A True Story, Part II
In conjunction with my previous entry, I wanted to keep relating my very extremely true and factual story.
I just finished Pirsig's Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance, which led me to a very quick skim of Plato's Phaedrus, and then a review of the beginning of Plato's Timaeus, which I had read because of one of jeffrock's posts concerning Plato's belief in Atlantis.
I want to make a huge, wild-ass, reckless claim about Plato in general: it would be unwise to take him at face value, and assume a straightforward understanding of what is written was what he was after. I think there is an underlying sense of irony throughout every dialogue, and the arguments attributed to Plato's main (mostly-fictional, though based loosely on fact) character (i.e. Socrates) could in fact be the most effective refutation of what is commonly labeled as "Platonism" today.
It is the subject of fact versus fiction, and the role of the well-fashioned allegory, and the distancing of the author from the fruits of his labors, that leads me to say these things.
So let us take a look at the introduction to Timaeus (end of 20 to mid-27 by my text's numbering of it), where Critias introduces Socrates to "a tale which, though strange, is certainly true, having been attested by Solon, who was the wisest of the seven sages".
Why does he bring this story up? Well, we find out in the beginning of this, from Socrates, how he feels about the State which he has just finished describing (The Republic happened yesterday, according to the plot). "I might compare myself to a person who, on beholding beautiful animals either created by the painter's art, or, better still, alive but at rest, is seized with a desire of seeing them in motion or engaged in some struggle or conflict to which their forms appear suited." That is, he wants to see how his State might react to certain conflicts that all cities undergo (such as war with her neigbors).
Of course, before we hear this strange-but-true tale, we must first listen to an extremely long explanation of where the tale came from. Here are the facts as I piece them together. (Note that I've placed these in "chrono"logical order, which is almost reverse how they appear in the text.)
1. Solon travels to Egypt, and a high priest there relates an ancient story that he has read among the "many great and wonderful deeds of your state [that] are recorded in our histories". Note that the story itself (at least the introduction found in this book, the story is expanded in Critias, the next dialogue), at this point in the text, is related in the voice of this high priest.
2. Solon, a relative and dear friend of Dropides, tells Dropides the story.
3. Dropides, Critias' great-grandfather, tells the story to Critias' grandfather Critias.
4. Critias' grandfather Critias, when he was 90 years old, tells this story to Critias the grandson when he is 10 years old. The story was told to a whole group of children as a prize to Amynander, who pleased Critias' grandfather Critias by saying that Solon was not only the wisest of men, but also the noblest of poets. (He said so, "either because he thought so or to please Critias".)
5. When Socrates was speaking the day before, Critias has this tale come to the attention of his memory. He "remarked with astonishment how, by some mysterious coincidence, [Socrates] agreed in almost every particular with the narrative of Solon".
6. Critias did not interrupt Socrates at the time he remembered this, because "a long time had elapsed, and I had forgotton too much; I thought that I must first of all run over the narrative in my own mind, and then I would speak."
7. Critias, before running this narrative over in his mind, had Socrates' request of yesterday to "find a tale suitable to our purpose" as a prerogative.
8. On his way home yesterday, he told his companions the tale "as I remembered it", and then that night "by thinking I recovered nearly the whole of it."
9. Lest you doubt Critias childhood memory: "Truly, as is often said, the impressions of our childhood make a wonderful impression on our memories; for I am not sure that I could remember all the discourse of yesterday, but I should be much surprised if I forgot any of these things which I have heard very long ago. I listened at the time with childlike interest to the old man's narrative; he was very ready to teach me, and I asked him again and again to repeat his words, so that like an indelible picture they were branded into my mind." (Note especially the words, "with childlike interest".)
10. Socrates accepts the "abstract" of this story and approves it, and remarks that it "has the very great advantage of being a fact and not a fiction".
Note that I have summarized this section of the text, and I haven't even given any of the supposed facts. It should be noted that there is an image placed in the story abstract of the layout of the earth (which is not factual, unless you believe in a flat earth) that corresponds quite nicely (too nicely) to an image introduced later (a circle within a circle) by Timaeus in his own dialogue. This explains why it was placed here, rather than after Timaeus speaks and when it is Critias' turn to expound.
What is happening here, is a distancing of the author from the fruit of his work. Something similar happens in the introduction to Kierkegaard's Either/Or, where the author claims no credit and tells a detailed story about finding a bunch of papers inside a used desk.
Notice that Socrates does not tell this story, and he is the main character. The story is relegated to a secondary character, and Critias places at least eleven layers of potential error between him and this story (archive errors, Priest's understanding of text, Priest's memory of text, Priest's ability to communicate to Solon, Solon's memory, Solon's communication to Dropides, Dropides' memory, Dropides' communication to Critias' grandfather, Critias' grandfather's memory, Critias' grandfather's communication to a bunch of cute little children who want to be entertained, Critias' memory).
