Gorgias, the Encomium of Helen, and the Trauma of War (article)

A giant warrior at Marathon, a flaming cross at the Milvian Bridge, the Angel of Mons—these are only a few of the strange, mad phenomena of war that might be cited. What are the explanations of such apparitions? Why do soldiers across the ages report miraculous and strange visions? The answer surely lies in the stress of battle, and perhaps the first person to relate to battle-rattled soldiers was the philosopher and rhetorician Gorgias, perhaps better known as a rival of Socrates and foil for Plato.

From Leontini, Sicily, Gorgias arrived in Athens (c. p. 427 BC) on a diplomatic mission in the midst of the great Peloponnesian War between Athens and Sparta (pp. 431-404 BC), requesting aid for his hometown against the aggressions of neighboring Syracuse.¹ A talented and brilliant speaker, Gorgias’ rhetoric explored the power of words and moral responsibility. One speech Gorgias composed about this time is the Encomium of Helen, an exhibition piece designed to absolve Helen of blame in abandoning Menelaus for Paris, a speech once described as “an essay on the nature and power of logos.”² While the date of Gorgias’ Helen is uncertain, it seems clear that the speech belongs to the wartime conditions of the Peloponnesian War. While arguing for Helen’s innocence, Gorgias observes that “when warriors put on their armor and weapons, some for defense, others for offense, the mere sight of these terrifies the souls of some, who flee panic-stricken even from anticipated dangers as if these were really present.” He goes on to declare “And [later] some of these [men] lose presence of mind, and others become unable to work, suffering terrible diseases or incurable madness.”³

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The value of this testimony is its reflection on the trauma of war. Beginning with the reference to soldiers preparing for battle, Gorgias’ concern is to relate the consequences of war as an example of the power of sight and how this affects the mind. His intent is not to address the actual horrors of battle, of which he and those listening to his speech were only too aware. His primary goal is to expound on his view of the nature of logos and persuasion, which he takes a lighthearted theme to illustrate—defending Helen. But in doing so, he employs an oblique argument based on what people see (to continue his own imagery) in the world around them, in this case one suffering from the scourges of war.

Skeptics might argue that Gorgias is just playing with words. Editorial limitations do not allow for a thorough rebuttal of this position. Although an intellectual interested in philosophy and rhetoric, Gorgias was also a man of action; a diplomat and ambassador who was experienced in real-world issues (hence the embassy to Athens). Like his contemporaries, he knew what happened to those caught up in the bloody business of war and, as revealed in the stories told of the Athenian Epizelus and others described below, that survivors of it were radically changed by the experience.

In passing, then, Gorgias makes a statement about the psychological effects of war. The importance of this comment on the costs of war is the nature of the evidence provided. In terms of the use of primary evidence, that which is unintentional is the “purest” form primary evidence can take. Historian Arthur Marwick argues, for example, that a primary source is most valuable when the occasion of its use is furthest from the purpose of the historian.⁴

Written amid the trauma of war, Gorgias reflects unconsciously on the sights and realities of wartime Athens and Greece, where survivors of battle would have spoken of the

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horrific things they had seen, where stories of others who had not survived would have been told. Examples of these have long been known. A famous one is Plato’s account in the Symposium⁵ of Socrates calmly walking off the battlefield of Delium, a battle that took the lives of a thousand Athenians (comparable to some 16,000 American soldiers dying in a day in Iraq).⁶

Gorgias’ reference is of importance first for its reference to sight and the horrors of war that the soldier sees and which he must always live with. He notes that seeing awful things causes some men to lose presence of mind or apparent control over their mental faculties. Examples of what Gorgias alludes to may be found in the battlefield experience of the Athenian Epizelus at Marathon who, on seeing the man next to him cut down, goes blind.⁷ Among the corpus of Epidaurian miracle inscriptions is the account of one Anticrates of Cnidus, which records “This man had been struck with a spear through both his eyes in some battle, and he became blind and carried around the spearhead with him, inside his face. Sleeping here, he saw a vision. It seemed to him the god pulled the dart and fitted the so-called girls (i.e., the pupils of the eyes) back into his eyelids. When day came he left well.”⁸

