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Disc 3
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Overview: The qualities of mind found in Plato contrasted to those of Aristotle make
for a list of opposites: Plato as idealist
vs. Aristotle the realist, conservative vs. liberal, elitism vs. inclusiveness, a rational
mode of thinking vs. an emotional mode that validates cognition. Aristotle must have been Plato’s most
recalcitrant pupil. Their ancient debate in
terms of this thesis is stated thus: Can
literature tell us how to live? Plato insists
we cannot learn from art. Aristotle counters
with the certainty that tragedy does tell the truth.
In this section I would like to survey several of the intellectual faults
Plato finds with art and allow Aristotle to counter them, as interpreted by other
thinkers. |
Aristotle |
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In the Poetics, Aristotle never explicitly challenges
Plato’s assertion that all art is an elaborate trick.
But he does take on the idea that art is useless.
Art has value because it offers a kind of therapy.
Psychologically, it arouses and purges dangerous emotions. (Sontag 4). I believe literature can be said to do just that;
it is a disciplined technique for arousing certain emotional responses. Its power is in the close and dangerous play with
subconscious forces. Murdoch (10) would agree
that one of the main reasons we enjoy art is because it disturbs us in mysterious ways.
The Greek tragic poets recognized three main ideas: the ethical significance of contingency, the
dilemma of conflicting duties and the importance of passion, which are not often the
subjects of the great philosophers. (Nussbaum
14). All of the tragic poets composed in a
similar vein and communicate a sense that events beyond one’s control are of real
importance, not only for feelings of well-being and happiness but also in order to live a
good life, including correct moral action. In
other words, what happens to people due to Fate can have an enormous effect on the ethical
quality of one’s existence. (17). Aristotle
confirmed the view that the honorable man can still be thwarted by unforeseen
circumstances. (40).
For these reasons, Nussbaum (17) states, the responses of pity and fear
that are elicited by tragedy are worthwhile because they highlight ethical truths, while
other emotions are deemed appropriate in relation to their proper beliefs. Tragedy in particular relies on universal morals
for its structure and literary shape, as Aristotle tells us in his manual for
playwrighting, the Poetics. Here he
relates that aesthetic structure functions to produce a whole that has a beginning, middle
and end (Poetics 31), and within that whole there is catharsis, or a climax, that
evolves out of what might happen, what is probable, even inevitable, based on our
knowledge of life and beliefs. (Nussbaum17). Stories
often deploy the technique of reversals of fortune or shocking discoveries that befall
good but vulnerable people. As we have said,
tragedy moves the spectator to identify with a hero who is frustrated unto madness or
grieves over the corpse of his beloved. (17). The
form itself leads the audience up to this release through a transfer of pity for a
character to fear for oneself. In defending
the art of the tragedy, Aristotle defends the necessity of arousing pity and fear,
for the purpose of providing an outlet for such emotions (Poetics 12).
Plato, however, quotes Socrates as not accepting this view of things. His main point is that Fate means nothing because
the good man cannot be harmed. When one is
virtuous in oneself nothing else has ethical significance.
The correct view, therefore, is that the virtuous person is self-sufficient.
(Nussbaum 17). And yet I feel here again we
witness Plato’s idealism where one case fits all, and the single paradigm being
philosophy as the only means to arriving at ethical truth and understanding.
Aristotle, on the other hand, uses a much more inclusive dialectical
method in pursuing truth. His inquiry is both
empirical and practical; that is, it takes evidence from the experience of living and aims
to find a means for human beings to live together. This
position involves examining all ideas and belief systems, especially contrasting them to
one another, as well as against the beliefs and feelings of the individual holders of the
ideas and their active sense of life. What is
sought after is not a truth that corresponds to some supra-human reality but what is most
natural to human lives. Participants are
asked to determine what they can least live well without and to find coherence and a good
fit through judgment, feeling, perception and values.
The consideration of literature already assumes a few ‘givens’,
such as the ethical importance of uncontrolled events, the epistemological value of
emotion and the variety and non-commensurability of important experiences in life. Works of literature are not neutral tools for the
examination of these concepts. There is a
specific grasp of what matters built directly into a work.
(25-26).
I feel along with Nussbaum (27) that if moral
philosophy is to be investigated, especially as a pursuit of truth in all forms, comprised
of all ethical alternatives as well as the comparison of each within our active sense of
life, then literature must be included.
Aristotle reminds us to be respectful of difference while at the same time to search
for consistent patterns in answer to the question, How to live? Ultimately the question endeavors to reveal what
is most fundamental to life. (28).
Some may argue that this path of inquiry is unsound, that every ethical tradition is
non-comparable to every other, and that there is no single starting point. But Aristotle’s response to this is simply,
this is what thinkers do, and what is urgently needed to be done. We need to know how to live and we attempt to
contrast and evaluate traditions, as rationally as possible, through all the muddle of
that endeavor. And that is what our relation
to literature is – muddled, complex and mysterious.
