I read things as an aesthetician these days, a philosopher of art and beauty. So in rereading and teaching the Meno after many years I am struck by the ending, which for me is interestingly related to the Ion, which is so important for aesthetic theories. Both make a big deal out of the idea that right opinion, even when divinely inspired, is different from knowledge, and that although knowledge is to be preferred, there are some areas in life where right opinion divinely inspired is to be preferred on practical grounds. The main theme of Meno is the question of the nature of virtue.
The dialogue begins with an attempt to define virtue, followed by the famous discussion of the doctrines of reincarnation and recollection, followed by the discussion with Meno's slave which is supposed to show that knowledge is recollection, followed by a discussion with the politician Anytus over whether virtue can be taught (certainly not by the Sophists) and ending with the notion that it cannot be taught and hence is a matter of mere right opinion, although perhaps only when such opinion is divinely inspired. The ending is rather depressing. Generations of philosophy teachers have suggested that we are expected to come to our own conclusion, that although virtue cannot be taught in the traditional sense, Socrates is implying that we can learn how to be more virtuous through the method of question and answering, i.e. the Socratic method. That is, the Socratic method will succeed where the Sophistic method and the more traditional methods of Anytus failed. Perhaps also, it is commonly suggested, the solution to the problem is to be found in the Theory of Forms which, although not fully set forth in this dialogue, features strongly in such dialogues as the Republic and the Phaedo. I tend to believe that dialogues need to stand on their own and that the ending of this one leaves us with inspiration alone with no real intimation of salvation in a worked out theory of Forms.
Perhaps inspiration is supposed to be tied up with recollection in some weird way, although it is hard to draw a strong parallel between the work of an inspired politician like Pericles and the capacity of Meno's slave to come up with a sophisticated mathematical proof when sufficiently questioned. After the discussion with the slave, Socrates says "a man who does not know has in himself true opinions on a subject without having knowledge." (86c) But this would make the slave and the brilliant politician the same, except that the slave's true opinions are not actualized and the politicians are. Before going on to discuss the dialogue in more detail I should note the strangeness of a dialogue that can jump so quickly from religious stories of reincarnation to mathematical proof connecting the two under the same mantle.
But let's begin rather with the question of whether or not virtue can be taught, i.e. in our own situation. I teach philosophy in a university and sometimes I teach classes in ethics. The question often comes up whether we can make our students more virtuous by teaching them ethics. Of course, as Socrates observes, the question of what is virtue is prior in some sense. For example, the teaching of ethics, if it were possible, would be different for each one of the definitions of virtue that Socrates and Meno consider. So we need to know which definition is right in order to know whether virtue can be taught. (There is a sense in which the process of investigation into the nature of virtue is itself the only valid training in virtue.)
Let's say that virtue is just action and a virtuous person is someone who always acts in a way that is just. So the question is whether telling students about various theories of justice and even asking them to apply these theories to their own lives will make them more just. Socrates makes fairly clear that virtue is not just a form of knowledge: if we want to teach virtue we do not just want to teach people the various theories of virtue or of justice. We want to make them more virtuous at the end of the process. Can this be done? I am not sure that those who teach ethics classes are trying hard to do this, although I have known some who are strong advocates for certain ethical positions and for certain changes in society that would themselves bring more justice, for example those who advocate radical reform of our criminal justice system. Others think that just getting students to think more logically and/or more deeply is imbuing them with virtue, especially rational or intellectual virtue, but maybe even something more than that: we often say that we are trying to make them better citizens.
So what are we to make of the idea, as presented at the end of the Meno, that virtue, both in politics and in art, is not gained through nature or through teaching but through divine influence? If we don't like the strictly religious take on this (and I, as an atheist, would reject it) we can focus on Socrates' use of the word "unconscious." The virtuous individual is "divine" or god-like in that "with no conscious thought" (99c) he is "outstandingly successful."
And what are we to make of the thought that wisdom is of no help in this situation? Doesn't this imply that the solution offered in the Republic, where the philosopher-kings rule by and through their wisdom, is not available here? Doesn't an emphasis on inspiration and the "right opinion" that comes from that undercut the entire rationalist project? Socrates says "it is not only under the guidance of knowledge that human action is well and rightly conducted." He even implies that it is through the non-knowledge method that "men are made good." (96e)
Socrates does suggest the possibility of an exception, i.e. someone who not only had virtue but would be able to "create another like himself." Such a person would be "a solid reality among shadows." The concluding paragraph of the dialogue does hold out some hope in this respect: "On our present reasoning then, whoever has virtue get it by divine dispensation. But we shall not understand the truth of the matter until...we try to discover what virtue is in and by itself." But then, oddly, Socrates finishes by asking Meno to convince Anytus "that what we now believe is true" where "what we now believe" would seem to be that virtue is a matter of divine inspiration and cannot be taught by anyone, not even the average gentleman citizen of Athens, which was the position of Anytus.
So we are left with the thought that perhaps in some sense virtue is teachable, or at least that would still be a question that is left open, as long as we come up with a definition of virtue, i.e. one that meets all of the criteria for a good definition that were set forth early in the dialogue. There are no teachers of virtue now, but perhaps there will be in the future, and perhaps these will use the method of Socratic elenchus, as it is tied to recollection, which is not strictly a matter of teaching. (The idea that the elenchus will ultimately give knowledge is suggested when Socrates says of the slave "if the same questions are put to him on many occasions and in different ways...in the end he will have a knowledge of the subject as accurate as anybody's." But if the elenchus is understood in this way it should not be simply equated with what Socrates normally does with his interlocutors. It is a different kid of instruction, for example it does not lead to aporia. It is really more a kind of training than a kind of inquiry. So maybe this is not elenchus. But then it is hard to see how virtue could be taught in this way: in what way is virtue like mathematics and in what ways is it different?)
However, Socrates' view on this is not too convincing for us as we are unlikely to accept the idea of reincarnation. It is not even clear that reincarnation helps since if one learned virtue in a previous life the problem would remain how one learned it. Or to put it in terms of the lesson taught to Meno's slave: if he learned how to prove this mathematical theorem in a previous life and is only recollecting it now we still have the problem of how he learned it then. Of course Socrates has a way out of this in arguing that the slave learned these opinions "when he was not in human shape" which implies that the relevant previous life is not a previous human life and thus does not have the limitations of human life, and further that "if...there are going to exist in him, both while he is and while he is not a man, true opinions which can be aroused by questioning and turned into knowledge, [then] his soul has been forever in a state of knowledge" which would imply that the soul is immortal and the knowledge is somehow fixed in its eternal essence. (86a) From this he infers that we should "take courage" and try to discover what is there, i.e. our immortality means it has got to be there.
