A Letter of Red Upon the Heart of All Men

Through Me is the way into the doleful city;

Through Me is the way into eternal pain;

Through Me the way among the people lost.

Justice moved my High Maker;

Divine Power moved Me, Wisdom Supreme and Primal Love.

Before Me were no things created, but eternal;

And eternal I endure: Leave all hope, ye that enter.

All of us are just images and empty shade.
Just when you think all is straight and constant,
A fork is made, and the road becomes two;
     "Where do I go, which way do I turn?"
The decisions come and go,
But it is always the same --
Good and evil, right and left, this world or that --
The bells toll and the sun passes over the mountain;
     "Which way do I turn?"

But there is no proof for that road. Why take it?
Where can it possibly lead that we have not already been?
There is always a single road -- material reality.

But, I tell you, this choice is real;
It is life, gone, like fleeting sand blown through the fingers,
Slipping steadily away, until --
Nothing thus remains.
     "Hurry now, there isn't much time,
     Which way do I turn?"
Shadowless bodies cast no shade.


Evil comes from Night, daughter of Chaos,
The Original emptiness.

Stories of evil told by Muses, singing and dancing,
Ones that tell truth of lies;
Stories of those caught in the balance
Between the fingers of Fate,
Cutting the golden thread;
We know what we hear, but believe only what we see.

Terpsikhore, tell us of where winter falls again on earth,
And Persephone returns to the underworld:
Demeter, wrought with sorrow,
Sees the land as it withers away -- nothing but dust;
Trees shrug, flowers bow at death,
The winter sun blanches all.
     "But poor Demeter, it is your people, your land,
     That now suffers."
     "It no longer matters to me
     I care not, for my beloved,
     I am without."
Your apathy takes its toll on earth,
And your dying heart;

Even a mountain of love crumbles.

Fair-voiced Calliope brings us to a story of jealousy,
Of a question unanswerable, impossible;
     "Three goddesses, we are told:
     The wife of power, beautiful and pure,
     But a streak of green so deep it runs through her veins;
     Daughter, bourn fully of the mind of the highest father,
     Wise and wishing only for honor;
     And the third, in a mix of blood and water,
     Bourn of the father's suffering,
     Envy of all."
A wedding -- an apple thrown, kallistêi
But who can choose so bold a title
Without any of the least offense?
O Innocent passerby -- Paris, forced to choose
Between three, for which no answer yields good;
Influenced by the cold repose of Aphrodite,
Becomes the object of jealous rage.

By sheer misfortune, a cold war; the land of Troy will fall.

Merely self-infliction, Thalia brings news of Tantalos:
     "Why, dear man, play games with those of power?"
Friend to gods, man loved by all
Shared the wonders of the immortal world,
The sacred indulgence of nectar and ambrosia.
Darkness clouds thought, in a fit of pleasure,
Steals of the sustaining life;
Those of ikhor do not bleed.
     "You fool, you cannot reach the fruits,
     For they escape beyond your mortal grasp."
Forever hunger and thirst for life, tantalized,
Forever punished for selfish satisfaction;
Even the water recedes to quickly to drown away.

Suffering will never end.

O Polymnia, tell us of the god of man,
Who loves his creation, but despised of by all Olympus:
Prometheus, god of wisdom and knowledge,
Inventor by craft -- trickster by sport.
     "See what your trickery has done?
     Man has much now, but what have you?"
Nothing, but the suffering inflicted by selfish gods.
On a desolate mountain, bound to cold stone,
The eagle comes, are your back:
In a cold blast, the rattle of bones.

Erato, of love and beauty, what of Echo?
Punished for her excessive lies, Hera bid her only the final words
And given a fierce lust for the handsome Narcissus.
     "Echo, do you hear? Do you hear?
     He cannot love you, for he lusts only for himself."
She withers away, but her punished voice remains:
She rings in deep caverns,
Avalanches of snow still respond
Liker her voice, cold, lonely, emotionless --
Calling only to the flower on the banks in Spring,
Gone again by winter, in the bleak silence,
Here, her mourning is heard best.

Please come back, come back!

The story of the hero Achilles is all too well-known,
But here a story of destruction, Euterpe tells:
Raised by the good centaur Cheron,
Achilles grew to be a great warrior
Bred on fearlessness, only to thirst for dominance.
Brought to anger the leader Agamemnon,
Stealer of Briseis, prized servant and friend,
Achilles lets his anger, quick to rise, full of wrath.
Refusing to fight in anger of the leader's wrong,
His friends fall to enemies on his behalf,
His own soon to come at the strike of a heel;
Anger can only lead to death.

Wrath only covers the light shed on truth.

Do not fear Ourania, tell us of your realm
And what comes of a high spirit:
Trapped in a winding maze,
Only a candle to possession,
The inventor plans his escape.
     "I give you these wings, my son, to fly;
     To escape the twists and turns of Fate,"
He tells his son, and in time, the plans complete.
Warned by a father's cautious love,
Icarus lets only pride in his way;
     "I feel like a god" flying higher and higher;
But O, Icarus, if only you knew
What would come of your prideful nature.
     "Why this mournful gloom,
     For that celestial light?"
     "It is better to reign in Hell than serve in Heaven!"
Falling from the heat of the fiery sun
Only icy water of the sea,
Burned and melted away.
What was there in the end? Ash.

You! Who are like white-washed tombs,
Handome on the outside, but inside
Are full of dead men's bones.
Awake, arise, or be forever fallen!

O Kind Watchmaker
Who sees this 'watch?'
It goes: tick-tock, tick-tock --
Bang

Finitude and Infinitude

Last week, our discussion got into the idea of complete determinism -- a topic that will come up soon as we pursue Unit 3's Concept of Free-Will through Camus' piece, The Stranger (easily one of the most popular texts I've ever taught to students).  Now first, I'll say that I've never been a fan of the overly-scientific determinism that has become increasingly popular in our increasingly scifi-based society.  So, of course that colors my interpretation a bit, as I seek to prove things to myself for my already preconceived understanding :)

While I definitely believe that our understanding continues to increase over time with more and more discovery.  At the same time, I think that the more and more we continue to increase our understanding, the more and more we realize how much we don't understand -- each question, and answer, simply opens up a new realm of possible questions that need answering as the universe continues to expand into infinity.

