Showing posts with label Plato. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Plato. Show all posts

Sunday, October 28, 2018

Cratylus--Desire or Necessity?


Soc. I will tell you my own opinion; but first, I should like to ask you which chain does any animal feel to be the stronger? and which confines him more to the same spot—desire or necessity?

Socrates asks Hermogenes this leading question in Cratylus. When he starts with, “I will tell you my own opinion” it sounds as if Socrates is setting Hermogenes up. The modern reader is surprised when Socrates heartily agrees with Hermogenes’s answer, “desire.” Framing what might otherwise be a simple comparison and contrast question by asking which is the strongest chain rather than the strongest motivator might also sound strange, but the reason for that will come out later in the dialogue.
The modern reader is the only one who would be surprised by Hermogenes’s answer and Socrates’s agreement, since the power of desire, the strongest of all emotions, was a commonplace in Classical Athens. However, most readers immersed in analytical philosophy would not only understand the answer, but would nod their head in agreement. I should note that Plato does have a trick in store for his contemporary reader. Such trickery is common in the Socratic Dialogues, where Socrates is more likely to come off as a satyr than a philosopher, or in his own words a “gadfly” whose duty is to irritate Athens out of its complacency.
Socrates’s question and Hermogenes’s answer does have a surprising twist, since it is asked in the context of a discussion of Hades and how Hades got his name. Before we go on to that reason, I should note that prior to explaining Hades’s name, Socrates has made two conflicting arguments about the origins of names, first, that names were given by legislators, and thus had the power of laws, of fixing the identity of whoever was so named; and second, that names evolve from the character and actions of those so named. Interestingly enough, Socrates argues that the names of men are fixed or given, and the names of gods and heroes evolve, a schema that disrupts popular notions of Platonic forms—cleverly setting his modern reader up..  
At question at this point, though never overtly stated, is why anyone would stay in Hell, what chains constrain them? In that context, Socrates argues a few lines later that Hades doesn’t physically bind those in Hell to the place, but convinces them to stay by playing on their desires. One desire, the one Socrates says is the strongest, is the desire to be a part of a community, a polis. He asks Hermogenes, “Is any desire stronger than the thought that you will be made better by associating with another?” Once again modern readers, with Judeo-Christian concepts of Hell, as well as less focused on communal association, find themselves shaking their head. One would be willing to stay in Hell because of the opportunity to associate with its ruler, or the other condemned? 
That modern reader might also miss the one advantage of Hell, or more precisely of death. With death, one is no longer imprisoned by a body, which is the seat of all emotions. Socrates argues that when “the soul is liberated from the desires and evils of the body,” the dead are actually in a “liberated state [and] he can bind them with the desire of virtue.”
At that moment in the dialogue, a discussion of names that is deceptively simple, and appears to be about using names as a vehicle to fix identity, thus making passage a de facto argument for Platonic Forms, uses Forms to identify what blocks virtue. Thus, Socrates (at least as much as he is Plato’s mouthpiece) is not arguing for forms as an alternative model for reality  to the Protagorean argument for “flux.” The only “inference,” to borrow one of Plato’s favorite words, is that Forms should be preferred over flux—for flux, a sister to desire, is a function of the body, and only by escaping the body’s changeable, emotional nature, can one truly begin the search for virtue, the prize of wisdom.

Monday, May 2, 2016

Plato Interrupts Quintilian (Book 3, Ch. 8)

Plato joins Quintilian for a beer on the patio of the University Brew House.

P: The day is pleasant my friend, with a breeze that is so much more comfortable than the air-conditioning inside. I think it will be but a few more days before it will be too warm to enjoy the afternoon thus. Before we begin our discussion, I think a small oblation to Pan is appropriate. Perhaps a little ale poured out on the pavement.

Q: But would not wine be a more appropriate offering to Pan?

P: Perhaps so. Yet, he might appreciate an occasional beer. See how it soaks into the stones? Ah, but the waiter is giving me a dirty look now. No more, I think. Besides, this is an excellent beer.

In your Institutes, you write that the end of oratory is not persuasion, a distinction I appreciate. But what, if not persuasion, is the end of oratory?