Perhaps the theory of recollection is just a metaphor for the process of interactive questioning and answering in which the student is expected to come at the correct solution by way of thinking for herself rather than by way of, e.g., memorizing the answer. I think this is the lesson most of us take from the Meno, not one about an earlier life or even about some sort of recollection. Nothing is re-collected or re-called, but rather the potential exists in the mind of the pupil to learn this through the process of guided thinking for herself. If you want to call this potential "recollection" well, fine, there is recollection.
Of course, as Socrates observes, knowledge is more valuable than right opinion in that it is "tethered down" by "working out the reason." (98a) The difference between knowledge and true opinion is that when you have knowledge you have "the reason." I suspect that "the reason" is pretty much the same as what he was looking for earlier in the dialogue, i.e. the correct definition. We will have knowledge of virtue and not just right opinion of it when we have the right definition of it. But since, "for practical purposes right opinion is no less useful than knowledge," (98c) it is not entirely clear how having the reason or the definition can help.
Another problem: if it is true that, as Socrates says "good men themselves are not good by nature" then how can he also imply that wise men are wise by nature insofar as what they recollect in their wisdom is part of their natures? Why do we need to bring in gods and inspiration when nature should do the trick? Even the doctrine of recollection does not bring in gods: it is not that we recollect because we access something divine (although of course this in implied in the Phaedrus.)
One final point for now. Socrates can be read as taking a position ironically quite close to that of Protagoras as set for in the Theaetetus and arguably a position that the real Protagoras accepts, i.e. that instead of giving his students truth (or knowledge) he is teaching them virtue by way of helping them replace bad ideas with better, more useful, ideas. So, similarly, Socrates slides away from the doctrines of reincarnation and recollection and simply says that he will fight long and hard for this "thing": "that we shall be better, braver, and more active men if we believe it right to look for what we don't know than if we believe there is no point in looking because what we don't know we can never discover." (86c) Interestingly, this is a sentence that few scientists or philosophers would reject even today. Perhaps it is the moral of the story. But it is ironic that it is essentially a sophist move given that most of the story is in reaction against the work of the sophists, Meno himself being one of them, trained by Gorgias himself.
Showing posts with label Socrates. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Socrates. Show all posts
Friday, March 18, 2016
Wednesday, February 3, 2016
Plato's Apology from an Aesthetic Point of View
Most people who read the Apology think about the ethical issues involved. However, there are some points relevant for aesthetics that are worth considering. I will only consider one here. It comes at the beginning of the dialogue. Socrates begins by making a big distinction between the way that he will speak in court and the way an orator would. Presumably, an orator would be an artist of speech. Socrates insists that he will only speak the truth. His sayings will not be "expressed in elegant language like theirs [the orators], arranged in fine words and phrases," which style he also refers to as "polished" and "artificial" (I will be using the Reeve translation as found in Introductory Readings in Ancient Greek and Roman Philosophy, Hackett, 2015). By contrast, he will be speaking "extemporaneously in whatever words come to mind" with a view to what is "just" or true. Again, he wants his judges not to pay attention to his "manner of speaking" but to what is true. So he is not claiming just that he has a different style than the orators, but that his style is irrelevant: only the truth is relevant. This of course assumes that truth value of a statement is radically other than its style, and that the second feature may be ignored in favor of the first. It is implied that there is something wrong about elegant language, fine words, the polished and the artificial. Aesthetically pleasurable language is likely to disguise the truth. This is not to say that he is opposed to the orator's art: it is just that that art lies in "telling the truth."
I am not convinced that Socrates is without style, that his "spontaneous" style is not a style, or that there is such as thing as simply telling the truth in a way that radically separates manner from content. What we love about Socrates is in part his ironic style. Can we separate his style from the truth value of what he says?
I am not convinced that Socrates is without style, that his "spontaneous" style is not a style, or that there is such as thing as simply telling the truth in a way that radically separates manner from content. What we love about Socrates is in part his ironic style. Can we separate his style from the truth value of what he says?
Tuesday, October 14, 2014
Mindfulness and Everyday Aesthetics
I had my Introduction to Philosophy students read Thich Nhat Hanh's The Miracle of Mindfulness tr. Mobi Ho, Boston, Beacon Press, 1987. I have long thought of Buddhism as having possible implications for an aesthetics of everyday life. Nhat Hanh's book is largely a meditation on "The Foundation of Mindfulness" or the Satipatthana Sutta translated from the Pali by Nyanasatta. (Please forgive not including the proper marks on these names.) Arnold Berleant, an American aesthetician whom I will be commenting on at the upcoming American Society for Aesthetics national meeting in San Antonio, has provided us with a series of books outlining his "aesthetics of engagement." His notion is that aesthetics should be understood as closely allied with the original meaning of "aesthesis": that it involves all sense experience. So one idea is that proper aesthetic experience involves paying close attention to experience, and in particular, sensuous experience. This would ally Berleant with Buddhism. "Engagement" is like "mindfulness," although there are also some differences. Berleant downplays the element of pleasure in aesthetic experience: one can also have negative aesthetic experiences. Buddhism (and I am only thinking here of how Buddhism is expressed in The Miracle of Mindfulness) is somewhat different. That is, Buddhism seems to hold nothing to be ultimately negative. One is even encouraged to meditate on the decay our bodies will undergo after death. Another difference between the two is that "mindfulness," although it does get us to appreciate the things of everyday life in much the way everyday aesthetics does, does involve something similar to what Westerners have called "contemplation": and Berleant rejects the contemplative mode of experience as central to aesthetics. For him, engagement entails bodily engagement but not detached engagement. He associates contemplation with disinterestedness and "the aesthetic attitude," all three of which he rejects. Still, Berleant, who is also an important aesthetician of nature, would surely approve of the following quote from Nhat Hanh: "I like to walk alone on country paths, rice plants and wild grasses on both sides, putting each foot down on the earth in mindfulness, knowing that I walk on the wondrous earth. In such moments, existence is a miraculous and mysterious reality. People usually consider walking on water or in thin air a miracle. But I think the real miracle is not to walk either on water or in thin air, but to walk on earth. Every day we are engaged in a miracle which we don't even recognize: a blue sky, white clouds, green leaves, the black, curious eyes of a child- our own two eyes. All is a miracle." (12) Perhaps, however, the language of "mysterious" and "miracle" would be too religious for his taste. I do not find any problem with the language as such.