We listen, or from Aristotle’s time onward, read, for life, like David
Copperfield, searching for the answers to pressing questions, new ways of being, while
holding up images against our previously acquired knowledge of the way things are. (29). |
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| Thus defended as belonging in Aristotle’s inclusive
approach to philosophy, Nussbaum (36) says, “novels show us the worth and richness of
plural qualitative thinking and engender in their readers arichly qualitative kind |
Statue of Wounded Amazon
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Greek 425 BC |
of seeing”. Authors
labor towards presenting this qualitative rightness, and lead us towards refined
understanding. In this way,
“perceptions” or ethical ability, as Nussbaum (37) defines it, become developed
in the reader; finer discernment enables one to view moralities beyond general rules or
ideals. True perception is the ability to see
through to the salient features of a person’s particular situation, and, according to
Aristotle, this is the essence of practical wisdom. It
is also of great ethical value. I must point
out the contrast here to general rules that are set to one standard. In underlining perceptions, Aristotle reveals the
ethical crudeness of moralities based exclusively on following general rules. He demands of ethics a much finer and wider view,
taking into consideration details that have not been seen before and therefore could not
have been included in a previous system of rules. Rules
have their place, Aristotle believes, but perception of the particular must dominate both
the general and the universal when it is important to look closer. (38).
In another example, I believe it is essential to recognize in literature a
double vision towards characters and their conditions.
On the one hand, when the reader identifies with a character, she imagines
herself in the character’s place and so learns vicariously that if she were in a
similar situation, she would naturally react in the same manner. In this approach the reader becomes more aware of
herself and goes beyond set rules or ideals to weigh the specifics of her own
circumstances. On the other hand, I think
each reader’s experience is so individual that the identical features of the literary
work could never correspond exactly to the reader’s reality and so the awareness is
one of lessened impact. Today, one thinks of
how we leave the theatre or cinema and how quickly “reality” returns. The speed with which we are returned to our
normal lives slowly diminishes the effect of the experience. In this case, the familiar environment acts as a
corrective to the loss of objectivity that takes place when we let go of what we know to
be true during the experience.
It is a fact, however, that the emotional response at climactic moments is
strong, especially in theatre and film. Plato
believes that once activated the emotions become irrational. If we focus mainly on literature, the response is
also strong but we are able to gain critical distance as soon as we set our book down. We may pause, re-read and re-enter the emotional
fray at will; the experience may be intense but our emotions rarely become irrational. Aristotle challenges Plato’s claim of
irrationality and states that practical reasoning without emotion is insufficient for
practical wisdom. For Aristotle, a
contradiction exists, in that emotions are at the same time not only more unreliable than
the intellect, but often they are more reliable.
This is especially true in the case of hindsight, when we’ve had time
to reflect upon an emotional response in literature and reality alike. (Nussbaum 40).
Aristotle rejects the idea that the emotions are blind animal reactions,
akin to bodily feelings such as hunger. But
a feeling like anger is closely linked to a set of beliefs, such as a sense of what is
fair when we have been wronged. Just the
same, when a belief changes, either by a new development or an altered significance, the
emotion is likely to be revised or withdrawn. (41). Because
of this cognitive dimension, Aristotle sees emotions as intelligent parts of our ethical
system. It may be true that emotions can be
unreliable, but so can beliefs. Frequently
emotions are more dependable because they reveal what is most firmly rooted in our
judgment of what is important to us, views that often get lost during complex intellectual
meditation. (42).
Aristotle also takes issue with Plato’s requirement of learning along
the lines of episteme or scientific understanding.
Aristotle emphatically denies that practical reason is scientific. In fact, true rational practical choice cannot be
forced into becoming more scientific without becoming defective. (55). Again,
he tells us that discernment of the right choice relies upon perception, the ethical
ability that allows us to respond to specific features of a situation. He cites three ideas that undermine a scientific
conception of rationality; the first two I have mentioned earlier -- that valuable things
are non-commensurable and the necessity of judging on a case by case basis – and now
he adds a third, which is a defense of the emotions and imagination as being vital to
rational choice.
Plato’s stance on this last idea connected to the imagination is one
of rejecting the sensuous flights of intellect as part of a general rejection of the
influence of the body. Other philosophers
have described imagination as too egoistic and self-indulgent. (76). And yet I would ask if it is not specifically the
imagination that allows us to put ourselves into others’ situations and experience
more objectively what it is to leave our self?
Aristotle’s “phantasia” corresponds most closely to our
modern conception of imagination in that it works with memory to picture absent or
previously experienced items, or form new combinations -- some not yet experienced -- from
things that have entered our sense experience. (Nussbaum
77). He believes imagination works in tandem
with ethical conceptions of the good, shown by the way we conduct a test run in our minds
to determine what is to be avoided and what pursued.