So if we're even going to assume a scientific standpoint, we have to look at some of the presuppositions even that entails itself, before we argue for determinism or against free will.  If we're going to assume strict scientism, we have to accept entropy and the infinite expansion of the universe.  Something, which I've always had a hard time conceptualizing -- well, mostly because I've always tried to picture the universe somehow.  I remember as a kid, picturing in my mind the solar system. Then, trying to expand it past that to more galaxies, and then ultimately the universe.  However, I always knew the pitfalls of my thinking -- I can't force a picture of the universe (maybe the KNOWN universe, but not the universe in its entirety).  Anytime I drew a picture in my mind, I could always recognize the 'end of the paper' so to speak, and recognized that that wasn't the infinite universe.

My husband Andy always puts infinity in the clearest perspective for me.  He describes it like this:  Think of a library full of an infinite amount of white books, and an infinite amount of red books.  If you were to take away ALL of the red books, you would STILL have an infinite amount of books total.  The thought is totally crazy, but this is about as accurate of a conceptualization of infinity as I can wrap my mind around.So let's say we accept that the universe is infinite.  That means to me, then, that there is an infinite amount of stuff, and infinite amount of possibilities, an infinite amount of change.

It was brought up in class that if were could learn ALL there was about a person, their genetic history, past behaviors, etc. that it would be conceivable to predict everything about their futures.  However, this limits it down to one person's experience.  Humans are a social creature, and a lot of our life-situations are on dependent upon the circumstances that surround us.  Fine, we grant that, and say then we must learn ALL there is to know about the people and places surrounding those individuals.  Unfortunately, we meet the same issue with each expansion -- in order to learn ALL about those people, we must expand to all of their influences and environments and peoples within the circumstances, and this continues to expand (if you include both past and present) until it eventually becomes infinite, like the Universe (in fact it becomes knowledge OF the universe, which by our prior admission, is infinite).

But, using the words 'infinite" and "all" are incompatible.  We cannot know ALL because ALL assumes beginning and end -- finitude.  It's a limitation. We cannot ever know "all" about infinitude -- there is no all (see the library example above).  As a result, I don't see it as ever possible for us to learn everything there is to know, because everything means there is a finite amount of things to know, which is contradictory.  As a result, I definitely don't see it possible for us to ever determine human behavior with absolute certainty (sure, we can do some of that, based on averages and probabilities and such, but this is not certainty by any stretch, and there are plenty of instances where we defy our own probabilities).  As a result of this -- even if there is a greater being out there -- free-will seems to be a thing for us, and as we'll never be able to predict with absolute certainty, we might as well live as if free-will is the case for us.

Syzeuxis: Plato's 'Yoking' of Sensible and Intellgible Reality

Many modern and contemporary thinkers (though often based on misinterpretation) criticize Plato as having lost "himself in speculative thought" and having forgotten "what it means to exist" (Kierkegaard, in his work Concluding Unscientific Postscripts).  Existential philosophers, especially, attribute this belief to Plato's usage of the term eidos or idea, which translates on one level into the English terms "idea," or "form."  These modern philosophers interpret this term throughout the dialogues as understood to be an abstraction of ideas from objects.  The ideas, therefore, necessitate a position hierarchically superior to objects as experienced in sensible reality.  This assumes a separation of a kind of distinct and perfect reality from the earthly, imperfect reality of intelligibility, which has come to be known as Plato's metaphysical "Realm of Forms."  However, this separation simply is not supported by Plato -- through his speaker Socrates -- in the dialogues; in fact, as Plato shows throughout Politeia, in light of the search for the meaning of the Good, that there is a necessary "yoking together," a codependence, of the sensible and intelligible realities of human experience.

Plato's Politeia, arguably his most well-known and consequently often most misrepresented work, introduces Plato's typical character, Socrates, in open dialogue initially with the Pythagorean thinker Thrasymachus, and later his own followers Glaucon and Adeimantus.  Socrates employs the strategy of myth and imagery -- typical to most of his dialogues; using the concrete discussion of a perfectly structured and ordered, just city as a tool for uncovering the proper structuring and order of the just human soul, Socrates describes a city built upon the foundations of a working class, supported and governed by the Guardians within which an individual -- the Philosopher-king -- must come to rule.  Despite his interlocutors' affinity for becoming enveloped in the imagery themselves, Socrates' purpose in this discussion is simply to draw connections to the proper orientation of the human soul.  In Book VI, Socrates engages his followers in defining the philosopher as a lover of truth and wisdom.  The image of the philosopher leads to the more pertinent discussion of the good person, and by extension, the nature of the Good itself.

Socrates is initially reluctant to define the good, arguing that it is "something" but that the soul is "perplexed and cannot adequately grasp what it is" despite its pursuit of it (Politeia 505e).  He is, however, quick to dispel the popular notions of the good as pleasure or knowledge.  Socrates, as per usual, begins the discussion of good with his famous analogy -- the sun -- the "offspring of the good and most like it" (Politeia 506e). His quest for understanding beings in the sensible with perceptible things, particulars, in relation to sight and visible objects.  It is clear that there is a relationship between both: in order for objects to be visible, there must be the ability of vision, and conjugally, in order to have vision, there must be visible objects.  Socrates reminds however that there must be a "third kind of thing" that is present, "which is naturally adapted for this very purpose" (Politeia 507e).

This "third kind of thing" -- at least in the visible realm -- is light, which allows for things to be seen and for sight to occur.  Without light, there is neither seeing nor the thing seen.  Light is that which connects self -- which has sight -- to the object sen, and is a "more valuable link than any other linked things have got" (Politeia 508a).  The link, or unifier, "yokes together" (syzeuxis) the two elements of sensible reality.  The sun, as the cause of the light which allows for the yoking of the sensible experience, is then elevated, in the sense that it is "neither sight itself nor that in which it comes to be, namely the eye" (Politeia 508b).  Therefore, the sun is not a part of sight or an ingredient of the visible, but is necessary to it, as it is "the cause of sight itself and seen by it" (Politeia 508b).