Of course mindfulness can be said to go beyond aesthetics. I often wonder where aesthetics leaves off and the practical (on the one hand) or the religious (on the other) begins. In response to a complaint that a work life does not allow these woodsy rambles, Nhat Hanh says, "keep your attention focused on the work, be alert and read to handle ably and intelligently any situation which may arise - this is mindfulness. There is no reason why mindfulness should be different from focusing all one's attention on one's work, to be alert and to be using one's best judgment." (14) Here there is no emphasis on the senses in the way we found in his country walk. Paying attention to the work at hand may even involve not paying attention to aesthetic qualities. So, for this and other reasons, I would not want to prematurely identify mindfulness with aesthetic engagement in Berleant's sense. There is an affinity, but mindfulness has other dimensions. Is a life devoted to an taking an aesthetic point of view (except in those cases where an ethical or a purely practical point of view is necessary) truly valid? (One thinks here of the question of Walter Pater's aestheticism).
A lot of the idea of mindfulness is based on methods of breathing. Paying attention to your breathing may give us aesthetic pleasure, but the main purpose seems to be as a method for achieving certain goals. One could argue, of course, that mindful breathing is itself an art and that, to be done rightly, it requires attending to certain aesthetic qualities. Nhat Hanh writes: "Your breathing should flow gracefully, like a river..." Moreover, the mastery of breathing is also art-like in that it involves control, much like the musician's control of an instrument and of the sounds it produces, and of course this is associated with the aesthetic quality of harmony, in this case "inner harmony." Thus one can speak of a positive aesthetic dimension to the results of breathing mindfully: "To master our breath is to be in control of our bodies and minds. Each time we find ourselves dispersed and find it difficult to gain control of ourselves by different means, the method of watching the breath should always be used." (20) There may also be an aesthetic dimension to the "one-ness of body and mind," which is made possible by this disciplined breathing. (23)
It is not seated meditation, however, that draws the everyday aesthetician to think about Buddhistic mindfulness but the extension of meditation to everyday life. Nhat Hanh most famously refers to mindfulness in washing dishes: "While washing the dishes one should only be washing the dishes, which means that while washing the dishes one should be completely aware of the fact that one is washing the dishes." (4) This could be misinterpreted by a Western philosopher to mean that one should just concentrate on the truth of the proposition, "I am washing dishes," which, I think, would be quite wrong. Rather, one should be conscious of one's every action in washing dishes while washing dishes. Maybe one should be conscious of the dishes too (as they are part of the total experience). Nhat Hanh also observes that if you are focusing on the cup of tea that you might have after this unpleasant task of washing dishes you are not fully focusing on the moment.
Sometimes I do not know how far the affinities go between everyday aesthetics and Buddhistic mindfulness. Nhat Hanh quotes a religious community as saying: "one should not lose oneself in mind dispersion or in one's surrounding. Learn to practice breathing in order to regain control of body and mind...." (22) Is there something wrong with aesthetic appreciation of one's surroundings? Or is this just that the task at hand, i.e. meditation, involves detachment from aesthetic experience of one's surroundings? If the sole issue is self-control to achieve "concentration and wisdom" then is the aesthetic somehow lost in the process? Or is it gained back at the end of the game?
Sometimes, mindfulness methods seem directly relevant to aesthetic experience. Nhat Hanh describes a day of mindfulness and says, "Drink your tea slowly and reverently, as if it is the axis on which the whole earth revolves - slowly, evenly, without rushing toward the future. Live the actual moment. Only the actual moment is life." This sounds like the pathway to aestheticism as well. Slow drinking of the tea would allow one to concentrate on its aesthetic qualities, and also the aesthetic qualities of one's own actions. The aesthetic demand is to notice the now...to live, as is also the demand of mindfulness.
One of the results of meditation is to "achieve inner peace and joy." (35) These can be seen as aesthetic qualities, although not of external objects but of one's own mind. Finding "peace and joy in this very moment" seems to be a requirement for a certain kind of aesthetic life as well. So, perhaps, the methods of mindfulness are not aesthetic in themselves but have an important aesthetic result.
One thing I have trouble with, not so much because of my commitment to aesthetics as because of my commitment to the sort of philosophy that goes back to Socrates, is the relatively negative attitude expressed towards thought, language and even conversation. If the goal of mindfulness is to not think through a thought but to simply acknowledge one's thoughts and then let them go then thoughtful exploration of ideas, philosophical dialogue, and thoughtful philosophical writing, become impossible. If the goal of conversation is not to concentrate on what is being said and on its implications but rather (as Nhat Hanh portrays it) on not being distracted from one's breathing by attending to the conversation, then it would be hard for a Socratic philosopher to see mindfulness as something that takes over much of one's life. Time that could be spent in dialogue or in talking, thinking or writing would have to be sacrificed to time spent in not doing those things. And this is always the dilemma for the Socrates-minded philosopher in thinking about mindfulness: which sort of wisdom do we want the most, the sort that comes through what we would call mindful dialogue or the sort that comes through mindful breathing and sitting?
However, the aesthetic payoff may be worth the price. Nhat Hanh writes that, with mindfulness, "Drinking a cup of tea becomes a direct and wondrous experience in which the distinction between subject and object no longer exists." (42) One thinks of Nietzsche's concept of the Dionysian which also results in ecstatic oneness. Yet,, Nhat Hanh contrasts the oneness with the cup of tea with "the illusory divisions of separate selves, created by concepts and language" and it is "concepts and language" that provides the path to the Socratic-style wisdom even in Nietzsche...there is no getting around it. (42)
Perhaps the ideal of philosophy would be to find a way to combine these two forms of wisdom.
Nhat Hanh stresses the interdependence of all things, and one thinks of Hegel. Certainly if one takes the path of contextualism in aesthetics (where the aesthetic object is only fully experienced when one understands its full context) one does think a lot of interdependence. But he also says: "This meditation is not a discursive reflection on a philosophy of interdependence. It is a penetration of mind into mind itself, using one's concentrative power to reveal the real nature of the object itself." (45) Is there room for philosophy then? Well, there might be, for Nhat Hanh sounds a lot like Edmund Husserl in his description of phenomenological method.