While today these instances of hysterical blindness are easy enough for us to diagnose, contemporaries of these men would not have known or understood the physiology that induced these reactions to horrific sights. Herein lies the value of Gorgias’ testimony. He actually senses a connection, though he could not have explained it, between the effects of going into battle, seeing horrific things, and how these affect the mind and changes the man. Again his words are worth reviewing: “many have become unable to work, suffering terrible diseases or incurable madness.” In other words, experiencing war’s violence breaks some who give up on life, becoming unable to function in a meaningful way;

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others suffer breakdowns of the psyche that manifest themselves differently too. Essentially, Gorgias’ description refers to the change of character, and if put alongside Jonathan Shay’s list of symptoms of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, would compare favorably in many respects.⁹ Examples in the ancient literature of the sort of thing Gorgias relates would include Xenophon’s account of the march of the 10,000 into the Persian Empire in 401 BC. A sober but illuminating story involves the Spartan commander Clearchus who is just about the unhappiest veteran I have ever run across, in reading or in real life. Xenophon describes a man who matches the picture of ruined life that Gorgias relates. You will recall that Gorgias refers to how many have fallen victim to useless labor, hardly curable illnesses, and madness. Compare this with Xenophon’s portrait of Clearchus. A philopolemos, or “war-lover,” Clearchus could have lived in peace but chose instead to make war; in fact, he dedicated his whole life to the pursuit of war, preparing for it in every way possible, relishing the experience of battle. Not only that, but he was a hard man, a brutal disciplinarian, incapable of personal relationships, and intolerant of authority.¹⁰

What Gorgias relates, and what the example of Clearchus reveals, is that the trauma of war manifests itself differently. Some, like those mentioned by Gorgias, are left debilitated physically and psychically. Others like Clearchus might still function as serving soldiers, but their social skills, their ability to lead a “normal” life, has been impaired. This reality has not changed. When I arrived in Vietnam in spring 1970 as a green and inexperienced infantry officer, I met and served with veteran soldiers like Clearchus, and watched them do things I thought just plain crazy—now I know differently. While time has mellowed the Vietnam veterans (and claimed many through drugs, violence, and Agent Orange) nearly 40 years later, our newspapers report stories of

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another generation whose responses to the experience of war in Afghanistan and Iraq are no different as reflected in suicide rates in excess of the national average and in violent homecomings, inspiring films like “In the Valley of Elah” (2008). This, however, would not have surprised Gorgias, perhaps the first intellectual in the western tradition to observe and make a connection between war and its traumas.

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Endnotes:

¹ See W.K.C. Guthrie, The Sophists, 1971, p. 270.

² L. Versényi, Socratic Humanism, 1963 p. 44; for date of the speech, perhaps as late as c. 420-415 BC, see G. Calogero, “Gorgias and the Socratic principle nemo sua sponte peccat,” Journal of Hellenic Studies 77,1957, p. 16.

³ Text and translation in D.M. MacDowell, ed. and trans., Gorgias. Encomium of Helen, 1982/93, pp. 16-17. I have adapted the translation to make it clearer.

⁴ A. Marwick, The Nature of History, 1971, p. 177.

⁵ Plato, Symposium 221b.

⁶ Thucydides, History of the Peloponnesian War 4.94.1, 101.2 tells that 7000 Athenian hoplites fought in this battle and nearly 1000 died. This would have been a shocking loss for the general Athenian population, similar to that of thousands of Americans dying in Iraq (figure based on approximately 130,000 troops in Iraq, July 2009).

⁷ Herodotus, Histories 6.117.2-3.

⁸ L.R. LiDonnici, The Epidaurian Miracle Inscriptions, 1995, p. 109.

⁹ J. Shay, Achilles in Vietnam: Combat Trauma and the Undoing of Character, 1994, p. xx.

¹⁰ Xenophon, Anabasis 2.6.6-15; see further L.A. Tritle, “Xenophon’s Portrait of Clearchus: A Study in Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder,” in Xenophon and His World, ed. by C.J. Tuplin, 172, pp. 325-339.