Q: Eloquence. Nothing more.

P: Eloquence? How then does that assure virtue? An orator who seeks to persuade might at least seek to persuade toward the virtuous. But if an orator seeks only eloquence, has he no concern at all for the end of his speech? Speak up my friend. Demonstrate for me your eloquence.

Q: You are right, friend Plato; an orator who seeks only to persuade might seek a virtuous cause--or an unvirtuous one. An orator who seeks eloquence seeks to speak to the best of his ability. In other words, he speaks for and to his own honor. This is the meaning of that phrase, which though attributed to me, I have heard Cato utter more than once, that true rhetoric is "a good man speaking well." Eloquence, thus defined, connects what a man says to who he is. An honorable man cannot but speak honorably. Eloquence must be married to honor.

P: Just so, my friend. I am troubled, I must admit, on reading the third book of your Institutes, where you allow your orator to bow to expedience. Where is the honor in this?

Q: There may be times when an orator is forced to expedience in a good cause. Should an orator allow an evil to come to pass when he has the eloquence to put a stop to it?

P: Ah, if my teacher, Socrates, had thought so, he would not have been so truthful when he stood before the judges. Surely you have read my Apology, or if not, at least Xenophon's. Was this a man who thought anything less than honor was due from him in his every word, his every breath?

Q: You must keep in mind the differences between the courts in Athens in your day and those in Rome in mine. You had no lawyers, and every man spoke for himself. What a man said was seen as what he was. Not so today, when litigants are represented by an orator whose honor is tied to his eloquence, in doing the best for his client. 

P: So, in your eyes the orator didn't have to be honorable as long as he could imitate honor?

Q: I address this more clearly in Book Twelve. Have you not read so far?

P: We shall get to that when we get to that. What of these imitations, prosopopeiae, you call them? Do you really suggest, as you write, that "we very often utter fictitious speeches attributed to characters which we ourselves introduce"? How does an orator stay honorable if he is no longer speaking of himself, from his own honor? How is such a speech honorable, if eloquence comes from the inner character of the man if he no longer speaks as himself.

Q: I believe the waiter is eyeing us again. Perhaps we are disturbing the other patrons.

P: Ah well, we can put these questions off if you wish. Does this establishment have no flute players to keep us entertained as we drink?







Thursday, November 5, 2015

Oh, Love, Where Art Thou?

Listened to The Symposium last. Each of the three sections is just long enough for a six mile run, with five minutes or so left over to listen to Pandora. Given the topic of The Symposium, love, I thought something schmaltzy, like the Moody Blues channel, was appropriate.

I lost count of how many spoke, each in turn, in this account of a speaking contest that Plato apparently did not attend. Of course, it's all a set-up. Socrates speaks last, and outdoes everyone. Each participant gives a speech on love. (This is one of the few dialogues in which Socrates doesn't complain about speech-making, and doesn't interrupt other speakers to ask them unanswerable questions. For some reason, he's on his best behavior. The gadfly is silent until his turn to speak comes around.)

What I find interesting is how much time in this and other dialogues, most notably, Phaedrus, is devoted to the topic of love, and how little time modern philosophy seems to spend on the topic. We seem to have rewritten The Symposium so it isn't actually about love, but about "love of philosophy." And, of course, Weaver's well-known analysis of Phaedrus would have us believe that it's really about rhetoric. Thus, love is never a philosophical topic in the dialogues; it's merely a stepping stone to other, more important topics.

So, do we leave "love" to Nicholas Sparks and the Hallmark Channel? Is love so outside the realm of reason that it's not worth talking about?

I know, I'm overstating my complaint. If we are to trust the Internet Encyclopedia of Philosophy, there is a philosophy of love. (However, look at the citations; almost all are from the Greeks. Not much in the Twentieth Century, and none in the Twenty-first, even though an internet encyclopedia is very Twenty-first Century.

http://www.iep.utm.edu/love/

More thorough citations in the Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy.

http://plato.stanford.edu/entries/love/

And let's not forget Wikipedia. Lot's of links to online texts:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Philosophy_of_love

Interesting that they all refer to love as a noun. I've always thought of it as a verb.