In any case, the way Nhat Hanh plays this out can be of some value to the aesthetician. Especially useful is his discussion of experiencing a table. "The table's existence is possible due to the existence of things which we might call 'the non-table world': the forest where the wood grew and was cut, the carpenter, the iron ore which became the nails and screws....If you grasp the table's reality then you see that in the table itself are present all those things which we normally think of as the nontable world."
Of course mindfulness can be said to go beyond aesthetics. I often wonder where aesthetics leaves off and the practical (on the one hand) or the religious (on the other) begins. In response to a complaint that a work life does not allow these woodsy rambles, Nhat Hanh says, "keep your attention focused on the work, be alert and read to handle ably and intelligently any situation which may arise - this is mindfulness. There is no reason why mindfulness should be different from focusing all one's attention on one's work, to be alert and to be using one's best judgment." (14) Here there is no emphasis on the senses in the way we found in his country walk. Paying attention to the work at hand may even involve not paying attention to aesthetic qualities. So, for this and other reasons, I would not want to prematurely identify mindfulness with aesthetic engagement in Berleant's sense. There is an affinity, but mindfulness has other dimensions. Is a life devoted to an taking an aesthetic point of view (except in those cases where an ethical or a purely practical point of view is necessary) truly valid? (One thinks here of the question of Walter Pater's aestheticism).
A lot of the idea of mindfulness is based on methods of breathing. Paying attention to your breathing may give us aesthetic pleasure, but the main purpose seems to be as a method for achieving certain goals. One could argue, of course, that mindful breathing is itself an art and that, to be done rightly, it requires attending to certain aesthetic qualities. Nhat Hanh writes: "Your breathing should flow gracefully, like a river..." Moreover, the mastery of breathing is also art-like in that it involves control, much like the musician's control of an instrument and of the sounds it produces, and of course this is associated with the aesthetic quality of harmony, in this case "inner harmony." Thus one can speak of a positive aesthetic dimension to the results of breathing mindfully: "To master our breath is to be in control of our bodies and minds. Each time we find ourselves dispersed and find it difficult to gain control of ourselves by different means, the method of watching the breath should always be used." (20) There may also be an aesthetic dimension to the "one-ness of body and mind," which is made possible by this disciplined breathing. (23)
It is not seated meditation, however, that draws the everyday aesthetician to think about Buddhistic mindfulness but the extension of meditation to everyday life. Nhat Hanh most famously refers to mindfulness in washing dishes: "While washing the dishes one should only be washing the dishes, which means that while washing the dishes one should be completely aware of the fact that one is washing the dishes." (4) This could be misinterpreted by a Western philosopher to mean that one should just concentrate on the truth of the proposition, "I am washing dishes," which, I think, would be quite wrong. Rather, one should be conscious of one's every action in washing dishes while washing dishes. Maybe one should be conscious of the dishes too (as they are part of the total experience). Nhat Hanh also observes that if you are focusing on the cup of tea that you might have after this unpleasant task of washing dishes you are not fully focusing on the moment.
Sometimes I do not know how far the affinities go between everyday aesthetics and Buddhistic mindfulness. Nhat Hanh quotes a religious community as saying: "one should not lose oneself in mind dispersion or in one's surrounding. Learn to practice breathing in order to regain control of body and mind...." (22) Is there something wrong with aesthetic appreciation of one's surroundings? Or is this just that the task at hand, i.e. meditation, involves detachment from aesthetic experience of one's surroundings? If the sole issue is self-control to achieve "concentration and wisdom" then is the aesthetic somehow lost in the process? Or is it gained back at the end of the game?
Sometimes, mindfulness methods seem directly relevant to aesthetic experience. Nhat Hanh describes a day of mindfulness and says, "Drink your tea slowly and reverently, as if it is the axis on which the whole earth revolves - slowly, evenly, without rushing toward the future. Live the actual moment. Only the actual moment is life." This sounds like the pathway to aestheticism as well. Slow drinking of the tea would allow one to concentrate on its aesthetic qualities, and also the aesthetic qualities of one's own actions. The aesthetic demand is to notice the now...to live, as is also the demand of mindfulness.
One of the results of meditation is to "achieve inner peace and joy." (35) These can be seen as aesthetic qualities, although not of external objects but of one's own mind. Finding "peace and joy in this very moment" seems to be a requirement for a certain kind of aesthetic life as well. So, perhaps, the methods of mindfulness are not aesthetic in themselves but have an important aesthetic result.
One thing I have trouble with, not so much because of my commitment to aesthetics as because of my commitment to the sort of philosophy that goes back to Socrates, is the relatively negative attitude expressed towards thought, language and even conversation. If the goal of mindfulness is to not think through a thought but to simply acknowledge one's thoughts and then let them go then thoughtful exploration of ideas, philosophical dialogue, and thoughtful philosophical writing, become impossible. If the goal of conversation is not to concentrate on what is being said and on its implications but rather (as Nhat Hanh portrays it) on not being distracted from one's breathing by attending to the conversation, then it would be hard for a Socratic philosopher to see mindfulness as something that takes over much of one's life. Time that could be spent in dialogue or in talking, thinking or writing would have to be sacrificed to time spent in not doing those things. And this is always the dilemma for the Socrates-minded philosopher in thinking about mindfulness: which sort of wisdom do we want the most, the sort that comes through what we would call mindful dialogue or the sort that comes through mindful breathing and sitting?
However, the aesthetic payoff may be worth the price. Nhat Hanh writes that, with mindfulness, "Drinking a cup of tea becomes a direct and wondrous experience in which the distinction between subject and object no longer exists." (42) One thinks of Nietzsche's concept of the Dionysian which also results in ecstatic oneness. Yet,, Nhat Hanh contrasts the oneness with the cup of tea with "the illusory divisions of separate selves, created by concepts and language" and it is "concepts and language" that provides the path to the Socratic-style wisdom even in Nietzsche...there is no getting around it. (42)
Perhaps the ideal of philosophy would be to find a way to combine these two forms of wisdom.
