Mitchell Brisbon
11/21/13
The Fundamental Question
Suppose a man who has had a few too many drinks walks into his house
and begins to beat his wife. From a philosophical standpoint, a
myriad of questions present themselves. Focused specifically upon the
defining lines of the situation, the first one asks how we know that
the man has had a few “too many” drinks: How many is too many?
Does that number vary from person to person? Then come the questions
not of limits but of morality. Is it wrong for him to beat his wife?
Is it ever right to do so? Those questions are all questions of
rectitude, which begs yet another question: How do we know
what is true? At some point, every philosophical question
returns to this central one. No philosophical question can be
answered without at least considering this notion, as the study of
philosophy ever concerns itself with questions of rectitude, which
requires some kind of standard, just as some kind of standard must be
given for how many drinks is too many. Questions of knowledge and
reality all demand a criterion, a way of measuring their accuracy,
and people who study such questions must consider the notion of an
absolute criterion. In fact, every person and therefore every
philosopher searches for some kind of absolute. Plato is probably
best known for his absolute form of philosophy, the “Theory of
Forms.” One might say that first came Plato, then the rest
followed; this paper shall analyze Plato's Theory of Forms, then the
philosophies of a few significant early Western philosophers, and
finish with critique of each.
Of
Reality and Forms
Using the old
gadfly as his mouthpiece, Plato develops his Theory through the
questions of Socrates to his interlocutors. As Richard Dancy points
out, “Socrates had been concerned with the universal, always
seeking for definitions” (Dancy 12). Just as Socrates sought
persistently the foundation of things so that he could discover what
is really true (ironically, he professed through to his death that he
knew nothing, even though he spent his life searching for truth),
Plato sought truth through pursuing what is universally true.
Throughout the Dialogues he presses ever on toward the universal,
using Socrates as his mouthpiece much of the time. (For the purposes
of this section, we
will assume the views Socrates expresses to be those of Plato, as the
purpose of this writing is not to delve into the controversy over
what was Socrates' view and what was Plato's.) The progression of the
Theory may be observed through the Dialogues, beginning especially
with Menon and clarifying
itself more definitely in the Euthyphro
and in The Republic.
The
conversation with Menon opens with Menon's question to Socrates of
what virtue is. Socrates, in his usual manner, proceeds to deny his
knowledge of what virtue is. In the ensuing conversation, Menon
delivers a definition of virtue which encompasses various kinds of
virtue, subdivided on the basis of age, sex, and economic status.
Socrates points out to Menon the absurdity of his notion that
“according to each of our activities and ages each of us has his
virtue for doing each sort of work...” (Rouse 31). He draws a
comparison to bees and asks Menon if he would say that every bee must
be different because no one is just like another, or if they are
essentially the same in that they are all bees (Rouse 31). Menon
agrees that they are the same in their “beehood.” By this simple
juxtaposition of Menon's original argument to a counterexample,
Socrates illustrates the tenuous foundation of his argument. Further
in the dialogue, Socrates brings Menon around to the realization that
one must have some kind of baseline standard for determining virtue,
using the example of whether a person governs his household
virtuously or not. He asks how a person would measure that, and Menon
offers up temperance and justice as two factors which must be present
in one's governance for it to be virtuous. Socrates pounces upon his
idea that justice is
virtue and points out shrewdly that Menon just two minutes before had
declared justice and temperance to be parts of virtue, but Menon has
just declared a part of virtue to be virtue en totale.
Thus, Socrates reveals in one of constantly occurring instances
within this dialogue the need for some kind of fundamental idea of
what virtue is. While Socrates and Menon arrive at a further
conclusion regarding virtue, Plato has, through Socrates' questions,
laid the foundation of the Theory of Forms: Everything must have some
kind of absolute foundation; otherwise, we cannot be certain of
anything.