Socrates uses this image of the sun as analogous to the Good; what the sun it sot he sensible, the Good is to the intelligible.  Within the intelligible, the Good acts as a unifier which yokes together (syzeuxis) the intelligible (idea) and the intellect that apprehends it.  Without the good, there is no way of apprehending the things apprehended. It is the good which gives "truth to the things known," as well as "power to know to the knower" (Politeia 508e).  This shows the necessary and codependent relationship of both the elements of the self and thing as either sensible or intelligible, though neither of them is the Good itself.  Yet in this discussion, Plato has only hinted at the meaning of the Good, itself.  He does, however, give a clearer picture of the good and its nature in another dialogue -- Philebus.  Socrates, in Philebus, continues a more detailed discussion of the Good as either pleasure or knowledge.  Again in this dialogue, Socrates is adamant that it is neither -- instead, the good occurs everywhere, in reality, and yet "we cannot capture the good in one form" as it is a conjunction, a unifying integration, and act of collecting the forms (as idea) of "beauty, proportion, and truth" (Philebus 65a).  It is the unity of the mixture that "makes the mixture itself a good one" (Philebus 65a).  It is not a blending, or an "unconnected medley" of many, but the coordination of the many (forms) into a single, unified whole (Philebus 64e).  The Good, itself, is not an ingredient in the unified whole to which one can point or locate.  Therefor, it is not one of the many intelligible forms, and not intelligible itself by itself.

In the discussion of book VI of Politeia, the objection may be raised that there still seems to be a disconnect between sensible and intelligible, as sight and that which is seen is still separate from the intellect and that which is intelligible.  This seems to still indicate an imperfect lower realm of sensible experience, which must strive and relate to a metaphorically 'higher' realm of 'perfect,' intellect, as supported by the view that idea means an abstracted 'form' from which all sensible objects are merely copies.  However, nowhere in Politeia -- beyond the claimed images and metaphors -- does Plato espouse any separation.  In fact, he claims that "objects of knowledge" not only "owe their being known to the good," but more importantly, "their being is also due to it" (Politeia 509c).  While the Good, itself by itself, is beyond intelligibility (in that it is not an object of knowledge, but rather an act) in seniority and power, it is still the source of the reality of things.  It is that which allows things to be any thing, or some thing.  The emphasis he draws here is not idea as 'form' above or beyond things, but that their trough can be found within the existing object -- the reality of things (ousia), what is most true of things (aletheia).  Plato's warning is not that sensible objects are mere appearances, or imperfect tools (organon); instead, his warning is not to see the appearances -- just as his images and myths suggest -- as the realities themselves by themselves (as universals), but as sharing in them and reflecting in their truth (as particulars which must be collected as a whole in order to discover the true form -- the purpose -- of the particulars in collection).  The unity of the many forms make an object good and true, while the unity of the many appearances of a single form make its single whole, good and true.  Therefore, perceptible things are not forms in and of themselves, but are true appearances of those forms in conjunction and unified with others -- neither the intelligible nor the sensible object can be abstracted from the other, as it is their unity that makes their essence good.

The Philosopher's Return to the Cave, Part II

However, it isn't concerned with someone's doing his own externally, but with what is inside him, with what is truly himself and his own. One who is just does not allow any part of himself to do the work of another part or allow the various classes within him to meddle with each other. He regulates well what is really his own and rules himself. He puts himself in order, is his own friend, and harmonizes the three parts of himself like three limiting notes in a musical scale -- high, low, and middle.  He binds together those parts and any others there may be in between, and from having been many things he becomes entirely one, moderate and harmonious.

Plato, Politeia 443c-e

**Last post covered for the most part an explanation of the way in which Plato uses the Allegory of the Cave as a metaphorical version of his more abstract explanations of knowledge in the Divided Line.  This post will cover the rest of the paper, which will discuss the idea of The Good, the reasons for the Philosopher-king's decent back into the cave, and the role of the Socratic Teacher.

The prison dwelling of the cave, representative of the visible, introduces the "offspring of the good"  as discussed in the analogy of the sun found in book VI as well (Politeia 517b).  Though both sight and sensible objects are inherently present in reality, there must be a third thing which causes them to exist.  In the face, the firs is the third thing, whose light "yokes together" (from the Greek word "synousia") the prisoner's ability to see with the shadows on the wall and the objects upon the parapet, as well as his own physical form (this comes from the discussion between Socrates and Glaucon in Book VI in which he discusses the sun as that which "yokes together" sight and the things that are seen -- it is also the cause of their existence, and without it, neither the thing seen nor the seer would exist).  Keeping in mind that the point of Politeia is to discuss the proper ordering of the soul, it is thus that the soul within the visible can draw conclusions about the visible.  However, it cannot yet apprehend beyond particulars.  The focus is on opinion, contingent upon particulars that change and can be manipulated.  While the soul is ascending toward full disclosure or 'unhiddenness,' it is not yet genuinely liberated, as it is still dependent upon the sensible as the conclusive object of knowledge.

In another dialogue entitled Phaedo, Plato describes the proper orientation of the soul as separated from the body, which he -- metaphorically here -- represents as 'death.'  In death, reason itself is unencumbered by the senses which do "not allow it to acquire the truth and wisdom whenever it is associated with it" (Phaedo 65a).  Death allows the soul the ability to grasp at reality in its full unhiddenness, "using pure thought alone" to "track down each reality pure and by itself" (Phaedo 66a).  This is precisely what occurs in the Allegory of the Cave when the prisoner is freed and his eyes adjust to look at the purest forms (those objects in themselves outside of the cave, in the intelligible realm).  Now, the Philosopher-king resides in the most unhidden, "released from the regions of the earth as from a prison" (Phaedo 114c). 

The Philosopher-king provides a necessary function for Socrates' 'just constitution of the city' -- itself an image and metaphor, again, for the proper ordering of the soul -- as well.  The other classes cannot provide the function of rule, and for reasons that lie within the definition of the Just (for him, Justice in both the city AND the soul, is the harmonic functioning of each class doing that which each is suited for, and no other function which is provided for or allotted to another part).  Though the auxiliaries share in some aspect of intelligibility (lying within the second quadrant of the Divided Line, intellect for the object of sense), both the auxiliaries and clearly the working class rely too heavily upon apprehension derived from particulars.  Unable to grasp the unified form itself by itself, nor then the Good, these classes would not rule from the foundation of knowledge.  In order for the city's constitution to remain a just one, Socrates expresses that it must be the Philosopher-king who comes to rule the city, as he is the one in whom knowledge of the forms and the Good is achieved; thus, he "imitates them" in that they are unified and ordered and "tries to become as like them as he can" (by them, he means the highest forms of conceptual knowledge -- intellect for the sake of intellect -- universals; Politeia 500b-c).  