Nhat Hanh stresses the interdependence of all things, and one thinks of Hegel. Certainly if one takes the path of contextualism in aesthetics (where the aesthetic object is only fully experienced when one understands its full context) one does think a lot of interdependence. But he also says: "This meditation is not a discursive reflection on a philosophy of interdependence. It is a penetration of mind into mind itself, using one's concentrative power to reveal the real nature of the object itself." (45) Is there room for philosophy then? Well, there might be, for Nhat Hanh sounds a lot like Edmund Husserl in his description of phenomenological method.
In any case, the way Nhat Hanh plays this out can be of some value to the aesthetician. Especially useful is his discussion of experiencing a table. "The table's existence is possible due to the existence of things which we might call 'the non-table world': the forest where the wood grew and was cut, the carpenter, the iron ore which became the nails and screws....If you grasp the table's reality then you see that in the table itself are present all those things which we normally think of as the nontable world."
Tuesday, September 9, 2014
Plato's Take on Inspiration: The Ion
Socrates claims that Ion does not have art, but merely inspiration. But what is inspiration? Plato's Ion is often read in conjunction with Book X of the Republic, particularly in aesthetics classes. There are some remarkable similarities and differences. In both writings, the poet (and also the inspired interpreters of the poet, including the rhapsode, the critic and the actor) does not really know anything, and certainly does not know what he claims that he knows. In both writings we have a series that starts from and moves away from God. In the Republic, God is the creator of the ideal bed, the carpenter is the maker of the bed in the world of appearances, and the painter is the maker the painted bed. The painter is the imitator. (The whole account of the three beds is there to define the true imitator. Once we know how the painter, as well as the actor who pretends on stage to be, for example, a general, is to be distinguished from the creator and the true maker, then we have the "imitator" defined. "Imitator" does not mean anyone who imitates but rather someone who merely captures the surface appearance of something. Someone who holds a mirror to the world is also at this level.)
In the Ion, the God (or the Muse) is the first magnet, which then gives its power to the poet, who is the second magnet, who, in turn, inspires the rhapsode (or the actor) as well as other artists (for example dancers and stage-designers) involved in performing his work. The audience is at the fourth remove from the Muse.
The remarkable difference between the Republic account of the three beds and this is that in the Ion the poet is only two removes from reality, i.e. is in direct communication with God, and therefore takes the same place as the craftsman in the Republic. I am not going to worry, here, about which work was written first by Plato, although I should mention that the Republic is generally considered a middle and the Ion an early dialogue, which would make any change of mind on Plato's part be something that takes place after the Ion and before the Republic.
There are some differences between the actions involved in the two sequences as well: in the Republic the carpenter's bed is a copy of the ideal bed, and it in turn is imitated by the painter's bed. In the Ion, there are not two processes, but just one: inspiration, which is passed down from one magnet to the next. It is more dynamic in this way. Also, inspiration is just different from imitation. One can imitate with skill, whereas no skill is involved in inspiration qua inspiration. Inspiration is more magical: the inspired person participates in the source of inspiration, they are as if one with the source. The experience of inspiration is closer to a religious experience, whereas the act of imitation could be secular, mechanical, and solely for entertainment purposes. Imitation can involve more detachment, where only the surface form of the original is captured. Inspiration, by contrast, seems to pass on its inner essence: the poet passing his inspiration from God on to the the rhapsode, and the rhapsode doing this for the audience.
Historically, artists have found more support in Plato's theory of inspiration than in his theory of imitation. It is also interesting (and possibly contradictory for Plato) that Socrates saw himself as inspired in some way. In the Apology he often refers to a personal daemon, and there is a passage in the Symposium that implies that he is occasionally possessed by this inner spirit. Also, he praises wisdom in the Apology and says that he has no real knowledge. So, perhaps he is like Ion in being inspired by a God and in having no knowledge. (Someone who finds the Ion attractive as providing a theory of artistic creation might combine it in some way with the account of the Socratic way of life in the Apology.) However, Socrates also asserts in the Ion that, although the poets and Ion may have wisdom, he himself does not have wisdom and is only interested in truth and knowledge! This would be inconsistent with his position in the Apology that he has no knowledge, although not inconsistent with his commitment there to truth. I cannot resolve this, although perhaps scholars who know the Greek already have.
Another interesting difference between the two series (of beds and magnets) is that possession by the gods in the Ion involves a highly imaginative experience. Ion, for example, is ecstatic in the sense that he almost believes he is in ancient Troy as he recites Homer's poetry. This personal out-of-body imaginative experience is not described in the Republic account of the imitator. Many, in reading these passages in the Ion, have felt that Socrates is, here, more sympathetic to the imitative artist than he shows himself to be in the Republic.
What I would like to do, here, however (and for those of you who have read so far, this is the meat of my comment), is note the very specific quality of being "out of one's mind" described in Ion. Bear in mind that there are many ways in which one can be "out of one's mind," ranging from the relatively innocent moment of being so engaged with an aesthetic object as to forget oneself, to the more scary experiences of being deluded, obsessed, crazy, mad, or, in contemporary terms, entering into a manic-depressive or schizophrenic state. So what does Socrates mean by "out of one's mind"? He speaks of it in terms of Bacchic possession, a very specific kind of religious experience associated with intoxication, death and rebirth: "like Bacchic maidens who draw milk and honey from the rivers when they are under the influence of Dionysus but not when they are in their right mind." (I am working here from the Jowett translation at it appears in Art and Its Significance ed. David Ross, 3rd. ed., 1994, 48-9)
So, what is it to "draw milk and honey from the rivers"? I take it that this involves a kind of positive ecstatic experience when water takes on a quality that is metaphorically intensified. This is similar to the description Edward Bullough famously offered, in explicating his concept of psychic distance, of the fog at sea which I discussed in my book (245-247). He speaks of the fog as "a veil surrounding you with an opaqueness as of transparent milk, blurring the outline of things and distorting their shapes.." (759). The Bacchic maidens, in short, are "out of their minds" in the sense that they engage in a radical form of imaginative seeing of the sort described by Bullough when he describes what he calls "psychical distance."
Socrates goes further: "the soul of the lyric poet does the same, as they themselves say; for they tell us that they bring songs from honeyed fountains, culling them out of the gardens and dells of the Muses; they, like the bees, winging their way from flower to flower." (49). Socrates goes on to endorse this view of the poet, even referring to him (her) as "a light and winged and holy thing" like such a bee. Such a poet is active in the sense that he or she goes from one source of inspiration to the next (the sources here, notably, being natural and not explicitly divine) and yet holy in being able to find the divine in everyday life. So, the poet, positively understood by Socrates, is someone who is able to take a radical aesthetic approach to nature, being inspired by nature in an active way, i.e. in bringing songs from fountains and other natural phenomena which he experiences in an intensified imaginative/sensuous way (symbolized by the term "honeyed.")