Add to this the way a child accepts stories told to them, whether fact or fiction. Add to this Critias' desire to find just the right story to satisfy Socrates' request, and this desire present during the whole time he was trying to remember the story. Might he, like George W. Bush looking for evidence of WMD's in Iraq amongst available intellegence, take particular interest in places where it seems to fit and emphasize those points and "remember" that his grandfather made a special emphasis, a special tone to his voice, when relating that portion? Might he remember some inconvenient portions of the story that don't fit what Socrates wants and dismiss them as "irrelevant" or attribute the mismatch to his poor memory? After all, it was a long time ago he heard the story...
Of course, add to all of this that neither Critias nor Socrates wrote a single word of what we're reading. Plato wrote it. Either he was there taking dictation (doubtful), or he was there and remembered the conversation (less doubtful), or he wasn't there and someone told him about it (less doubtful still), or the entire conversation never happened and it is all a finely-crafted fiction coming from Plato, who wants to use a neat story he heard/read about Atlantis and the image of a world map that fits nicely with another image he wants to bring up later that describes soul, body, world!
That is, it is my contention that all of the to-do about "fact over fiction" in this section is a flashing red beacon telling us that this is all very fictional, or if there are any facts, they are much too convenient to the purpose of this play to be taken at face-value.
The factualness, or lack thereof, of the story of Atlantis, is of no importance to this discussion.
That is the resounding message I hear from this introduction.
One more point, about why this technique of distancing yourself from the fruits of your authorship is fairly common, especially among those who are trying to get their ideas taken seriously. In Phaedrus, I find a telling quote: "There will be more reason in appealing to the ancient inventors of names, who would never have connected prophecy (mavtikn) which fortells the future and is the noblest of arts, with madness (mavikn), or called them both by the same name, if they had deemed madness to be a disgrace or dishonour--they must have thought that there was an inspired madness which was a noble thing... the madness of those who are possessed by the Muses; which taking hold of a delicate and virgin soul, and there inspiring frenzy, awakens lyrical and all other numbers; with these adorning the myriad actions of ancient heroes for the instruction of posterity."
I find that, when I write things that, after some time passes and I evaluate the writing as especially good (relative to my capabilities as a writer), during the time I am writing it is almost always the case that the source of the words comes from something that seems external to me. My guess is that it is coming almost directly, with a minimum of conscious filtering, from the depths of my subconscious mind. Whereas I describe "me" as that tip of the iceberg of conscious thought, the "external to me" in this case is this reservoir that can get tapped from time to time with sometimes amazing results. It is both humbling and powerful at the same time.
The archetype of "being afflicted", or "divinely inspired", or "the Hand of God Himself reaches down and guides the pen", or metaphors like that express this apparent-externality of inspiration. Fact, as contrasted with fiction, also has this externality-feel to it. That is why it makes for another great metaphor.
I just finished Pirsig's Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance, which led me to a very quick skim of Plato's Phaedrus, and then a review of the beginning of Plato's Timaeus, which I had read because of one of jeffrock's posts concerning Plato's belief in Atlantis.
I want to make a huge, wild-ass, reckless claim about Plato in general: it would be unwise to take him at face value, and assume a straightforward understanding of what is written was what he was after. I think there is an underlying sense of irony throughout every dialogue, and the arguments attributed to Plato's main (mostly-fictional, though based loosely on fact) character (i.e. Socrates) could in fact be the most effective refutation of what is commonly labeled as "Platonism" today.
It is the subject of fact versus fiction, and the role of the well-fashioned allegory, and the distancing of the author from the fruits of his labors, that leads me to say these things.
So let us take a look at the introduction to Timaeus (end of 20 to mid-27 by my text's numbering of it), where Critias introduces Socrates to "a tale which, though strange, is certainly true, having been attested by Solon, who was the wisest of the seven sages".
Why does he bring this story up? Well, we find out in the beginning of this, from Socrates, how he feels about the State which he has just finished describing (The Republic happened yesterday, according to the plot). "I might compare myself to a person who, on beholding beautiful animals either created by the painter's art, or, better still, alive but at rest, is seized with a desire of seeing them in motion or engaged in some struggle or conflict to which their forms appear suited." That is, he wants to see how his State might react to certain conflicts that all cities undergo (such as war with her neigbors).
Of course, before we hear this strange-but-true tale, we must first listen to an extremely long explanation of where the tale came from. Here are the facts as I piece them together. (Note that I've placed these in "chrono"logical order, which is almost reverse how they appear in the text.)
1. Solon travels to Egypt, and a high priest there relates an ancient story that he has read among the "many great and wonderful deeds of your state [that] are recorded in our histories". Note that the story itself (at least the introduction found in this book, the story is expanded in Critias, the next dialogue), at this point in the text, is related in the voice of this high priest.
2. Solon, a relative and dear friend of Dropides, tells Dropides the story.
3. Dropides, Critias' great-grandfather, tells the story to Critias' grandfather Critias.
4. Critias' grandfather Critias, when he was 90 years old, tells this story to Critias the grandson when he is 10 years old. The story was told to a whole group of children as a prize to Amynander, who pleased Critias' grandfather Critias by saying that Solon was not only the wisest of men, but also the noblest of poets. (He said so, "either because he thought so or to please Critias".)
