictures, some I recognized but most I didn’t. More curious than ever, I slipped the book into my stack and checked it out with the rest.

She wasn’t wrong about the Jowett: it took me a long time to read and comprehend Plato from these dialogs. The least of my difficulties was the language, the “big words” that most adults assumed were in such books. More difficult were the ideas: Symposium was relatively straightforward with its wild considerations of the varieties of love, but most of the other dialogs were about things I’d never encountered or considered.

The librarian had been correct: Fox’s book was much more accessible. Over the next few months that book alongside the Jowett’s got me through Apology and Crito, which were of particular interest to me as they seemed to parallel the comic book story. At another library I had discovered some “juvenile” books about classical civilization, but few of them focused on Socrates or philosophy. The generals and politicians of Athens and Rome got far more page time than the philosophers. It wasn’t an easy subject to study, especially for a precocious pre-teen in a small Southern town: there weren’t (aren’t) many adults who take seriously a kid who says he wants to study Greek philosophy. Still, I kept at it, convinced by some strange voice (my daemon?) that it was imperative I understand Socrates, Plato, Aristotle – that it was important to follow them to the numerous places they would lead.

It became a lifelong obsession. It wasn’t until college that I began to realize what I’d gotten myself into: this was one of those trips for which there is no destination, no way-points, barely even a milepost along the path (which is actually more than one path, and is only visible inasmuch as it’s had people pacing back and forth on it for centuries) – and it turns out the very best parts of the scenery are often found by treading off that beaten path. One day I ran into the Buddha and noticed he looked a lot like one of the disguises my pooka would wear: he wore a top hat with his robes and his smile was warm and friendly but filled with sharp teeth.

To be continued…

Article published in Pyramid Magazine

Tue, 24 Apr 2012 19:04:16 -0400

Pyramid Magazine has published a brief article I wrote on the femme fatale archetype, which is found most commonly in film noir and hardboiled crime fiction. The article also considers attributes and other elements of the femme fatale character that are applicable to role-playing games. While the article focuses on GURPS mechanics, the ideas could certainly be implemented in any gaming system.

This publication represents two small but personally significant achievements. For one thing, it’s the first time in many years that anything I’ve written has reached it final stage of production. For another, it’s the first time I’ve been published in Pyramid Magazine, which may not mean much to most people but to this 20-year veteran of GURPS, it’s something.

The issue also features an detailed description of a period nightclub (with descriptions of several NPC employees), a consideration of the bouncer as character (with its own brief description of a “bouncer-centric” bar), and an outstanding article that surveys the various types of secondary characters essential to providing color and atmosphere to any noir-themed game. As with many of the supplemental GURPS materials published by Steve Jackson Games (such as GURPS Horror), this themed issue of Pyramid also functions as a brief introduction or general guide to the subject for creators in any media.

A Simple Desultory Phillipic (or How I Was Barack Obama’d Into Submission )

Fri, 20 Apr 2012 17:04:56 -0400

Paul Simon wrote “A Simple Desultory Philippic (or How I Was Robert McNamara’d Into Submission)” during a period of time when he was frequently traveling between the US and the UK. The lyrics are a parody or homage to the style of folk song then exemplified and popularized by Bob Dylan. Recorded versions of the song even feature a bridge where Simon echoes a lyric from Dylan’s famous song, “It’s Alright Ma (I’m Only Bleeding)” and include a passing mention of the singer-songwriter in the form of a joke about Dylan Thomas. The song appears in two versions, each of which features different names and slight variations on the bridge and the closing lines.

The litany of names and complaints is an overwhelming rush of language and image, not unlike the postmodern phenomenon of being overloaded with news and information. The singer is overcome by this barrage of faces and places; he sings of resignation, smoking “a pint of tea a day” to cope with the anxiety. Simon’s song loses much of this effect today, as the names are vague relics of history instead of individuals representing contemporary angst and turmoil. In my parody of Simon’s parody of Dylan, I chose to pursue a similar line of contemporary names and events, though I doubt anyone will be reading this version in fifty years to wonder about any of my references. As my guide for constructing these lyrics, I preferred the 1965 acoustic version of the song that Simon recorded in London. If you wonder what the song sounds like, until I record my own version, or convince a more talented musician to do so, you’ll just have to click that link and use your imagination.

A Simple Desultory Phillipic (or How I Was Barack Obama’d Into Submission)
With apologies to Paul Simon
© 2012 by Cal Godot

I was George Bushed, purple kushed,
Nine-eleven, shot to heaven,
Iraq’d and rolled and shocked and awed.
I got groped by the friendly skies
X-rays made me super-sized,
iMac’d, iTuned, and then iPod.

I been Steve Buscemi starvin’ skinny,
Paris Hilton caught me tiltin’
Windmills on Sunset Boulevard.
Well I got pinched and David Lynched
By movie stars beamed down from Mars
L. Ron Phil Dicked Jean Luc Picard.