Thus, contra Neitzsche, it turns out that Socrates has a Dionysian theory both of the creative process and quite possibly also of aesthetic experience. Nietzsche, of course, must have known this. He is inspired by one aspect of Socrates' theory when attacking the other. Don't forget that the surface logic of the Ion is simply that poets and rhapsodes are deceivers in pretending to have knowledge and self-knowledge, whereas they only have inspiration, a kind of second-best sort of wisdom (true wisdom would, of course, involve having true self-knowledge) that can only be held up if one seriously believes in God, something that Socrates makes rather unnecessary in some of his other arguments.
It is only at another level of reading (focusing on the milk and honey text) that Socrates becomes an advocate of Dionysian forms of experience, ones that also involve a form of active engagement that is highly imaginative, that e.g. involves encountering nature in an intoxicated or intoxicated-like way, seeing it with heightened significance, i.e. as having what, in my book, I called "aura." Moreover, this experience of water as milk and honey is a kind of entering into another world, as when Ion seems to enter into the world of Homer: a kind of magical transfer of the self. (A similar view of the creative process can be found in Lu Chi's the Wen Fu as I have argued in an unpublished paper posted on my web page.)
This, by the way, is not the same as another well-founded reading of Ion in which the inspired person simply becomes a spokesperson of the God, as like a medium in a seance. I think that this reading is intended by Plato, but is only on the surface level of the story.
For more on Ion see here
In the Ion, the God (or the Muse) is the first magnet, which then gives its power to the poet, who is the second magnet, who, in turn, inspires the rhapsode (or the actor) as well as other artists (for example dancers and stage-designers) involved in performing his work. The audience is at the fourth remove from the Muse.
The remarkable difference between the Republic account of the three beds and this is that in the Ion the poet is only two removes from reality, i.e. is in direct communication with God, and therefore takes the same place as the craftsman in the Republic. I am not going to worry, here, about which work was written first by Plato, although I should mention that the Republic is generally considered a middle and the Ion an early dialogue, which would make any change of mind on Plato's part be something that takes place after the Ion and before the Republic.
There are some differences between the actions involved in the two sequences as well: in the Republic the carpenter's bed is a copy of the ideal bed, and it in turn is imitated by the painter's bed. In the Ion, there are not two processes, but just one: inspiration, which is passed down from one magnet to the next. It is more dynamic in this way. Also, inspiration is just different from imitation. One can imitate with skill, whereas no skill is involved in inspiration qua inspiration. Inspiration is more magical: the inspired person participates in the source of inspiration, they are as if one with the source. The experience of inspiration is closer to a religious experience, whereas the act of imitation could be secular, mechanical, and solely for entertainment purposes. Imitation can involve more detachment, where only the surface form of the original is captured. Inspiration, by contrast, seems to pass on its inner essence: the poet passing his inspiration from God on to the the rhapsode, and the rhapsode doing this for the audience.
Historically, artists have found more support in Plato's theory of inspiration than in his theory of imitation. It is also interesting (and possibly contradictory for Plato) that Socrates saw himself as inspired in some way. In the Apology he often refers to a personal daemon, and there is a passage in the Symposium that implies that he is occasionally possessed by this inner spirit. Also, he praises wisdom in the Apology and says that he has no real knowledge. So, perhaps he is like Ion in being inspired by a God and in having no knowledge. (Someone who finds the Ion attractive as providing a theory of artistic creation might combine it in some way with the account of the Socratic way of life in the Apology.) However, Socrates also asserts in the Ion that, although the poets and Ion may have wisdom, he himself does not have wisdom and is only interested in truth and knowledge! This would be inconsistent with his position in the Apology that he has no knowledge, although not inconsistent with his commitment there to truth. I cannot resolve this, although perhaps scholars who know the Greek already have.
Another interesting difference between the two series (of beds and magnets) is that possession by the gods in the Ion involves a highly imaginative experience. Ion, for example, is ecstatic in the sense that he almost believes he is in ancient Troy as he recites Homer's poetry. This personal out-of-body imaginative experience is not described in the Republic account of the imitator. Many, in reading these passages in the Ion, have felt that Socrates is, here, more sympathetic to the imitative artist than he shows himself to be in the Republic.
What I would like to do, here, however (and for those of you who have read so far, this is the meat of my comment), is note the very specific quality of being "out of one's mind" described in Ion. Bear in mind that there are many ways in which one can be "out of one's mind," ranging from the relatively innocent moment of being so engaged with an aesthetic object as to forget oneself, to the more scary experiences of being deluded, obsessed, crazy, mad, or, in contemporary terms, entering into a manic-depressive or schizophrenic state. So what does Socrates mean by "out of one's mind"? He speaks of it in terms of Bacchic possession, a very specific kind of religious experience associated with intoxication, death and rebirth: "like Bacchic maidens who draw milk and honey from the rivers when they are under the influence of Dionysus but not when they are in their right mind." (I am working here from the Jowett translation at it appears in Art and Its Significance ed. David Ross, 3rd. ed., 1994, 48-9)
So, what is it to "draw milk and honey from the rivers"? I take it that this involves a kind of positive ecstatic experience when water takes on a quality that is metaphorically intensified. This is similar to the description Edward Bullough famously offered, in explicating his concept of psychic distance, of the fog at sea which I discussed in my book (245-247). He speaks of the fog as "a veil surrounding you with an opaqueness as of transparent milk, blurring the outline of things and distorting their shapes.." (759). The Bacchic maidens, in short, are "out of their minds" in the sense that they engage in a radical form of imaginative seeing of the sort described by Bullough when he describes what he calls "psychical distance."
Socrates goes further: "the soul of the lyric poet does the same, as they themselves say; for they tell us that they bring songs from honeyed fountains, culling them out of the gardens and dells of the Muses; they, like the bees, winging their way from flower to flower." (49). Socrates goes on to endorse this view of the poet, even referring to him (her) as "a light and winged and holy thing" like such a bee. Such a poet is active in the sense that he or she goes from one source of inspiration to the next (the sources here, notably, being natural and not explicitly divine) and yet holy in being able to find the divine in everyday life. So, the poet, positively understood by Socrates, is someone who is able to take a radical aesthetic approach to nature, being inspired by nature in an active way, i.e. in bringing songs from fountains and other natural phenomena which he experiences in an intensified imaginative/sensuous way (symbolized by the term "honeyed.")