Socrates warns, however, that if given the chance, the Philosopher-king would remain within the purely intelligible outside of the constituted city; therefore, he must be compelled to act (note again the forcible language -- just as the prisoner must be forced up and turned around and dragged, so much the philosopher be 'compelled' to return, enduring the pain of all the transitions of knowledge). This is the only way the city can be, as a whole, Just -- the Philosopher-king must be the one who gives order and governance properly to the city, and does so in relation to the good of which only he is knowledgeable.  This produces the best constitution in that it clearly exhibits dimity, while any other would represent "natures and ways of life" that are "merely human" (Politeia 497b).  Also, as a lover of learning, he is most able to set himself free, and in so doing is also the one able to guide others to their own liberations.  It is for these two reasons -- metaphorically -- that the Philosopher-king must make the descent back into the cave.  

Various concerns can be raised about the nature of the Philosopher-king's task. Glaucon first gives voice to one in Book IV; he questions Socrates' description, asking:

How would you defend yourself, Socrates, he said, if someone told you that you aren't making these men very happy and that it's their own fault? The city really belongs to them, yet they derive no good from it... But one might well say that your guardians are simply settled in the city like mercenaries and that all they do is watch over it. (Politeia 419a)

Socrates answers that the constitution's goal is to "be fashioning the happy city, not picking out a few happy people and putting them in it" (Politeia 420b-c).  Thus, in terms of the image of the city, it is not the individual that is the aim (and by extension of the metaphor, not the aim to please one aspect of the soul over others), but the whole, unified city.  He seems to suggest here that the happiness of the Philosopher-king is entirely irrelevant in and of itself, though he also mentions that he would not be surprised if he were to be happy as he is, in this situation (that is, of returning to the cave to act as the liberator, Socratic teacher, and leader of the city -- of which he means, this is part of the souls duty, and as Aristotle suggests in his works of metaphysics, that a happy soul is one that is fulfilling it's purpose -- so here, the purpose is to bring order and intellect to the rest of the soul, and in doing this, must be happy).  

In fact, the "yoking" of the sensible and intelligible within the soul is the reason it must necessarily participate in the activity of the cave, in both the human and the divine, and cannot forsake one for the other.  Properly, man will be driven to grasp "everything both divine and human as a whole" (Politeia 486a) as he should be lame in "loving one half of it, and hating the other" (Politeia 5535d).  However, he must maintain proper orientation toward them; he must constantly be aware to maintain the governance of reason while still experiencing the sensible, keeping in mind that he is surrounded by hiddenness, and that the appearance of particulars are just that -- particulars; he must refrain from confusing the two knowledges, and must be aware that even in the necessity of particulars, that particulars do not give the whole of knowledge and are only a stepping stone to the intelligible.

All man can do, then, is be ordered as best "as a human being can" (Politeia 500c-d).  He will continually deal with the difficulty of misinterpreting images and forms, always between the two in risk of confusion.  However, once his eyes do become accustomed, because he has seen the forms outside the cave and can grasp them by intelligible means again, he will have an easier time discerning the images in the cave -- the particulars -- from true things themselves by themselves, the universals.  So long as he maintains the use of reason and understanding of the Good, he will not be tempted by the images of the cave, nor the honors or desires of the prisoners.  This person can be called the human philosopher -- one whose eros drives him toward knowledge.  He comes to use of reason in discerning that there is intelligibility of things, that the intelligibility causes there to be things, and that he must order his soul in such a way as to follow as best he can the paradigm of truth.  Throughout the process, the human philosopher not only comes to some knowledge of the things, the reality, around him; he also comes to knowledge of the self.

Each and every soul has the ability to learn, as reason is a necessary part of it.  However, it cannot be reason alone that is reoriented in light of what it discovers of the Good -- it must "like an eye that cannot be turned around from darkness to light without turning the whole body," be "turned around" in all aspects (Politeia 518c-d).  In order to do so, he has to come to self-knowledge, so that he may properly understand the orientation of the soul in relation to itself as well as the orientation of his whole self towards truth and goodness. So far, the discussion has focused on the stages of the ascent to knowledge and its product; it must also be discussed what kinds of things, in fact, bring about the 'turns' within and outside the cave, causing the movements of becoming toward actualization.

Intitially, when the prisoner is first encountered in the cave, Socrates alludes to the state of ignorance; but upon the first motion, or 'turn,' the prisoner is initiated into the process of becoming -- the role of the soul that "strives toward being" (Tschemplik in his work, Knowledge of Self-knowledge in Plato's Theaetetus).  It is through this motion that learning can occur.  In Phaedo Plato describes the learning process as recollection, in which the soul recalls the universals which are present in relation to the eternality of the soul.  However, recollection deals simply with the potential of learning things, which does not necessarily contain the knowledge of things; rather, knowledge must be accessed by a different method, which is reflected by the ascent from the cave, and further discusses in another of his dialogues, Theaetetus.  What it does show is that persons possess knowledge, inherently, and the process of coming to know the already knowable is "necessarily self-reflexive" in that "what we can know is a necessary part of the question what can be known in general" (Sedley in his work The Midwife of Platonism).  

Once the first movement is made within the cave, the soul lies between ignorance and knowledge.  This middle ground provided the point from which the inquiry and ascent to knowledge begins. Perception becomes correlated with intelligibility, and upon observing things, triggers the love and thirst for more understanding.  However, both Socrates and Theaetetus in the dialogue Theaetetus come to the conclusion that this preliminary turn, the internal dialogue and self-examination of the thinker alone, is not sufficient enough to produce knowledge -- the prisoner cannot unshackle himself, and must be forced from the cave into the light.  Therefore, there is a need for a 'facilitator' -- the role of the already-enlightened Philosopher-king -- which also comes to be known in philosophy for years to come as the "Socratic Teacher."

Socrates, in the dialogue, describes himself as such a facilitator, likening himself to a midwife over the state of the soul (instead of a midwife who facilitates in physical birth of the body; this, instead is helping others to give birth to their own ideas).  Consistent with the idea of recollection, the midwife (or henceforth, the Socratic Teacher) does not give knowledge; the idea or knowledge 'given birth to' is still the idea of the thinker, and the Socratic Teacher simply aids in its 'delivery.'  Thus, the Socratic Teacher himself is best when serving as a reflective to the learner, and is not someone who himself forces ideas and uses them as a comparison tool -- the focus is simply on his commitment to allowing the self-reflection of the learner to naturally occur. The violent ascent from the cave, particularly, highlights the need for the other in the process of education and learning. The other is not responsible for placing new knowledge into the prisoner; he is only responsible in leading the prisoner from the cave.  What the prisoner 'gives birth to' is that which is already within him -- the reaction to the aporia (see our discussions previously of the term from our readings in Out of the Silent Planet) he experiences upon the first turn within the cave (and again, upon reaching the cave's opening).  The ascent out of the cave represents the dialectical testing of his knowledge of the cave over and against what he will come to see in the forms themselves.  In the process, he will eventually decide the worth of his prior knowledge, which then aids in defining the self -- either in the case of knowledge of knowledge, or in the case of knowledge of his ignorance.

