Nothing, In Particular

Socrates and Theaetetus have a brief discussion about the idea of non-being and whether or not one could even think about it. Ultimately, Socrates decides that it is incomprehensible since to think about it, one would need a term of being. This got me contemplating on nothing in particular.

One of the problems with nothing as a concept (and infinity as well) is that it must be bound linguistically to be relevant to human beings. But the very thing that gives us the ability to discuss nothingness also makes it a something rather than a nothing. The very act of defining it makes it a non-nothing. One cannot truly type the concept of nothing, as the word itself is definable as at the very least, a word. Whereas this defining places a lower limit on nothing, it does the same, but with an upper limit to infinity.

Aside from the problems faced by philosophers of mind and linguistics, the discussion of nothing ties in nicely with Plato's ideas of the Forms and soul. It is natural that the soul exist both before and after life, as it cannot slip into nothingness. If it were to do so, either it would be unknowable (and we therefore would know nothing of it), or it would still be definable in its lack-of-soul-ness (as opposed to soullessness which is a problem nearly unique to the legal field). Likewise, the Forms must exist, because without them, a quality would not be readily knowable, as it would be coming out of nothing. It may be perceivable in nature, but for Plato, without the Form, there would be no quality to define. This is almost replayed by Berkeley in that things exist so long as they are in the mind of God.

While much of this may seem tangential, it provided another link in the chain for my understanding of the inner workings of Plato. Unless my opinion is wrong, in which case, I will cover that in my presentation.

A Face Only a Philosopher Could Love

What I most want to analyze in the opening of the dialogue is Theaetetus' comparison to Socrates. Most youths that we have encountered thus far have been described in terms of beauty and the desirability that said beauty brings. This is not so with Theaetetus. He is described as being near the looks of Socrates, though less so. While this would probably be deemed an insult by most, because it is one of the so rare physical descriptions in Plato's anthology, it must be of some importance.

If Forrest Gump suffered from Socrates' looks, he would have said, "I am not a pretty man." This is why it is so intriguing that Theaetetus is described as looking like Socrates. I believe it to be a comparison to their respective levels of wisdom. Though both have been forsaken by the triviality of corporeal beauty, Socrates is the uglier of the two, and the wiser.

I would also like to toss around the idea that as Theaetetus is described as have features slightly more beautiful (less ugly) than Socrates, he is on his way to them. That is to say, could the reference to their looks be a way of saying Theaetetus is travelling along the same journey Socrates took to his current level of wisdom? Or is this an allegory of how Socrates came to be there? Either way, when placed in conjunction with the comment about how Socrates predicted great things for Theaetetus, it is not hard to draw a conclusion that Socrates was either projecting that Theaetetus would do well and become like him, or that Theaetetus would achieve great things because he was like Socrates.

Hemlock, Stock, and Two Smoking Points to Make

I want to focus on two particular aspects: the first being Socrates' treatment of inevitability and the second, his final words.

Inevitability insofar as this dialogue is concerned, distinguishes itself quite potently from the modern opinion of it. Modern society seems to have an obsession with control. It can be seen in the frequent checking of communications, the desire to rise to the top of whatever field in which one finds one's self, and even in the frequent checking of clocks. Each one of these examples is a way in which we as individuals can be sure that things are not happening without our knowledge, and therefore without our input and control. We are so obsessed with control that we compulsively check the time, as if the time's changing is something that is influenced by our knowledge of it. We want to know when the minute hand will next tick, as if it is waiting for our approval. This can be contrasted with the ancient view in which people are not so individualistic. Socrates preaches a contentment. He seeks wisdom for wisdom's sake, but he is content to be poor, and to be good enough at his trade to survive. He is a part of a society, and knows that entails not being in control of anything beyond himself. When it comes time to die, he is accepting, because he has relinquished control. The inevitable means something will happen; we in the modern world just fear things happening outside of our control.
Our fear of the inevitable comes from our misunderstanding of what is enough. To control ourselves, to pursue wisdom, and to sustain ourselves are all enough. In the end, we will die, and that will be enough. No amount of anxiety will change that. We could do worse than to adopt Socrates' attitude on this.