Thus, contra Neitzsche, it turns out that Socrates has a Dionysian theory both of the creative process and quite possibly also of aesthetic experience. Nietzsche, of course, must have known this. He is inspired by one aspect of Socrates' theory when attacking the other. Don't forget that the surface logic of the Ion is simply that poets and rhapsodes are deceivers in pretending to have knowledge and self-knowledge, whereas they only have inspiration, a kind of second-best sort of wisdom (true wisdom would, of course, involve having true self-knowledge) that can only be held up if one seriously believes in God, something that Socrates makes rather unnecessary in some of his other arguments.
It is only at another level of reading (focusing on the milk and honey text) that Socrates becomes an advocate of Dionysian forms of experience, ones that also involve a form of active engagement that is highly imaginative, that e.g. involves encountering nature in an intoxicated or intoxicated-like way, seeing it with heightened significance, i.e. as having what, in my book, I called "aura." Moreover, this experience of water as milk and honey is a kind of entering into another world, as when Ion seems to enter into the world of Homer: a kind of magical transfer of the self. (A similar view of the creative process can be found in Lu Chi's the Wen Fu as I have argued in an unpublished paper posted on my web page.)
This, by the way, is not the same as another well-founded reading of Ion in which the inspired person simply becomes a spokesperson of the God, as like a medium in a seance. I think that this reading is intended by Plato, but is only on the surface level of the story.
For more on Ion see here
Saturday, July 12, 2014
Beyond Art by Dominic Mciver Lopes
Dominic McIver Lopes' new book, Beyond Art (Oxford, 2014) is a hot item in small world of analytic aesthetics. After attending a session on it at the American Society for Aesthetics conference at Asilomar, California, I thought I would see what all the fuss was about. Lopes is the current President of the American Society for Aesthetics, and this is probably the highest distinction someone can receive in contemporary Anglo-American aesthetics. So one should take his new book very seriously if you care about the future of aesthetics.
I find myself in deep disagreement with Lopes from the very start. He writes that "the ambition of this book is to show that it is not mandatory to centre the philosophical study of art on the question 'what is art?'" and even further, that the question is "the wrong question for philosophy." I am OK with the notion that asking the question is not mandatory: why should anything be mandatory in philosophy beyond blatantly contradicting yourself? More disturbing is "the wrong question for philosophy." What is philosophy but a series of "what is" questions: "what is knowledge?" "what is truth?" "what is beauty?" and "what is art?"? There are some other types of questions, but Plato's Socrates led the way in showing how philosophy works through asking such questions and trying to answer them. If you are going to have a "philosophy of" (e.g. "philosophy of psychology") the key question in that philosophy of will be the "what is" question. For example the key question in philosophy of science is "what is science?" Sure, there are some slight problems with this. The most important question in philosophy of religion is not "what is God?" but "is there a God?" Then again, one cannot begin to ask whether God exists without asking about what is meant by the word "God." Lopes does not deny that the question "what is art?" can be useful: he thinks that it can "help us to appreciate some works of art by prompting thoughts that are suited to...appreciation of the work...but not to the task of theorizing." (2) He will have to work hard to convince me that what is good for appreciation of art should be cut off so completely from what is good for theorizing about art.
Why do we disagree so much. Maybe it is because Lopes begins his discussion with something Monroe Beardsley said in 1983 about why the problem is so important. Beardsley gave four reasons for the importance of the "what is art?" question. First, philosophers should be curious to know what they are philosophizing about. This strikes me as a strange way of putting things since philosophizing about art, on the Socratic view, just is asking the "what is" question. They are not two different projects. Beardsley's second reason was that it would be important for cases of import duties and censorship. It is true that lawyers and politicians concern themselves with defining key terms: however, asking "what is art?" in the context of philosophy is very different from doing so in these other contexts. It is not at all clear that one can be very helpful for the other. In philosophy, "what is art?" has to do with all of the other central issues in philosophy: what is man? what is reality? what is value? It is a philosophical question. Thirdly, Beardsley thought that answering the question would help out people in the social sciences who need a definition. I don't much like this idea of treating philosophers as providers of nice definitions for other sciences, as though the question of the nature of knowledge is not more deeply shared than that. Sometimes the Europeans have a better idea about this. Someone like Bourdieu, who is interested in the sociology of art, is hardly going to accept any definition of art, or of sociology for that matter, that we might come up with, at least not without a philosophical fight. Asking the "what is" question in a philosophical way is "doing philosophy" regardless of what department one happens to reside in. Finally, Beardsley thought that answering the "what is art" question could provide criteria for critics to decide what to criticize. Again, I do not think this is needed by critics any more than by sociologists. Beardsley just failed to see how philosophy pervades all aspects of our society and not just philosophy departments. Critics like Clive Bell figure prominently in aesthetics textbooks. Why should such a critic look to professional philosophers to solve this deep human problem.
Of course Lopes does not accept Beardsley's ideas, but he uses Beardsley to set the agenda. If this is what the Socratic quest is all about then it is a trivial thing, and this leads to it making sense to stop asking the "what is" question in philosophy...what Lopes recommends. [On reading the entire book now, this may not be fair. Sometimes it seems the Lopes just thinks that "what is art?" is a bad question and that it should be replaced by other "what is" questions, like "what is music?" and "what is architecture?" although there are other times in which he seems to reject this as well. He just thinks there is not enough common between the various arts to make the "what is art" question useful.] I am not arguing that Lopes has Socrates wrong, or is wrong about philosophy, because his view is different from Socrates' view, but I do believe that Plato's Socrates' has a much richer, interesting and more powerful idea about what philosophy can be than I have seen so far in this discussion.