5. When Socrates was speaking the day before, Critias has this tale come to the attention of his memory. He "remarked with astonishment how, by some mysterious coincidence, [Socrates] agreed in almost every particular with the narrative of Solon".
6. Critias did not interrupt Socrates at the time he remembered this, because "a long time had elapsed, and I had forgotton too much; I thought that I must first of all run over the narrative in my own mind, and then I would speak."
7. Critias, before running this narrative over in his mind, had Socrates' request of yesterday to "find a tale suitable to our purpose" as a prerogative.
8. On his way home yesterday, he told his companions the tale "as I remembered it", and then that night "by thinking I recovered nearly the whole of it."
9. Lest you doubt Critias childhood memory: "Truly, as is often said, the impressions of our childhood make a wonderful impression on our memories; for I am not sure that I could remember all the discourse of yesterday, but I should be much surprised if I forgot any of these things which I have heard very long ago. I listened at the time with childlike interest to the old man's narrative; he was very ready to teach me, and I asked him again and again to repeat his words, so that like an indelible picture they were branded into my mind." (Note especially the words, "with childlike interest".)
10. Socrates accepts the "abstract" of this story and approves it, and remarks that it "has the very great advantage of being a fact and not a fiction".
Note that I have summarized this section of the text, and I haven't even given any of the supposed facts. It should be noted that there is an image placed in the story abstract of the layout of the earth (which is not factual, unless you believe in a flat earth) that corresponds quite nicely (too nicely) to an image introduced later (a circle within a circle) by Timaeus in his own dialogue. This explains why it was placed here, rather than after Timaeus speaks and when it is Critias' turn to expound.
What is happening here, is a distancing of the author from the fruit of his work. Something similar happens in the introduction to Kierkegaard's Either/Or, where the author claims no credit and tells a detailed story about finding a bunch of papers inside a used desk.
Notice that Socrates does not tell this story, and he is the main character. The story is relegated to a secondary character, and Critias places at least eleven layers of potential error between him and this story (archive errors, Priest's understanding of text, Priest's memory of text, Priest's ability to communicate to Solon, Solon's memory, Solon's communication to Dropides, Dropides' memory, Dropides' communication to Critias' grandfather, Critias' grandfather's memory, Critias' grandfather's communication to a bunch of cute little children who want to be entertained, Critias' memory).
Add to this the way a child accepts stories told to them, whether fact or fiction. Add to this Critias' desire to find just the right story to satisfy Socrates' request, and this desire present during the whole time he was trying to remember the story. Might he, like George W. Bush looking for evidence of WMD's in Iraq amongst available intellegence, take particular interest in places where it seems to fit and emphasize those points and "remember" that his grandfather made a special emphasis, a special tone to his voice, when relating that portion? Might he remember some inconvenient portions of the story that don't fit what Socrates wants and dismiss them as "irrelevant" or attribute the mismatch to his poor memory? After all, it was a long time ago he heard the story...
Of course, add to all of this that neither Critias nor Socrates wrote a single word of what we're reading. Plato wrote it. Either he was there taking dictation (doubtful), or he was there and remembered the conversation (less doubtful), or he wasn't there and someone told him about it (less doubtful still), or the entire conversation never happened and it is all a finely-crafted fiction coming from Plato, who wants to use a neat story he heard/read about Atlantis and the image of a world map that fits nicely with another image he wants to bring up later that describes soul, body, world!
That is, it is my contention that all of the to-do about "fact over fiction" in this section is a flashing red beacon telling us that this is all very fictional, or if there are any facts, they are much too convenient to the purpose of this play to be taken at face-value.
The factualness, or lack thereof, of the story of Atlantis, is of no importance to this discussion.
That is the resounding message I hear from this introduction.
One more point, about why this technique of distancing yourself from the fruits of your authorship is fairly common, especially among those who are trying to get their ideas taken seriously. In Phaedrus, I find a telling quote: "There will be more reason in appealing to the ancient inventors of names, who would never have connected prophecy (mavtikn) which fortells the future and is the noblest of arts, with madness (mavikn), or called them both by the same name, if they had deemed madness to be a disgrace or dishonour--they must have thought that there was an inspired madness which was a noble thing... the madness of those who are possessed by the Muses; which taking hold of a delicate and virgin soul, and there inspiring frenzy, awakens lyrical and all other numbers; with these adorning the myriad actions of ancient heroes for the instruction of posterity."
I find that, when I write things that, after some time passes and I evaluate the writing as especially good (relative to my capabilities as a writer), during the time I am writing it is almost always the case that the source of the words comes from something that seems external to me. My guess is that it is coming almost directly, with a minimum of conscious filtering, from the depths of my subconscious mind. Whereas I describe "me" as that tip of the iceberg of conscious thought, the "external to me" in this case is this reservoir that can get tapped from time to time with sometimes amazing results. It is both humbling and powerful at the same time.
The archetype of "being afflicted", or "divinely inspired", or "the Hand of God Himself reaches down and guides the pen", or metaphors like that express this apparent-externality of inspiration. Fact, as contrasted with fiction, also has this externality-feel to it. That is why it makes for another great metaphor.