One other peculiarity that I found was in Socrates' final words. I won't make the argument that he chose Asclepius because hemlock was his cure for life. Instead, I would like to say that it seems from this passage that to be just is to pay one's due. Despite all of the argument in the Republic, here we have Socrates at the end of his life, instructing someone to pay back a debt. The fact that it is a god shows piety's connection to justice. Maybe the choice for Asclepius is to indicate that Plato is righting his former misjudgement of what justice is. Or maybe the fact that Socrates is dying shows that the debt balance view of justice belonged to Socrates and now we can move past that to healing it.
Or Crito is charged to be the healer of men.

Delian Deliverance

There are two major curiosities that I would like to mention from the very beginning of the dialogue. The first being that this is told first hand. The second is how closely Apollo is paired with Socrates.

While I am not familiar enough with the collected works of Plato, I am curious as to what is implied by who the narrator is. I just feel like having a narrator who was there is not accidental. I would like to hear something on the subject.

The more substantial portion of this post is focused on the connection between Apollo and Socrates. While it is well known that Socrates is a vehement follower of Apollo, the allusions to the god make more of a statement about the view of Socrates and whom he represents in the dialogue rather than just his religious life. Primarily, Apollo is one of the main oracular gods, affiliating him with wisdom (a comparison made in the Apology with reference to the Delphic oracle's judgement of Socrates). One of the first instances of this relation that we encounter in this particular dialogues is contained within the pilgrimage to Delos. The execution is postponed on account of a pledge made to Apollo not to pollute the city with death. It is quite significant then that Socrates' death is viewed as a pollution, and is not sanctioned by the god.  Going one step further, with the connection to Apollo's oracular nature, Plato is saying it is unwise (and boerderline impious) to kill Socrates. While that seems obvious enough for us a few millinia later, there is a nuance to be appreciated for its time.

Secondly, Phaedo mentions that Socrates felt he, "would not go without divine providence," even to Hades. I took this as another allusion to Apollo. What is interesting about this particular reference is that Hades is a cold, dark, barren place full of mindless shades, and Apollo is the god of the sun, radiating light, warmth, and wisdom. Interestingly enough, given the reincarnation aspect of this dialogue, Hades (with it's jewelled pseudo-sun of myth made for Persephone) sounds much like the Cave, and Socrates with his providence by Apollo being the freed captive.

Abstract

In this paper I intend to advocate a multi-tiered approach to analysing Plato’s allegory of the cave and its symbolism using the narrative nature of the allegory. Following the path of the philosopher, one can elucidate three main commentaries from Plato: a social commentary on the behavior of Athens, a spiritual commentary on the journey of the soul (better expanded in later dialogues), and finally a commentary on the philosopher himself, along with the proper ways to practice philosophy. Important factors and symbols to note will include the captives themselves, the shadows, shadow makers, manner of freedom, fire, ascent, and sun, all within the narrative framework of the individual’s journey, and re-evaluated for each leg—so to speak—of the trip.  It is my ultimate goal to demonstrate that the proper practice of philosophy intersects with and is inseparable from these three—social, spiritual, and philosophically minded—aspects of one’s life and situation.

Poros to the Left, Metis to the Right, Stuck in the Middle with Eros

At the forefront of Plato's Symposium is the discussion of Eros, but equally as important is the force that moves the conversation. Eros itself is propelling the speakers. With each successive speech, the occupants of the symposium have fallen more and more to their passions for wine and revelry until the conversation makes its way to Socrates. He, representing wisdom, has not fallen to the drink, and instead speaks most clearly, and with the most telling message. In fact, his speech is about using the passionate desire for eros and beauty to escalate one's self to wisdom and the forms when the entire event has been comprised of a sort of microcosm of this; each speech moving from erotic passions, to love of beauty, and eventually arriving at Socrates. Diotima's ladder has itself been represented in the nature and progression of the symposium, as an event rather than just a title.