But perhaps I am unfair to Lopes because he does say one right thing here: "Philosophy is not taxonomy. It does not take phenomena fixed in advanced [sic] and then answer, for each phenomenon X, 'what is X?" (4) He is right: nothing is fixed in advance: categories of interest to philosophy shift and change over history. On the other hand, as soon as you fix on a term, for example, "piety," then you can engage in a philosophical debate for the essence of that term, and the result is going to be something called "the philosophy of piety" which itself is probably closely allied to "the philosophy of religion." If, however, Lopes is simply recommending that we back off from the "what is art?" question and ask other philosophical questions like "what is painting?" or "what is improvisation?" there is nothing wrong with that (although I do think that once one has fiddled with these more particular questions for awhile one should try moving up the ladder a bit and ask the 'what is art?' question again).
Lopes' worry about "art" is summed up in the phrase "grab bag of phenomena that are not illuminated by lumping them together as a unity" (4). What "induces queasiness" in him is the idea of placing "Chardin's still lifes alongside John Coltrane's improvisations, Ovid's Metamorphoses, and Mies van der Rohe's office towers." (3) One begins to see what he finds problematic: how can there be something that these diverse things have in common? I wouldn't put it past Plato to pick three very different things called "pious" and asking Euthyphro what he thinks they all share in common. It might be that "art" is a more hodge-podge concept than most, and that because of this we should avoid queasiness and go for collections of things that have a more plausible unity. In the next post I will discuss the actual theory posed. My own view of defining art can be found in this post.
I find myself in deep disagreement with Lopes from the very start. He writes that "the ambition of this book is to show that it is not mandatory to centre the philosophical study of art on the question 'what is art?'" and even further, that the question is "the wrong question for philosophy." I am OK with the notion that asking the question is not mandatory: why should anything be mandatory in philosophy beyond blatantly contradicting yourself? More disturbing is "the wrong question for philosophy." What is philosophy but a series of "what is" questions: "what is knowledge?" "what is truth?" "what is beauty?" and "what is art?"? There are some other types of questions, but Plato's Socrates led the way in showing how philosophy works through asking such questions and trying to answer them. If you are going to have a "philosophy of" (e.g. "philosophy of psychology") the key question in that philosophy of will be the "what is" question. For example the key question in philosophy of science is "what is science?" Sure, there are some slight problems with this. The most important question in philosophy of religion is not "what is God?" but "is there a God?" Then again, one cannot begin to ask whether God exists without asking about what is meant by the word "God." Lopes does not deny that the question "what is art?" can be useful: he thinks that it can "help us to appreciate some works of art by prompting thoughts that are suited to...appreciation of the work...but not to the task of theorizing." (2) He will have to work hard to convince me that what is good for appreciation of art should be cut off so completely from what is good for theorizing about art.
Why do we disagree so much. Maybe it is because Lopes begins his discussion with something Monroe Beardsley said in 1983 about why the problem is so important. Beardsley gave four reasons for the importance of the "what is art?" question. First, philosophers should be curious to know what they are philosophizing about. This strikes me as a strange way of putting things since philosophizing about art, on the Socratic view, just is asking the "what is" question. They are not two different projects. Beardsley's second reason was that it would be important for cases of import duties and censorship. It is true that lawyers and politicians concern themselves with defining key terms: however, asking "what is art?" in the context of philosophy is very different from doing so in these other contexts. It is not at all clear that one can be very helpful for the other. In philosophy, "what is art?" has to do with all of the other central issues in philosophy: what is man? what is reality? what is value? It is a philosophical question. Thirdly, Beardsley thought that answering the question would help out people in the social sciences who need a definition. I don't much like this idea of treating philosophers as providers of nice definitions for other sciences, as though the question of the nature of knowledge is not more deeply shared than that. Sometimes the Europeans have a better idea about this. Someone like Bourdieu, who is interested in the sociology of art, is hardly going to accept any definition of art, or of sociology for that matter, that we might come up with, at least not without a philosophical fight. Asking the "what is" question in a philosophical way is "doing philosophy" regardless of what department one happens to reside in. Finally, Beardsley thought that answering the "what is art" question could provide criteria for critics to decide what to criticize. Again, I do not think this is needed by critics any more than by sociologists. Beardsley just failed to see how philosophy pervades all aspects of our society and not just philosophy departments. Critics like Clive Bell figure prominently in aesthetics textbooks. Why should such a critic look to professional philosophers to solve this deep human problem.
Of course Lopes does not accept Beardsley's ideas, but he uses Beardsley to set the agenda. If this is what the Socratic quest is all about then it is a trivial thing, and this leads to it making sense to stop asking the "what is" question in philosophy...what Lopes recommends. [On reading the entire book now, this may not be fair. Sometimes it seems the Lopes just thinks that "what is art?" is a bad question and that it should be replaced by other "what is" questions, like "what is music?" and "what is architecture?" although there are other times in which he seems to reject this as well. He just thinks there is not enough common between the various arts to make the "what is art" question useful.] I am not arguing that Lopes has Socrates wrong, or is wrong about philosophy, because his view is different from Socrates' view, but I do believe that Plato's Socrates' has a much richer, interesting and more powerful idea about what philosophy can be than I have seen so far in this discussion.
But perhaps I am unfair to Lopes because he does say one right thing here: "Philosophy is not taxonomy. It does not take phenomena fixed in advanced [sic] and then answer, for each phenomenon X, 'what is X?" (4) He is right: nothing is fixed in advance: categories of interest to philosophy shift and change over history. On the other hand, as soon as you fix on a term, for example, "piety," then you can engage in a philosophical debate for the essence of that term, and the result is going to be something called "the philosophy of piety" which itself is probably closely allied to "the philosophy of religion." If, however, Lopes is simply recommending that we back off from the "what is art?" question and ask other philosophical questions like "what is painting?" or "what is improvisation?" there is nothing wrong with that (although I do think that once one has fiddled with these more particular questions for awhile one should try moving up the ladder a bit and ask the 'what is art?' question again).
Lopes' worry about "art" is summed up in the phrase "grab bag of phenomena that are not illuminated by lumping them together as a unity" (4). What "induces queasiness" in him is the idea of placing "Chardin's still lifes alongside John Coltrane's improvisations, Ovid's Metamorphoses, and Mies van der Rohe's office towers." (3) One begins to see what he finds problematic: how can there be something that these diverse things have in common? I wouldn't put it past Plato to pick three very different things called "pious" and asking Euthyphro what he thinks they all share in common. It might be that "art" is a more hodge-podge concept than most, and that because of this we should avoid queasiness and go for collections of things that have a more plausible unity. In the next post I will discuss the actual theory posed. My own view of defining art can be found in this post.
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