The descent of the Philosopher can be explored within these same terms.  Knowledge itself is not a static and stable thing -- yet, it is not the things known, the forms, that are changing as they are eternal and unchanging by their very definition; rather, it is the knower who is constantly in the state of becoming.  As man desires the immortal, namely in knowledge (for Plato, particularly of the Good), he attempts to be as like it as he can be: he attempts to appear immortal, and does this be continually replenishing knowledge "all over again" (Plato's dialogue, Symposium 198d).  The illusion of continuity -- of being "outside the cave" -- is then the constant human endeavor of studying the knowledge  that is "leaving us, because forgetting is the departure of knowledge, while studying puts back a fresh memory in place of what went away, thereby preserving a piece of knowledge, so that it seems to be the same" (Symposium 207e-208a).  Thus, the return to the cave is inevitable; it is man's forgetting of the knowledge that forces the descent.  He must continually make the ascent, with the aid of a Socratic Teacher (as he acts as one for others as well), as dictated by man's constant striving toward the actuality of the divine, which is itself beyond intelligibility.  Thus, the real knowledge man comes to is this continual pursuit of knowledge and self-knowledge, which is one of the goals of human philosophy: one must strive for renewed self-knowledge with each and every new birth of ideas and judgments, upon rediscovery of knowledge of things and ideas and the world and the self -- whether they be knowledge of knowledge, or knowledge of one's ignorance.  

Despire not being able to live as a fully intelligible, divine being, man need not feel as if he is caught in a Sisyphean task of forever-becoming-and-never-reaching.  The process, even when resulting in knowledge of our own ignorance, is not a fruitless or pointless endeavor.  It is a positive self-knowledge in that "we shall be less inclined to think we know things which we don't know at all" (Theaetetus 187c).  Living as pure intelligibility, in fact, would not be conducive to human living -- it would not be beneficial for the philosopher to remain outside his duties toward the cave or the city, nor would it be beneficial in the soul of reason to be disconnected from its duty towards the lower functions of appetite.  To make a human attempt to live in pure intelligibility, while impossible, would be to neglect all other aspects of the soul which would not disappear as a result -- the physical human elements will still be present.  It is for the same reason that the soul should not focus on the appetitive desire alone, that the soul should not focus on reason along -- this would not qualify it as just, nor as good, but rather ad dysfunctional, incomplete, and inhuman.  Instead, all parts must be in proper balanced proportioned in order to be what Plato calls "beautiful" and "good."  It is for this reason that man cannot metaphorically remain outside the cave for longer than necessary to recollect the ideas of truth, beauty, and goodness, of the reality in which he lives.  He must always return to govern himself in such a way as to maintain order and consistency within himself, and avoid internal conflict, contradiction, and war.

The Philosopher's Return to the Cave, Part 1

**Adapted from a term paper I wrote for a seminar on Plato in Fall 2011.

Plato's affinity for the dialectical use of myth and image often envelops his modern reader as much as it does the interlocutors within the dialogues themselves. It is precisely through the dialectical nature of his writing that he exhibits the aims of his philosophy: that of coming to self-knowledge through the struggle of apprehension.  Socrates, to his interlocutors in Theaetetus, calls himself a 'midwife' -- not of the body, but of the soul -- claiming that his purpose is to help men "give birth" to their ideas.  In this process, the knower comes into dialogue with the thing known, and through self-reflection comes to knowledge of knowledge, or knowledge of one's ignorance.  Either way, the outcome is a positive one. Plato's dialogues function similarly; they do not themselves aim to give new knowledge, but simply to aim to become means through which to access the orientation of the self.

This process of coming to knowledge, in general as well as of the self, is also represented in Plato's most famous images, the Allegory of the Cave.  The Allegory in Book VII of Politeia highlights the journey of a prisoner as he is released from his bonds and able to see those things which he was unable to see in his prior, bound, state (the idea of the ascension of knowledge is also explored in a more abstract way in book VI, through his discussion of the Divided Line -- the philosophies are mirrors, or 'reflections' of each other in much the same way that the line itself is divided in a mirror between 'thought' and 'belief').  Plato's point is that there is, in fact, "some thing" that is apprehended, and this some thing comes to be apprehended with increasing degree of clarity through the process of metaphorically ascending the continuum (i.e. the Divided Line) until "what is completely is completely knowable" (Politeia 476e-477a).  Not only in this process does the prisoner of the cave come to knowledge of objects of apprehension -- of the shadows, the objects behind the shadows, the fire, the other prisoners, etc. -- he also comes to knowledge of himself, unhidden, as the subjective 'apprehender,' and eventually knowledge of that which allows both to occur (the object of knowledge, and the subject gaining that knowledge).

In his initial, shackled state, the prisoner is in an imprisonment to images.  For the prisoner, truth is what lies in his field of vision, which is "nothing other than the shadows" of the objects being carried across the parapet and projected not he wall in front of him (Politeia 515c).  Even his self-knowledge is limited; not only can he not see his own physical body -- only the shadows of himself projected onto the wall -- but he also cannot properly ascribe to which object his own self (his voice, his perspective, etc) belongs.  And yet, the prisoner is content in his ignorance; there is no reason to believe that what he is seeing is untruth -- and really, it is not "untruth" -- shadows are real, the light playing on the wall is real, the wall itself is real.  Yet, the fullness of reality is still partially (if not, mostly) hidden.  What is unhidden to him at this stage is the images, or more remotely, the shadows of images (and this first situation of the Cave corresponds to the first subsection of the divided line: imagination, imagining represented by images, not the objects themselves, where one must rely upon sense alone as means to apprehend the sensible).