It is also worth noting that Socrates places Eros as between gods and men. It is not something that can sit content like the rest of the gods. Rather, it is a driving force, a hunger, and a catalyst for action. Socrates treats it much like the appetitive component of the will. It is not innately good or bad, but rather something to be trained for one's betterment. It can, if unchecked, drive one to become Alcibiades, or it can make one a lover and seeker of wisdom, but it is up to the rational will to decide. The most intriguing part of this treatment of the passions is that it is far from the typical view that Plato viewed all passion as negative, and far more closely in line with later Christian theologians such as Augustine who emphasize a turning of the will back to God (who by and large fits closely with Plato's description of the Good).

Just Running

"And this is the way with the just; he who endures to the end of every action and occasion of his entire life has a good report and carries off the prize which men have to bestow," is one of the lines of Book X that most caught my eye, because in it, I see the clearest definition of justice that Plato offers.

It would seem to me that the analogy of the runner carries with it many different aspects of justice. First, one cannot owe another. These debts would slow him down or make him answerable and in some aspect controlled by another. So at least this most primitive definition of justice is encompassed, but there is much more here. Plato points to a timelessness of justice: that it's not so much that one can act just and unjust, but rather that one is to be consistently just to the finish line. But using "just" in a definition of justice does not do much good. 

Another way this analogy helps to define justice is focussing on keeping good report with every action. This brings to the forefront a duty aspect of justice. If one is to be just, one must do his duty. Where this becomes interesting is in what one's duty is. Duty changes from station to station and between professions, but even greater so does duty vary between cultures. A Lakedaimonion's duty is not the same as an Athenian's, but in some way they are both tied together. The fulfilment of one's duty to whichever one is bound seems to participate in the form of justice. So long as one endures to the end of every action--be that action Spartan or Athenian--one will carry off the prize; one will be just.

What is interesting about this is the way in which Justice is both a constant and malleable. As a Form, it is eternal, but it seems as though the way in which one participates in that Form is effected by one's circumstance. While I haven't quite figured out what this means, or where it is going, I do think it is of interest to note and discuss.

Plato's discussion of the different types of government in Book VIII caught my eye the most for several reasons, the greatest of which is how he places avarice at the root of the decline of each government.

Given that Athenians are known for democracy, it is also striking that Plato places that among the most easily corrupted forms of government. However, following the root cause of corruption, one can easily see how the democracy is more open to be corrupted. By allowing the few to influence the votes of the many, democracy is compromised. In the view of Plato, democracy is only as good as its citizens. When there is inequity, the lower class becomes dependent on the upper class, creating a situation in which they either compromise integrity for needs, or suffer for integrity. In Plato's eyes, they will almost assuredly compromise. But behind this compromise, there is greed driving the upper class. They are the ones who can afford to help, but their greed will extend beyond the monetary and lead into a hunger for power. This contrasts greatly with the typical egalitarian view of democracy as the tyrant slayer.

When viewed in contrast with the Timocracy of Sparta, it becomes even more peculiar from an Athenian stand point. Given that it is the Spartan way, one would think that it would be less favorable. However, it is the ideal situation for a guardian. one must earn his way there. The downfall comes when one ceases to prove his merit and sits on his laurels.

The underlying issue with both of these contrasting forms of government are the ways in which corruption comes to exist. It is not inherent in the workings or the structure of the political system, but comes about as a flaw within the people. Plato seems to rail against complacency and the desire for manipulations of others. When one looks at what makes a good philosopher in his eyes, it is easy to find other examples. The philosopher in the cave can never be complacent to have seen the light without sharing it, and the manipulating influences are exposed as mere shadows. For Plato, the good soul is content with his station, but never complacent. He does not desire beyond his means or what he deserves, but he does strive toward wisdom. More than anything, the philosopher sees other people as souls which are not to be mistreated.

