Shivas and Socrates

by Steven Pressfield

One of the great pleasures of Golf in the Kingdom is that it's a work that rewards rereading. I've read it seven or eight times, and I always discover some fresh delight that Michael Murphy has salted in there, but that I was too dense to pick up before. In this piece I want to highlight--for those who, like me, may have overlooked some treasures--one of the great gems of the book. It's the chapter entitled "Singing the Praises of Golf."

Do you remember it? It's the evening after Michael first plays Burningbush with Shivas, when the two of them and a number of Shivas' friends share a convivial dinner and top it off by going around the table, in order, each making a speech in praise of golf.

But to get the most out of this wonderful scene, let's make a quick reverse to Athens, 416 B.C.

Most of us are familiar with Socrates, although perhaps a little fuzzily, from our memories of a college survey course in Philosophy. He was an Athenian philosopher, in fact, the first philosopher. He was convicted of crimes against the State and, in 399, forced to drink hemlock--one of the great travesties of justice in history. One item of interest: Socrates never wrote anything. There is nothing "by" Socrates. All that we have of his thought comes from his pupil and protégé, Plato.  Plato's real name was Aristocles; "Plato" means broad-shouldered, a nickname he got because he was an outstanding wrestler. Plato was two generations younger that Socrates. When Socrates was in his seventies, Plato was about twenty, and the kid of the group.

When Socrates was executed for the shamelessly political charges of "impiety" and "corrupting the morals of youth," it broke his young disciple's heart. It turned Plato sour on the whole idea of democracy. Worse yet, knowing his master to be the noblest man of his time, it caused him grievous distress to recognize that the populace of Athens, who knew Socrates only through the slanders spread abroad by his enemies, demeaned and debased the great man's memory.

Plato's response was the writing and publication of a number of Dialogues, each a conversation between Socrates and one of two well-known citizens of Athens. The dialogues are compact and very readable; no description, just conversation. An example: Socrates is at the law courts when he meets a friend. They start to chat. The friend announces that he is prosecuting his own father on a charge of murder. Socrates begins to gently cross-examine the fellow. By dialogue's end, we have an in-depth examination of the nature of justice, piety and filial obligation. Thus: Plato's Dialogues.

The greatest of them all (and one I heartily recommend, just for fun) is "The Symposium." Symposium in Greek means "drinking party." At the home of a distinguished Athenian gentlemen, a number of luminaries have gathered for dinner.  They include the physician Eryximachus; Aristophanes, the comic poet; Agathon, the tragic poet; and Socrates. At meal's conclusion, when the drinking would customarily begin, the good doctor rises and declares, "Gentlemen, if we indulge in another bout of boozing such as we hung on last night, I will not be responsible for the health of anyone here."

He proposes an alternative means of entertaining themselves: to go around the table, each guest in order making a speech in praise of Love. Socrates will be the last one to speak, because the guests and friends all look forward to his remarks the most.

The gentlemen agree and the symposium begins.

Now let's turn to Michael Murphy's chapter, "Singing the Praises of Golf." A number of local luminaries have gathered at the home of Peter and Agatha McNaughton. Shivas is there, and Michael, along with several others.

It was somewhere between the stew and the dessert that Peter took charge of the conversation. As this was a gathering that was not likely to recur for a while, if ever, he said, they should each in turn tell what the endlessly mysterious sport [of golf] was really about. Shivas takes the place of Socrates; he speaks last.

But let's return to ancient Athens. Phaedrus makes his speech in praise of love, followed by Pausanias, Eryximachus, Aristophanes, Agathon and Socrates. Suddenly: ... there was a loud knocking at the street door. It sounded like a party of drunks. A moment later they heard the voice of Alcibiades [famous general, statesman and lover] in the courtyard, very tipsy and shouting.

Back to Burningbush:

Then suddenly there was a loud banging at the front door and raucous shouts from the street below. Someone was trying to get in. A large, ebullient man who looked to be in his late twenties came bursting into the room. 

This was Evan Tyree, "the local golf champion, one of the best amateur players in British history." Peter McNaughton enlists him. "We've been singin' the praises o' gowf the night, each sayin' what it is that makes its mystery and allure, so now ye do the same. Tell us what the game means to you, great champion."

"Listen then," said Eryximachus [to the tipsy Alcibiades]. "Before you came we had resolved that each of us in turn ... should make the best speech he could in praise of Love. The rest of us have already spoken, so it is clearly right that you ... should deliver a speech, and then prescribe whatever task you like to Socrates ... and so on."

Alcibiades accepts, but with one proviso:

"An excellent idea, Eryximachus, but it can't be fair to make a man who is drunk compete in speaking with men who are sober. Besides, my good friend, you surely don't believe a word of what Socrates has just said? If I praise any person but him in his presence, be it god or man, he won't be able to keep his hands off me."

"Be quiet," said Socrates.

"It's no good your protesting," Alcibiades said. "I won't make a speech in praise of any other person in your presence."

Alcibiades proceeds to make this speech, in praise not of Love but of Socrates.

Evan Tyree walked across the room, grabbed the enormous Tam from his teacher's head and placed it on his own. "But I winna' speak o'gowf, oh, no. I can only tell ye about my teacher, for 'twas he wha showed me the way." He bowed deeply, doffing his Tam to Shivas. "'Twas he wha' taught me a' the graces o' the gemme, to hold my temper when retreatin'  from par and bogey, to use the inner eye to make the game a very prayer."

One of the keys to making use of a classical paradigm is to do it with an absolutely straight face. The author cannot nudge the reader, however subtly, in the ribs. If the reader doesn't recognize the source, the scene still works brilliantly.  And if he does, then he gets that extra measure of reading pleasure.

What makes Michael Murphy's use of this classical source so effective is not just the fun of it, which is great in itself, but that the parallels between the two work absolutely for the case he wants to make and the theme he seeks to propound.  Shivas is Socrates, just as Michael, his disciple, is Plato. So the scene works, not just as a clever spin on a traditional structure, but to deepen the reader's understanding of Shivas and how the book wants us to view him. 

And golf, the theme of the symposium, can certainly be compared to love, can't it? Clearly it holds us all spellbound.

As for me, I doff my tam to the master. Thank you, Michael. What other gems have you salted away in this trove of treasure?

(Thanks to the Walter Hamilton translation, Penquin Classics, 1951, of Plato's "Symposium")

Steven Pressfield is the author of The Legend of Baggar Vance.