Following
upon this idea in the Euthyphro, Socrates begins to require an
explanation from his interlocutors as to why, precisely, something
ought to be considered x (virtue, for instance)--in essence,
demanding a definition of the contested term. The term “form”
Socrates first
uses in the Euthyphro, in which he reminds Euthyphro of the
necessity of judging “all pious actions pious through one form...”
(Fine 119). Previously, Socrates had compared disagreements over the
size of something or the answer to a sum to the sorts of
disagreements which truly set two people at odds with each other.
According to Socrates, what sets people against each other is
difference over the fundamental virtues, such as justice and
goodness. Therefore, he asks Euthyphro to define what is pious so
that they may judge a situation rightly (Internet Classics). Gareth
B. Matthews, in an essay entitled “The Epistemology and Metaphysics
of Socrates,” explains the situation this way: “The set of
necessary and sufficient conditions cannot just be features that
happen to belong to all and only people or things that are F
[a given Form]; they must reveal that by which x is F—that
is, what makes x F. ...Put another way, definitional knowledge
of virtue, or one of the individual virtues, is having an account of
a moral kind that reveals its nature” (Fine 119). C.C.W. Taylor
comments upon Socrates' requests for specifications (definitions) of
knowledge, noting that, “The requirements for such a specification
are exacting; it must apply to all and only the things in question,
it must reveal the feature or features in virtue of which things
count as of that kind, and that feature (or those features) must be
the same in all cases” (Fine 167). Proving “F-ness,” to use
Matthews's terminology, then, requires that the thing to be proven be
held alongside an objective definition of what that particular F is.
Thus materializes the Theory of Forms, albeit vaguely as yet, with
its insistence upon an objective reality and standard for applying
thought to reality.
One
of Plato's best known works, The Republic addresses an
enormous range of topics from epistemology to politics. Particularly,
the treatise, if one may call it that, includes the virtually
legendary Allegory of the Cave. In explaining to another person the
Theory of Forms, Plato describes a scene in which a tribe of people
has been chained by their necks and feet inside a cave, a situation
they have been in for generations. Limited in their movement, all
they can see is the shadows of objects which are cast by a fire
burning behind them. Plato goes on to suppose that one is loosed and
stumbles up the rocky road to the external world, which he realizes
after much pain and confusion that what he sees in the light of the
sun is reality, and anything he and his fellows have ever known was
but a shadow of reality. Therefore, Plato supposes the man who had
escaped returns to the cave to bring his fellows out of darkness and
into light. Despite his entreaties,
however, none of his companions will break loose and join him beyond
the cave in the real world (Rouse 373-376). Here Plato completes the
Theory by creating a hypothetical situation to illustrate the central
point: Reality must have some certain, higher foundation than what is
seen; to discover it, we must break free of the bonds placed upon us,
although many will refuse.
Throughout
his writing, Plato developed ever further and more concretely this
idea that every thing must have an absolute genesis and perfect form,
a form which humans can know if they will but break free of the
world. Naturally, early dialogues such as Menon dealt with the
foundational issues of definitions, how much we can know, and how we
know it; as they say, the best place to start is the beginning, so
Plato started at the foundational question about knowledge: what is
it? Once he had established the necessity for definitions, he moved
forward to questioning why something fits into a certain category, or
why the category is limited in a certain way. Put another way, he
asked why a certain thing qualifies as x and asks what x
itself is. Ending with The Republic, Plato pulls the
pieces of the theory together into a cohesive whole, stepping beyond
the abstract precepts of epistemology and bringing the fight to
reality itself. In a sense, the Allegory of the Cave takes
epistemology to its logical conclusion. Epistemology asks the scholar
what we can know and how we know it, which Plato answers in a
concrete way through The Cave, using the abstract arguments about
definitions and limits to build up to something useful. While Plato
presented one of the first complete theories of absolutes in Western
philosophy, he was by no means the only one.