The first change to the prisoner's condition, indicated by motion (note the similarity here with the language of Aristotle), represents his first "turn" toward becoming (see? lots of Aristotle).  He is released from his shackles (and also note that there must be another individual involved here, as one cannot unshackle oneself, but must rather be released by someone who is further than oneself along the process of knowledge -- this becomes the Socratic teacher, which we'll talk about later), and is able for the first time, to look around and move himself.  At first, the prisoner is pained and unable to see through the light of the fire as his eyes are accustomed to darkness, and so retreats back to the familiarity of the shadows.  The aversion to the higher degree of 'unhiddenness' is representative of the soul's own sort of 'self-imprisonemnet' which results from a "clinging to the body" that "wallows in every kind of ignorance" (Phaedo 82e-83c).  However, the prisoner now has two things which he did not have in his initial state: first, a wonder (aporia -- remember that word??) about the change to his original situation; and secondly, a new awareness of his own form, no longer attached to the shadows of the wall, which turns to the first signs of inwardness.

Once the prisoner eventually becomes aware of and embraces this increased degree of 'unhiddenness', he is now able to make some use of reason (in terms of the Divided line, he is now in a state of belief, in which he is able to apprehend sensible objects through intelligible means, connecting the objects and the fire as the causes of the shadows).  However, the objects known, while originals of the shadows, are still sensible and "manufactured" (Politeia 509d-510e); he is still within the walls of the cave, and thus everything is not completely and fully unhidden -- there is still much to existence (thus, much to knowledge) of which he is yet unaware.  At this point, he can draw conclusions about the visible, but cannot yet apprehend beyond particulars.  The focus is on opinion, contingent upon particulars that change and can be manipulated, as it is still dependent upon the sensible as the conclusive object of knowledge.

The full liberation from the sensible then must therefore come in a more violent fashion -- in the second 'turn,' the prisoner is dragged even more forcibly and painfully from the cave into the sunlight above.  This is necessary, as the change lies not in the means of apprehending, but rather the entire shift to a different object of apprehension (i.e. from the visible/sensible object, to the intelligible object of knowledge).  At first however, the prisoner -- now a 'free man' -- cannot yet focus on things "as they are," but because of the pain of the bright sunlight must see things in moonlight, in reflections in water.  Though the soul does not yet come to first principles -- things themselves by themselves -- it is able to derive some intelligibility from particulars.

The final movement of the ascent is the freed man's turn towards the most unhidden -- the 'forms' -- the true objects themselves in the sunlight without the need to rely on reflections. He also now not only recognizes the sun as that which gives light outside of the cave, but also importantly recognizes its connection to the light of the fire inside the cave (this final turn represents the highest subsection of the Divided Line, Understanding).  Here, the soul no longer makes use of the sensible, but instead comes to knowledge "using the forms themselves and making its investigation through them" (Phaedo 510b).  It is also in this final turn that the soul comes to knowledge of the Good -- represented in his metaphor by the sun -- the "highest idea" or the "form of forms" (itself, not a 'form' in the same sense as other ideas -- it can never be grasped a concept because it is pure act and not an object of intelligibility).  The prisoner, become freed man, in the final movement becomes the ideal of Plato's metaphorical Ideal City -- the Philosopher-king.

The Philosopher-king plays an essential role (that of the highest form of the soul -- Justice) in his ability to reside within the forms, in the highest state of knowledge and intelligibility away from the sensible.  Socrates warns in the dialogue, however, that if given the chance, the Philosopher-king would remain within the purely intelligible outside of the constituted city; therefore, he must be compelled to act.  This is the only way the could properly govern those below -- stuck in the sensible realm -- and thus would produce the best constitution (and by extension of the metaphor, the best ordering of a balanced, individual soul).  As a lover of learning, he is oat able to set himself free, and in so doing, is also the one able to guide others to their own liberations (see the aside above about the guide out of the cave -- again, it has to come from another, and not the individual self who cannot release himself from what he does not know to be a prison; it must be another, someone with higher understanding).  It is for these two reasons that the Philosopher must make the descent back into the cave, as Socrates suggests.

If the Allegory is viewed solely as the stages of formation of the Philosopher, there are two, more literal, ways of interpreting the descent correlative to the reasons expressed above.  First, the Philosopher's descent in order to govern, in such a way that "political power and philosophy entirely coincide," which is the only was Socrates argues that the constitution of the city can ever "be born to the fullest extent possible" (Politeia 473c-e).  Because he has seen the good himself, the Philosopher is not tempted by appetitive desires, and regards "justice as the most important and most essential thing" (Politeia 540d-e).  It becomes his civic duty to order himself, as well as the city and its citizens.  And second, the Philosopher must also descend in order to educate, to become the 'midwife' (see the beginning) to others within the cave, and to guide them in turning toward intelligibility.  He becomes a means by which others can be educated, aiding them in 'turning around' -- must like the terms of his own ascent to freedom -- and attempting to lead them out of the cave to their own freedom.

Note also that this is no easy task, this descent of the Philosopher.  Just as his eyes required patient adjustment when looking at light -- be it from the fire or later the sun -- he will again require patient adjustment when filled with the darkness of the cave.  The rupture between him and the prisoners would seem to make it very difficult for the Philosopher to be the liberator of others without appealing in some way to what they know -- opinion.  Because the prisoners reside among images (shadows), his appeals to knowledge would be ineffectual.  The divide between them thus resides in their competing emphases: the understanding of what is "temporally good" versus the understanding of the good as "eternal truth, of which men cannot be persuaded" (Arendt, "Philosophy and Politics" 95).

There is also a final reason, in appealing to the metaphor as a metaphor and not as literal above, that the Philosopher must return to the cave.  Again, at the beginning of the Allegory, Socrates makes a point to remind his interlocutors that the people in the cave are "like us" (Politeia 515a) extending the ascent not to a specific privileged or learned group, but to all man in general.  The ascent symbolizes the movement of the soul from us of images to use of reason as its orientation toward knowledge of truth and the Good.  In the soul's most unhidden knowledge of the world and of itself, it is able to grasp intelligible truths through purely intellectual means directly. However, this pure being is itself only something that can be fully actualized and achieved by the True Philosopher: The Divine.  Despite the soul's desperate inclination to pursue the unhidden, itself by itself, man is not purely divine.  Rather, he is a combination of body and soul, finite and infinite, sensible and intelligible in a continual process of becoming -- as a result of this, like the Philosopher-king, the soul must constantly fluctuate along the Divided Line, constantly striving for pure Understanding but only touching upon it -- he must continually reach back to sensible things for examples, images and metaphors to visually 'see' the concepts, and must satisfy the senses (and appetites).  For this reason, Understanding is forever beyond man's grasp, in much the same way the actuality is in Aristotle's philosophy.