(bridge):
I met a man who once sold soap
but now moves dope ’cause he’s got no hope
He don’t understand the master plan
That peace is war and less is more
He’s forgotten what he’s working for
But it’s alright Ma
That’s progress

Phil Spector resurrected
Michael Jackson’s head dissected
On CourtTV at six o’clock
Breakfast bagels, MILFs and kegels,
Bean burritos stuffed with Cheetos –
Somebody pass me the botox.

When in L.A. do as I say
Get yourself a steady payday
Save yourself a world of grief
Knock off all that dirty thinkin’
Fix yourself with good clean drinkin’
Then twelve-step your way to quick relief

HST

Mon, 20 Feb 2012 05:02:11 -0500

Football season is over. No More Games. No More Bombs. No More Walking. No More Fun. No More Swimming. 67. That is 17 years past 50. 17 more than I needed or wanted. Boring. I am always bitchy. No Fun — for anybody. 67. You are getting Greedy. Act your old age. Relax — This won’t hurt. —Hunter S. Thompson (February 20, 2005)

Progressive Politics in the US

Mon, 9 Jan 2012 16:01:29 -0500

You don’t have to be a genius to recognize that in the United States politics works along a binary axis of “left” or “liberal” ideologies pitted in a tense contrast with “right” or “conservative” ideologies. You don’t have to have eidetic memory to recognize that in the last three decades, the US has slowly transitioned from a mostly-left-leaning liberal welfare state to a mostly right-leaning conservative warring state. Most people think this evolution has occurred as a result of necessity, brought on either by forced compromise or right-wing dominance of media, lobbyists, and/or the courts. Many think we can avoid further rightward movement, and even return to a more liberal state of being, simply by electing “liberal” or “progressive” candidates.

But this evolution is a determined one, and is actually built into the system of partisan politics that so many eagerly embrace in order to solve this problem. Those who think they can correct the determined rightward drift of American politics through the electoral process have failed to actually analyse the system in which “liberals” practicing “progressive politics” manage to actually aid and empower this evolution.

How do progressive politics work in the United States?

Step one. Republicans move to the right on some set of major issues. This usually begins with a lesser-known reformist Republican in Congress making a speech that stakes out an extreme-right position on a subject. The media reports this instantly. Other Republicans clamor to establish “middle-ground,” crediting the extreme-right position as ideologically correct but preferring the pragmatic solution, which is still far to the right of center.

Step two. Democratic politicians decry the Republican position, but move to the right to accommodate their opponents with “bipartisan outreach.” This generally takes the form of a prominent and senior Congressional Democrat making a speech that admits “there is a problem,” and suggests the solution is a combination of, say, tax cuts and cuts to government spending.

Step three. Progressives attack the new Democratic position, pointing out that previously solutions were to be sought through increasing tax revenues by eliminating capital gains tax or increasing inheritance or luxury taxes. Republicans call this “class warfare,” giving the Democrats effective cover: “We don’t want class warfare. Everyone should pay their fair share.”

Step four. The liberal media declares the Democratic positions (which are the old Republican positions) to be the center. This can be effectively demonstrated: extremist Republicans want no taxes and no government services, while moderate Republicans just want to reduce some taxes and eliminate some government services. Democrats agree on cutting some government services, but also want to generate tax revenues, while the extreme left wants to tax the rich and corporations to pay for government services.

Step five. Having received effective cover from the liberal media, Democrats justify their “centrist” positions and denounce progressives as extremists. Republicans use progressive positions as example of Democratic extremism to gin up fear among Republican voters. The Democratic Party leadership begin to lament that progressives are “destroying the good in pursuit of the perfect,” accusing them of lacking pragmatism, even questioning their sanity. Democrats widely proclaim there are forced to compromise their previously held ideals in order to achieve “bipartisan consensus” with Republicans, that they “have no choice” but to accede to Republican demands.

Step six. Election season comes, and the liberal media starts running non-stop scare stories about Republican extremists. If it is a Presidential election season, even the most minor of candidates seeking the GOP nomination will be given television time, especially if they espouse extremist views on race, religion, reproductive freedom, or hot-button cultural issues. (However, minority candidates whose positions threaten or question certain heterodoxies accepted by both parties – such as “the war on drugs” – will find themselves with no media attention at all.)

Step seven. Progressive voters are terrified by the right-wing freak circus and begin to justify support for Democratic candidates by arguing that Democrats are “overall less extreme” than Republicans and represent “the lesser of two evils.”

Step eight. Election day comes, and 98% of progressives vote Democratic.

Step nine. The cycle starts over again.

This is the way progressive politics has worked in the U.S. since 1992, and there is absolutely no evidence to suggest things will change in 2012.

No matter how much progressives have protested and complained over the last 20 years, the vast majority of them have always come home to the Democratic Party on Election Day.

Obama and all other Democratic politicians know this, and that’s why they will ignore criticisms from left-leaning progressives and keep advancing slowly but progressively to the right.