The Others
Although belief in absolutes was common among Western philosophy's
Greek founders (they did, after all, believe in a pantheon of gods,
which would require a belief in some sort of absolute), not all took
the same tack as Plato took. As a matter of fact, the arguments of
some philosophers in favor of absolutes were opposite to Plato's,
such as Aristotle's contention that reality could be understood only
in terms of particulars, not universals. Pyrrho approached life by
questioning everything, down to whether one can know anything at
all—yet he also sought objectively true knowledge. The Stoics virtually ignored the question
of absolute reality and, like Aristotle, focused upon the physical
world. In one way or another, though, each one of these early
philosophers (or group of philosophers, in the case of the Stoics)
performed the task of philosophy: the search for truth and wisdom,
which, in turn, becomes a search for the absolute at its end. Put
another way, taking philosophy to its logical conclusion requires
thinking at the absolute level, whether the philosopher doing the
thinking chooses to accept absolutes or not.
Searching for the foundations of reality and truth, Aristotle
approached the subject in a manner about as opposite from Plato's as
possible while remaining within the realm of absolutes. Aristotle
criticized Plato for looking beyond what, in Aristotle's view, was
all that could be seen: the physical world. Instead of looking to
something beyond the physical in order to understand the inherent
nature of reality, Aristotle sought to assimilate as much knowledge
about the particular world as possible. He thought that the only way
to understand particular things was to study as many of those like
things as possible, then determine the unifying characteristics of
those things. He studied the physical world in order to understand
the underlying nature of physical things. One might characterize him
as the first of the empiricists, for he believed that the only things
which might be known and understood are the physical things, for
those are the things which may be understood sensually. Put
syllogistically, his argument goes like this: Those things which may
be understood are the only things worth studying. Since humans may
only comprehend the world sensually, the only things which may be
comprehended are the things which lie within the scope of the senses.
Therefore, the only things worth studying are those which may be
comprehended by the senses. Further, the only things worth studying
are those which are physical, for those are the only things which
might be comprehended by the senses. Aristotle, then, sought to know
reality objectively, but he rejected the idea of looking beyond
physical reality to what might be beyond it, because physical reality
was the end of reality to him. Just as Plato did, he sought for
absolute knowledge of reality, but he went about acquiring that
knowledge in a way opposite of Plato's.
Of any philosopher, Pyrrho was probably the most paradoxical in how
he lived versus his thought. His entire life consisted of questioning
the nature of knowledge, yet he also sought to know what reality was. He maintained that one could know things
objectively, yet no criterion could ever convince him. As a matter of
fact, his kind of skepticism extends to virtually all disciplines of
philosophy and all worldviews: Every person holds true a set of
precepts which they maintain reflects reality accurately—even those
who maintain that absolute truth cannot be known. The simplest
question to ask a person who denies absolute truth is “Is that a
fact?” for no one can deny absolute truth and, at the same time,
maintain that the absence of absolute truth is something which is
absolutely true. Apparently no one had asked Pyrrho if he were
absolutely certain that he could not be absolutely certain that he
was not absolutely certain. Even then, he would not, perhaps, have
maintained he could not be uncertain of absolute certainty, for Nigel
Warburton points out that Pyrrho summarized his philosophy into three
questions: 1) What are things really like; 2) What attitude should we
adopt to them; and 3) What will happen to someone who does adopt that
attitude (Warburton 18). Maintaining that those questions should be
asked and could be answered, Pyrrho lived in pursuit of knowledge
about the integral nature of things, but never answered his own
questions because he denied all answers—but only theoretically. In
practice, he lived as if the things whose existence he questioned
were real, if for no other reason than that his friends insisted upon
such rationality. To Pyrrho, though, his skepticism of the world was
entirely rational, for he believed that one could fully understand
reality, but every answer presented to him could never satisfy his
three questions. Rationality demands that the person in question use
his or her reason to search out the objectively correct answer, and
Pyrrho always found some kind of flaw in his interlocutor's reasoning
which disqualified the answer from satisfying Pyrrho's standard for
knowledge. On the other hand, one must wonder how seriously he took
his own way of thinking, since he lived for a decent stretch of time.