Becoming Comfortable in the Uncomfortable

There are a multitude of places where Philosophy and Psychology intersect, or collide. We'll look a lot at how the nature vs. nurture debate has formed, where knowledge comes from, the ordering of the mind, and psychological processes related to learning.   As we discuss identity, knowledge, and learning in the coming weeks of philosophers like Plato and Kant, I can't help but think back to the beginnings of my teacher-education (i.e. the credential post-bacc program) and learning about Lev Vygotsky.

Vygotsky is credited with the idea of the 'tools of the mind,' in which his psychological theories aim to describe mental activities and growth in much the same way as physical actives; in order to be good at physical activity, one must practice that skill over and over again.  And think about it -- the first time you rode a bike, the first time you stood at a the plate in baseball ready to take live pitching, the first time you tried your hand at playing violin, the first time you ever had to run a long distance race, the first time learning an incredibly intricate dance move or routine -- it's very likely that, unless you're a talented natural or a freak of nature, that you sucked the first time around.  And, it's possible that sucking that much deterred you from the activity in some cases, and you quit trying.

I'll use myself as an example.  I hate sucking at things.  In fact, it is widely known in my family that I refuse to ever pick up golf clubs and play, because I KNOW for a FACT that if I ever was dragged onto a course and forced to hit the ball, that I'd suck so royally, that I'd end up crying by at MOST the fourth hole (likely MUCH sooner).  I have thus, never picked the game up, and I'm putting it off as long as my family will let me -- I won't even start the activity out of fear of being bad, it's not even that I was bad and quit.  Not even going to START.

On the converse of that, I really like to bowl, as well, and it took me a long time to come to terms with the fact that I wasn't very good, and to just enjoy it as is. Today, I'm not great, not terrible, but there are still games where I end up in hot, frustrated tears (I can't help it, it's how my anger manifests)! Yet, after several games of being absolutely terrible -- gutter balls, never picking up spares, never ever getting a strike -- I finally had a moment where I got a couple strikes in a row (five in fact; it was totally a fluke).  And the feel of that small bit of success fueled me to stick with it.  I now (well, prior to this whole pregnancy thing) bowl in a Tuesday league with other fellow teachers, and it's a blast.... even when I suck :)

So its very commonly known that 'practice makes perfect' when it comes to physical activities -- it's expected that the first-go-around isn't going to be great, and we generally have fairly low self-expectations in that regard.  We work at it, put in tons of effort, lift weights, work out, practice, and look for incremental results.  Vygotsky's theory corroborates this.  Then he takes it a step further, and applies this same idea to mental activities: we must practice our 'mental tools' in much the same way we do our 'physical tools' if we ever want to be intellectually "good" at something.  He argues that, until we begin to utilize those mental tools, and hone them through practice, our learning is largely a product of our environment, meaning, that our learning is something we do not control ourselves. We simply absorb what the world gives us, take things at value, and in essence, are susceptible to corruption, mind control, and brainwashing at the very worst of it (aka a hostile environment).

I don't think anyone would say they want to be brainwashed, or perceived as living with a corrupted mind or a product of some external control.  And yet, SO often, people are less likely to want to practice the mental activities that it takes in order to rid themselves of such a state.  When it comes to school, and education, and learning in general, we are much more likely to take the easy way out, the 'path of least resistance,' and deem things 'too hard' and give up.  To connect to our reading, we are more likely to be like the prisoners in the cave, who upon being unchained and told to look up at the light, wince away in fear and return to the shadows where we are comfortable. Thinking is hard.  It is work, especially when we've been so mind-numbingly trained to accept things from 'authority' (yes, this is seriously one of my BIGGEST gripes about the education system of America -- it is designed to breed rule-followers and task-completors FAR more readily than it is to produce free thinkers and innovators, despite what people, the media, and politicians tell you -- all you have to do is look at the state of standardized testing for that to be obvious).  So, when we're presented with something that is mentally taxing -- a particularly difficult word problem in math, a situation in a scientific experiment gone as unintended, a dense piece of writing, etc. -- we walk away, give up, and leave it to someone else to figure it out.  We are simply too busy expending our mental energies on whatever other menial excuse for a task we want to convince ourselves is more important, to do the active practice it takes to develop that skill.

So what does this mean? Well, if taken to its logical extreme, this means that our mental laziness is actually detrimental to our capacity to think.  We are living in a time of mental atrophy, because the world does the thinking for us, and so we listen/read/accept.  Maybe this is why the sorns in Lewis' Out of the Silent Planet were so hell-bent on maintaining all of their knowledge and histories in their minds -- where it has to be constantly worked, realized, remembered, retained.  It is the mental reps necessary to maintain and bolster that 'muscle.'  Today, we see mental challenges, and scoff.  We see difficulties, and look for easy ways to subvert.  We lose ourselves to the machine of society, we become drones, we willfully surrender our freedom, we "love Big Brother" and see "2+2" as "5" and know that "we've always been at war with Eurasia."

Of course I'm being ridiculous at this point, but there is something to be said for why all of the major dystopian novels of the 20th century have basically shown humans as mindless, controlled, unintelligent and media-driven beings.  So I guess the question is now, what are we going to do about it? Hopefully, learn to enjoy the uncomfortable feeling of being challenged, of being mentally pushed, and the satisfaction of being comfortable with our success and learning in retrospect, in the same way we feel accomplished after the completion of a race, or a winning (or losing, because we should...) game, or a particularly difficult piece of music we've mastered.  I guess it's up for you, individually, to decide whether or not you want out of your own cave -- the only person chaining you in there, is you.

The Importance of Being Genuine

It came up in conversation in class last week in our discussion of personal identity that very often we put on 'faces' or 'masks' when we are with different people and in different situations.  I've been wanting to comment on this since, and I think today is the day.  So here are my thoughts...

It's obvious that there is truth in this -- there are things one wouldn't say to one's parents that one would say to friends, that would clearly be out of the question in front of Grandma.  People clearly act on a different level in an interview with a potential employer than they do in front of their classmates in school.  Students act differently around teachers they like than around teachers they don't like, and have to moderate the different personalities and styles of each class room.  We approach coworkers in different ways to maintain peace.  We approach strangers from detachment until we get to know them, and in different ways depending on the environment (e.g. strangers met at a wedding vs. strangers met at the local bar).