Spelunking

What strikes me most about the allegory of the cave is the layering involved. While I won't go too much into detail, for fear of later being redundant during my presentation, in the one individual's journey, three are taken.

 First, and most common is the social; Socrates narrates the journey of any given Athenian-- or indeed any given person-- through the levels of increasing socialization, ranging from familial instruction to acclimation to the culture, and even formal education before moving onto questioning and developing the culture and society.

Secondly is the journey of the soul (which will also be referred to as the spiritual journey). Here we see a soul brought into darkness-- amnesis-- then shown the fire which makes it aware of its state of ignorance, before beginning its ascent to anamnesis, all the while stumbling as its level of enlightenment changes. Eventually, the soul is able to ascend to the realm of the Forms in its reckoning with the entirety of the sun. At this point, to go backward back into darkness is not only a descent, but as blurring and numbing as the ascent originally was.

Thirdly, there is the journey of the philosopher. One begins unaware that there could be a reality other than the one being experienced. It is in questioning and being unable to accommodate something new in one's previous system that reveals the flaws of one's perceived reality (such as the inability to explain the objects and fire as a part of the world of shadows). From this point, one begins on a ascent of inquiry, all the while stumbling and squinting to discern what is and what is not real. The ultimate goal is to understand the Forms, but in doing so, one must trek long and hard, all the while resisting the urge to become complacent in the degree of light that one's wisdom finds itself until the sun is finally grasped. At this point, to go back and accept the images and reflections of opinion and assumption of the old reality would be a dizzying miasmic blur.

The last and to the philosopher, the most important piece is the charge. Socrates sends the enlightened individual back down into the cave to enlighten his fellows. While it is a hard trip back, the philosopher must cling to the wisdom he has gained and resist the urge to acclimate himself to the darkness. His duty is to lead others out, not fall back into their place.

 When one takes a step back from the allegory and looks at the narrative as a whole, this charge is executed by Socrates in his own descent from the enlightenment (or at least the perceived enlightenment) of Athens, down into the Piraeus: down from the upper echelons to the common folk: another moment of Plato's framing Socrates as the ideal philosopher-- never complacent, and always dragging others to the light.

Techne-ing Over Sophia: The Dark Side of Plato

I would like to focus on a point that has—until the end of Book II—been left unanswered. Thrasymachus raises quite the deep cutting point that to be just does not really seem to have any advantage over being unjust. In fact, not only do the unjust get ahead in their pursuits, but the gods even give them fewer toils and troubles. Since up to the ending of Book II, the only potential answer to Thrasymachus has been that the afterlife may be better (though in other dialogues Plato/Socrates admit that the afterlife is a mystery), the issue deserves further thought.

The idea of justice as an obstacle to pursuits that is shed for greater benefits seems at its surface to be an ethical issue. When taking into account other voices in the dialogue and their claiming justice as a necessary evil to societal life—i.e. a social contract theory—it becomes something in the realm of political philosophy. However, the objections raised to justice do more than just strike at any one realm of philosophy; they cut it to the core.

One can easily see the damage that this position could inflict to the entire realm of ethics. Not only does acting justly lie at the base of most ethical dilemmas, but to treat any ethical value or virtue as something which provides no benefit really takes all the wind out of the sails of the ship of ethics. It leaves it a floating monument of inquiry, but still something that will not take anyone anywhere. If there is no reason to practice ethics, then it is hard to make a case for ethics to exist. Though perhaps one could argue that it is better for people in general to behave ethically.

Moving on to this Machiavellian (though anachronistically so) view that although one can get ahead by being unjust, the whole falls behind if everyone is, one is confronted with a sort of prisoners’ dilemma; sure, being unjust will give better pay outs, but if everyone else is unjust, no one gets anywhere. This situation gives some credence to why justice should be deemed a good, but it still does not vindicate justice. Instead, it leaves it as a statute rather than a virtue, and statutes hold no inherent power.