Perhaps that, too, is due to the influence of his friends. No matter
why he lived as long as he did, he still followed the course of every
philosopher and searched for what is objectively true, even if he
never found it because he rejected every explanation of reality.
In order to determine whether or not a destination has been reached,
the person making the journey must have some notion of where they are
going before they can say they have arrived. The Stoics took their
search for an absolute beyond the foundation and pushed on toward the
specific destination. Their specific objective was serenity and
peace, which they worked to attain by taking events simply as they came. According to their view,
the only way to effectively walk through life while still maintaining
some semblance of sanity is to look at each situation from a rational
perspective; emotion clouds rational judgment and denies sanity;
therefore, a person copes best with tragedy if they simply deny the
emotional response and rationalize all situations. If one defines
sanity as responding to all events in a rational manner, then
achieving sanity means that one responds objectively. When assessing
rationality—and thus objectivity—the assessor must have a
criterion by which he measures when the necessary amount of
objectivity has been reached. Assuming that criterion has been
predetermined, one might say the Stoics pursued an objective goal,
striving to reach a point mentally where they could be said to be
sane and at peace, since nothing could ever rattle their cages or
their peace. Although a pursuit of inner peace can't be characterized
quite as a pursuit of absolute truth in the general sense of the
term, the Stoics did, nevertheless, pursue something which had an
objective end. In one sense, then, the Stoics, just like all other
philosophers, sought an objectively true foundation on which to base
their lives. As a matter of fact, absolute truth is integral to the
Stoic way of life. Measuring how effectively a man has achieved his
goal requires a criterion, and that criterion must be objectively,
absolutely true for it to accurately measure whether or not that man
has attained his goal. Some took this notion of hard-nosed
rationalism to its fullest conclusion, most notably—and most
extremely—Seneca. Taking the Stoic position to its logical
conclusion, he maintained that the world has nothing for humanity
because of death and suffering. Impressively, he maintained this view
all the way through to his death, never faltering, even with the
poison at his lips. To his mind, a human could achieve happiness by
accepting both the evil and the beautiful as they came, neither
weeping over spilt milk nor celebrating the positives more than
necessary. In other words, a peaceful life was one in which events
had little effect upon one's psyche, where neither elation nor
devastation have an appreciable effect upon one's mind. For what,
then, did the Stoics seek so assiduously? Peace, which is a mere lack
of internal conflict. By hardening themselves to the world and what
happened to them, neither expecting pleasure or pain, nor rejecting
either one, they sought to win the internal war.
Even if the object of the chase goes unacknowledged by the one doing
the chasing, the whole object of philosophy is to discover what is
true. For that truth to be discoverable, it must be absolute, for otherwise the search would be futile and render
human existence futile. After all, humans, by their nature, attempt
to find that which is objectively right, true, and good. Plato
searched among the highest essences of things; Aristotle searched
among the things themselves to find the common essence; the Stoics
ignored the question of objective things and instead searched for
objective peace within their hearts; the Skeptics searched for the
objective and rejected everything they found. What is the common
theme? It is the word “objective.” Put in modern examples, the
same search is visible among prominent figures like Richard Rorty and
others who all sought to find some kind of personal happiness. To be
fair, both rejected the notion of absolute truth—and yet they both
sought it, constructively speaking. Distilled down to its basic
precept, Rorty's desire was that people in society would engage each
other in conversation; that way, we can find out what is true and
best. While he would have said that each person needed to find what
was best for them and not confine themselves to epistemology, he
still sought what was absolutely true in all circumstances. Despite
his relativist tendencies, he worked to find truth through
conversation and outside of strict epistemology. Philosophy, then, no
matter what form it takes and in what time period it is practiced,
remains a hunt for what is truly right. Regardless of the goal, each
of the philosophies described has ground for criticism.