Nowhere is this 'masking' more apparent than on the internet nowadays.  People create profiles, selectively post specific information about themselves, post pictures that highlight typically the positive aspects of their lives (unless looking for negative attention, which is a different situation altogether), select only specific things about their experiences to talk about, and generally paint a specific picture of themselves and their lives.  We could even discuss the anonymous sector of the internet, where people create user identities completely bereft of relationship to their 'true' selves, posting commentary and discussions with other people, strangers to themselves, which the internet advertises as the only way to free ourselves from the constraints of reputation in a way that allows us to openly share opinions 'without judgment.' Of course that belief is overrated -- at least, I think so.  I don't know if the anonymous internet actually allows us to "be ourselves." Or, if it just allows us to be jerks to others with the safety of the distance in screen, and personal, social, or moral connection.  We are given the 'freedom' to say what we want -- to call people out, to make fun of them, to be divisive, to make assumptions (improperly, most often), to judge, to criticize, etc. in more ways than we would ever do so in a face to face manner, because no consequence can come. What are you going to do to me, say something mean back? OOOO I'm scared.

To connect it all together, it makes me terribly sad that things are this way, that it is commonly held as truth that we must 'put on masks,' and that is exactly the image we use -- masks.  Masks, classically, are defined as objects which are used to intentionally conceal and hide one's identity.  And yet, it is the first image we pull when we discuss the way we deal with various peoples.  Masks.  It is an underlying assumption then, linguistically, that we do in fact portray a 'face' that is 'not our own' to most people we come into contact with.  As a result, our interactions with most (if not all, including ourselves, even) are inauthentic and false.  So when are we ever truly who we are?

I guess it can be argued that all of these faces, these 'masks,' collectively show a true and holistic picture of ourselves.  But this would seem to suggest that we're constantly in a state of self-fragmentation, of fracturing ourselves in such a way as to highlight things at the behest of others we aim to keep hidden.

I guess my major concern -- and I have no true answer for it, other than to raise the question of it today -- is: when will we get to be wholes? When (or is it even possible?) can I be myself, the same self, in all situations, every situation, with all different people, without a mask, or a face, as I am, in totality? Will I always have to conceal and select what I show of myself, or can I be the same person all the time? If so, what kind of person must I be in order for that to be successful, or what consequences should I expect as a result? Just some food for thought.

Our Beloved Pets: The "Adjuncts" to Humanity

There are many different definitions out there as to what it means to be a 'person' -- the humanistic definition (such as one like the contemporary philosophy Robert Spaemann's here) in which "persons have their their nature such that they are not merely their properties and attributes," and a more Lockean definition based in pcyhological continuity.  While the humanistic definition tends to advocate what seems like speciesism, there has been much discussion of late regarding the possibility of deeming certain animal species as persons -- apes, elephants, porpoises (think about the ramifications of such a classification for already majorly-scrutinized Sea World!) and many people content that we do and should give some kind of recognition to other living beings which affords them a level of protected dignity.

So here's a thought-experiment regarding those species and their possible 'personhood' -- and not just the higher-level beings like the ones listed above, but more closely linked to us, our pet-species.  Like human persons, animals are single unique wholes, and respond to stimuli in a way which invokes sensations like pain (which, we can empathize with, too).  There is an 'inwardness' which non-human beings have in common with human beings -- what often lacks though is recognition of sensations such as pain is the animal's failure to achieve mutual understanding (or empathy) about that pain with another being; animals lack conceptual language, the ability to translate that pain and empathy into words in order to share the abstract concepts, which the human person does have at his or her disposal.  This is the ability which many in the humanist-camp see as part of the experience of what it is to be a person inherently.  Thus, the lack in the animal is that which makes it not a person.

Of course, you can make the argument that many humans lack this language as well -- newborn babies lack language and the ability to understand or conceptualize empathy, as do those who may have very severe mental disabilities, or those in comas -- which would disqualify them from personal status with this definition as well, in the same way that the psychological continuity argument of the Lockean-camp would also suggest. However, the difference lies in the concept of potentiality.  Language is a potential the entire species has, by genetic-nature as was as cultural-nature, even if it is something individuals may not have, due to some mutation or nurtured-deficit because of lack of development.  In fact, it is through the prior recognition of the parent, who speaks to the child as a person, that the child develops language and eventually comes to recognize himself or herself as a person.  Like Hegel contends in his Phenomenology of Spirit, it is through the interaction of two subjective minds that the subjective self comes to recognize himself as the subjective self, or in this case, as a person.  Without that subjective interaction, what may occur is simply a recognition of the self as a distinct thing from another object, but only when confronted with another person do we recognize that we are persons as well.

It seems, quite often, that we at least recognize many other qualities in non-human beings which are like our own.  Naming our pets, recognizing in them qualities such as pain and hunger, and even the more advanced skills of language recognition in the form of trained commands, seems to suggest our bestowal upon the animal at least some element of personality which makes the being not strictly a 'something.' What might be occurring is not so much the true personhood of the animal, but rather a projection of our own personhood in a way that leads to a level of empathy with the living (non-human, non-person) being.  For example, because I have already recognized in myself my own personhood, when I see qualities which are exhibited like personality in my pet, I choose to treat her as a person, and I empathetically bestow upon her some of the freedoms which persons are afforded -- such as a particular name, certain humane treatment, etc. However, no matter how much like a person I treat her, she will never come to recognize herself as such. Ultimately, the personhood of which we recognize is not the animal's, but our own.

No matter how much we talk to the animal as a person, in the same way we talk to our newborn children who have not yet (that's the key -- the property is innately there) developed linguistic skills, they simply will not learn to use language in the same way as to recognize in themselves our personhood or their own, at least, not yet.  It may be that evolution may allow for such a development of capabilities, in which case the entire species -- like porpoises -- deserve the recognition of being persons. But, it would have to then lie within the norm of the entire species, and not some special singular case.  Unfortunately, we have yet to find many instances of species with this capacity.  And yet, it may be that we only recognize intelligences which manifest in the same way as our own, which leaves still the possibilities that our own egocentric understanding of person may simply not be enough.


[This was adapted from a paper I wrote on the subject for a Personalism class -- in fact, it was a response to another students' paper on the subject (our responses were three pages instead of one)]