Justice, goodness, and a select few other abstract concepts lie at the core of philosophy, if philosophy really is to be considered the art of living well (via the pursuit and love of wisdom). However, if one of these concepts—in this case justice—is to be something which does not hold to be an inherently worthy pursuit but rather a means to an end, then all of philosophy takes a blow. It leaves sophia a sort of side show to techne. To say that the utter uselessness of philosophy would lead to a sort of nihilism would be to put it lightly. Nihilism itself is a philosophical stance that at least is arrived at through the study of philosophy and the pursuit of wisdom. Without philosophy being at least a worthy endeavour, only skills survive. The world of the wise and ethical dies, and the world of the business major is left to rise.

So while the importance of justice to the world of philosophy is here underlined, what is left unsettled is why philosophy is so important, or even whether it is a real and true pursuit. The answer must lie past Book II.

A Defence of Death and Questions

One of the aspects most apparent to me in my past dealings with Plato and especially the Apology has been Socrates' utterly stoic—if not flippant—attitude toward death. Analysing the entire tone of the Apology, one can see that Socrates' defence is not so much an attempt at acquitting himself of charges in a desperate bid to remain free, but rather a sort of final lesson and last lecture of someone resigning himself to his fate. That is not to say that Socrates maintains a sense of solemnity or even somber diction. Much to the contrary, phrases such as the following show the deep sarcasm and apathy toward death that Socrates feels.

If you doubt whether I am really the sort of person who would have been sent to this city as a gift from God, you can convince yourselves by looking at it in this way. Does it seem natural that I should have neglected my own affairs and endured the humiliation of allowing my family to be neglected for all these years, while I busied myself all the time on your behalf, going like a father or an elder brother to see each one of you privately, and urging you to set your thoughts on goodness? If I had got any enjoyment from it, or if I had been paid for my good advice, there would have been some explanation for my conduct, but as it is you can see for yourselves that although my accusers unblushingly charge me with all sorts of other crimes, there is one thing that they have not had the impudence to pretend on any testimony, and that is that I have ever exacted or asked a fee from anyone. The witness that I can offer to prove the truth of my statement is, I think, a convincing one--my poverty.

Words such as that certainly seem not to be devoted to Socrates’ saving himself, but rather to justifying his life and actions with a kind of sarcastic disregard for the consequences, and the consequences very well could be (and are) death. The significance of this attitude cannot be understated in the grand scheme of philosophy. Between the Apology and the Phaedo, Plato—through Socrates—establishes philosophy not as a study or a discipline, but a way of life to be lived straight to the grave. 

          The materialist fears death because all of his wealth remains in the corporeal world after death—a place in which Socrates is sure the soul will not dwell. The average person lives and dies as a plaything of the gods with no real consequent of his or her life. Achilles even is humbled by death. Socrates however, sees death as the release of the philosopher to a higher wisdom. That human wisdom to which we are limited only applies so long as we are humans in the material world. While Socrates will further explain these concepts in the Phaedo, the groundwork is laid through his life. That is not to mean over the course of his life, but rather by the very nature of his life, and that poverty stricken life of the philosopher culminates in a death into wisdom.

          Not only does the fiscal poverty of Socrates denote him as a philosopher beyond the world, but also his poverty of spirit is what truly paves the path for philosophy. When discussing the politician and shipwrights and poets, Socrates always finds himself the wiser for knowing the limits of his knowledge. His acknowledgement of the human condition as imperfect and limited in scope and ability are what led him to this wisdom: not his ability to answer questions, but to ask them. Through all of his defence, Socrates does not seem so much concerned with answering the accusers’ questions, but rather asking questions of them. Here he departs one more lesson. Philosophy is not so much about having the answers, but the art of asking question well.