The Criticisms
Any way of looking at the world has ground for criticism, since
criticism is, necessarily, a clash of opposing view points.
Inevitably, at least one person will disagree with a notion
presented, which means they will find some way to criticize another
person's way of looking at things. (Indeed, Plato's teacher was
executed for engaging in too much criticism. Ironically, criticism of
him was what led to his death; that fact lends credibility to the
saying, “Curiosity killed the cat.” In this case, curiosity
killed the gadfly.) Plato's Theory of Forms is no exception, nor is
Aristotle's rejection of understanding what is universally true by
what is known to be particularly true. Pyrrho might easily have
qualified as a lunatic had he lived during the sixteenth and
seventeenth centuries; the Stoics would have appeared callous. No
matter the philosophy considered, criticisms may always be levied. The downfall of the Theory of
Forms can be found in examining what the form really is. Explained in
the Symposium,
the highest Form of love cannot reciprocate—that is, it stands as
the ultimate sort of love, but it is a love which stands by simply as
a monument might: representing something great, but doing nothing on
its own. According to Plato (through Socrates), one who has attained
the Form of a certain virtue, be it love or anything else, has
abandoned all human interaction and stands at a higher plane of
reality, sitting among the clouds and enjoying these perfect virtues
but not passing them on to others. Another sense of a Form might be
that achieving the level of existence at which a Form exists requires
abandoning human interaction. The situation described in the
Symposium
reflects that abolition of human interaction: Socrates describes the
process as beginning at simple, human interaction like friendship and
marriage, the level of passion and emotion. The next level—ostensibly
the level of existence next highest in value—is the chivalric,
courageous love of a soldier who fights and dies for his compatriots
and patria, a situation in which the soldier acts out of general
altruism but nothing more. The final level is the level of the Form,
where emotion and human interaction has entirely vanished, leaving
nothing but this hollow, ethereal essence of Beauty. Socrates
describes it as being the most beautiful of all things, but he
commits the error of attempting to define all other beauty using this
greatest Beauty, yet he applies the adjective “beautiful” to the
highest beauty, begging the question of what standard he uses for
that beauty. In describing the highest standard, he requires the use
of a standard, which creates a tidy little paradox.
Pyrrho's failure lies in the
self-contradictory statement of his philosophy. He searches for what
is really true, yet he refuses to accept as true anything which is
presented to him, declaring we cannot know it to be true. In fact, he
would even go so far as to question his own existence, which begs
this question: If your mind doesn't exist to question, how could you
even question the existence of the questioning entity? Just as with
Plato's paradox in the Symposium,
Pyrrho faces the conundrum of how to reconcile his questioning of his
own existence with the fact that he exists to question. Rationally
and realistically, a person cannot question his own existence, for to
do so would be to deny the existence of that thing which one uses to
reason and question in the first place, which would mean that
questioning would be impossible if Pyrrho's objection were true. In
essence, Pyrrho's philosophy is a reductio
ad
absurdum
at its finest.
Attempting
to transcend the ills of earthly life, the Stoics abolish human
emotion. Frankly, this method of achieving happiness is a terribly
dangerous one. Rejecting emotion necessitates rejecting a portion of
a human's inherent nature. Emotion exists as an integral part of the
human psyche; to deny it means to deny something which completes a
human. Perhaps the Stoics rejected emotion because they thought it
would magnify the pain and make it more intense than was healthy. And
yet, isn't emotion what makes things hurt? Isn't emotion, that deep
connection, what makes humans, human? A girl by the name of Veronica
Scott put it like this: “I
don’t buy the idea that if you are healthy then people can’t hurt
you. I just don’t. I mean, how numb would we have to be to be
'healthy?' No… being hurt means that your nerves are working, your
neurons are firing. It means you are alive. It means you’ve loved
in your life and it means that something matters to you. Being
free means that you overcome that pain but never stop loving deeply”
(Scott; emphasis added). Freedom does not equal abolition of an
integral part of human nature; it means allowing yourself to be built
up and made stronger by that pain. Therein lies the tragic flaw of
the Stoic mindset: They rejected an integral part of their humanity.
Who Cares?
One final question remains: Can the search for an absolute be
fulfilled? It would appear that the answers, when simplified, come
down to the simple dichotomy of “yes” or “no.” If pressed,
most people engaged in philosophy would probably admit that, yes,
they seek and perhaps have found something which they consider
absolutely true—but that it is not absolutely true for everyone.
Killing people is almost universally acknowledged to be wrong except
in very specific circumstances (such as self-defense), but a
philosophy which declares truth is not absolutely true requires the
holder of that philosophy to not even remonstrate (and certainly not
excoriate) someone else for killing another human being. Put another
way, no one who discounts absolute truth can ever tell someone else
they are wrong because that individual effectively denies right and
wrong. Nevertheless, people of every philosophy insist upon declaring
certain precepts right and others wrong. Might that be due to an
intrinsic desire on the part of every human being to have something
which never moves, never changes shape, and is ever-reliable,
something by which they can be certain of themselves, each other, and
the rectitude of their actions? At every person's core is a little
child who is still afraid of the dark and wants someone greater than them to hold on to them and tell them it will be okay,
because they are safe and nothing in that terribly dark,
frighteningly uncertain darkness can come and get them. Every human
desires protection from danger and injury; no human can ever provide
that, yet we have this innate longing for that protection. Could it
be that each human has imprinted in his soul a longing for the one
who endowed him with life, who endowed him with emotion and set him
apart as a human? Everyone searches for an absolute; nothing in this
world can satisfy that desire, for this world is not absolute. While
it cannot be had here, it can be had eternally, for Someone came here
to hold those who are afraid, Someone who is eternal—and his name
is Jesus Christ.
Works Cited
Fine, Gail, ed. The Oxford Handbook of Plato. New York: Oxford
University Press, 2008.
Rouse, W.H.D., trans. Great Dialogues of Plato. Ed. Eric H.
Warmington and Philip G. Rouse. New York: New American Library,
1961. Print.
"The Internet Classics Archive | Euthyphro by Plato." The
Internet Classics Archive | Euthyphro by Plato. MIT, 2009. Web.
29 Sept. 2013. <http://classics.mit.edu/Plato/euthyfro.html>.
Scott, Veronica. "Perfectly Normal." Perfectly Normal.
N.p., n.d. Web. 29 Oct. 2013.
<http://perfectlynormal33.tumblr.com/post/52106933952/i-dont-buy-the-idea-that-if-you- are-healthy-then>.
Warburton, Nigel. A Little History of Philosophy. New Haven:
Yale University Press, 2011.
"Plato answers in a concrete way through The Cave..." I'd say the cave is anything but "concrete"... it's an allegory, and it's tenuous at best to suggest that the entire universe of our experience is in "shadow"...
ReplyDelete"...the search would be futile and render human existence futile" unless its quarry is Absolute Truth, you say? You've lost me. We discover many truths along the paths of our lives' journeys. I'm with James: we must live today by what truth we find today, and be prepared tomorrow to call it falsehood. But maybe you just mean we mustn't be extreme value-relativists. True enough!
"Everyone searches for an absolute" - I assure you, that's no so.
But "this world is not absolute" is true! We agree!!
"Someone came here to hold those who are afraid, Someone who is eternal—and his name is Jesus Christ." I thought that's what you were coming to.
Many of us who are not afraid, and who do not want to be "held" in the grip of unseen, undemonstrable supernatural powers, are skeptical of "eternity" and (especially) its self-appointed representatives. But if that's your dream, and you can pursue it without interfering with those who differ, then I say go for it. But I'd also challenge you to continue exploring other possibilities. "Absolutes" are as often a hindrance to human flourishing as a help.
Thanks for your positive contributions to our course, Mitchell. Don't stop "debating," especially with yourself!