The person of practical wisdom will not ignore the imagination’s
conclusions when assessing a situation for its goodness or virtue in future acts. (77-78). People possessing a practical wisdom are ready to
meet new situations with enough imagination and perceptiveness that will allow them to
improvise what is required to act morally. (71). To
improvise, specifically, is to read what the concrete situation requires. When we are aware of the particularities of
individuals and situation, practical wisdom will allow us to use self-directed judgment
because we are not rule bound. A virtuous
person, according to Aristotle, learns to value the distinctive qualities of each human
being and situation. Ideal living is defined
as “creativity animated by passion”. (99).
I agree it is often the passionate response, not intellectual thought,
that will guide one’s action to the appropriate response. Thought will frequently consult feeling to learn
the true nature of the circumstances at hand. Without
taking this step, the understanding of the situation would be handicapped. Aristotle states that it is lacking in virtue to
make a choice that is not verified by the emotions. In
other words, as Nussbaum (79) puts it, when feeling is missing, part of the correct
perception is missing.
A person can be proud of his intellectual powers to the extent that they
become a detriment to true ethical perception and may undermine a full human response.
(81). In the extreme, this person has no awareness of other people or events unfolding
around him. Sometimes understanding requires
responding as a whole person. For example,
when a friend has died, the person who only registers it as a fact fails to react with the
appropriate feelings of grief or sympathy for the family, which indicates a lack of virtue
as well as perception. It could also be said
that this person doesn’t fully realize what has happened because he doesn’t feel
it. The emotional part of cognition is
absent. In this case the emotions prompt the
appropriate intellectual sizing up of the situation.
The emotions, therefore, are in and of themselves modes of seeing and
recognizing. (79).
Aristotle extends this even further when he delivers a warning. Not only do intellectual responses need to be
completed with imaginative and emotional ones, they must be monitored to determine if the
intellect is being prevented from seeing. The
pure intellect is not only overreaching but it is a “dangerous master”. (82). In no uncertain terms should people of practical
wisdom rely too much on a technical or strict intellectual response that might hinder
emotional or imaginative responses. In fact,
Aristotle promotes an education that encourages “fancy” and feeling through
contact with literature, using it as an opportunity to learn appropriate understanding.
(82).
In this section I have attempted to show some of the arguments by which
Aristotle famously restores the emotions to their proper place in morality, bringing them
back from Plato’s unjust banishment. Aristotle
believes the truly good person will act well and have appropriate feelings in response to
the choices she makes. As I’ve said,
emotions are composed of belief and feeling, shaped bythought and are capable of
discrimination. (78). Often it is the
passionate response rather than the cool, detached intellect that will lead to correct
perception. Thought will rely on feeling to
verify an authentic take on the nature of the situation. (79).(excerpt from:
Barber, Susan. The Immediacy of Writing (pages
19-28).
READINGS:
Philosophy: Aristotle - Poetics
Background:
Aristotle approaches poetry with the same scientific method with which he treats
physics and biology. He begins by collecting and categorizing all the data available to
him and then he draws certain conclusions and advances certain theses in accordance with
his analysis. In the case of tragedy, this means he divides it into six parts, identifies
plot as the most important part, and examines the different elements of plot and character
that seem to characterize successful tragedies. He tentatively suggests that tragedy
ultimately aims at the arousal of pity and fear and at the katharsis
of these emotions. Then he begins to lay out certain theories as to what makes a good
tragedy: it must focus on a certain type of hero who must follow a certain trajectory
within a plot that is tightly unified, etc. Aristotle's conclusions, then, are based less
on personal taste and more on an observation of what tends to produce the most powerful
effects.
Aristotle's method raises the fundamental question of
whether poetry can be studied in the same way as the natural sciences. Though there are
some benefits to Aristotle's method, the ultimate answer seems to be "no." The
scientific method relies on the assumption that there are certain regularities or laws
that govern the behavior of the phenomena being investigated. This method has been
particularly successful in the physical sciences: Isaac Newton, for
example, managed to reduce all mechanical behavior to three simple laws. However, art does
not seem to be governed by unchanging, unquestionable laws in the same way that nature is.
Art often thrives and progresses by questioning the assumptions or laws that a previous
generation has accepted. While Aristotle insisted on the primacy and unity of plot, Samuel Beckett has
achieved fame as one of this century's greatest playwrights by constructing plays that
arguably have no plot at all. Closer to Aristotle's time, Euripides often violated
the Aristotelian principles of structure and balance in a conscious effort to depict a
universe that is neither structured nor balanced. Not surprisingly, Aristotle seems to
have preferred Sophocles
to Euripides.
These remarks on Sophocles and Euripides bring us to
another problem of interpreting Aristotle: we have a very limited stock of Greek tragedies
against which to test Aristotle's theories. Aristotle could have been familiar with
hundreds, or even thousands, of tragedies. All we have today are thirty-three plays by
three tragedians. As a result, it is difficult to say to what extent most tragedies fit
Aristotle's observations. Those that we have, however, often grossly violate Aristotle's
requirement. The best example we have of an Aristotelian tragedy is Oedipus Rex, so it is no wonder that Aristotle makes
such frequent reference to it in his examples.
Three points stand out as probably the most important in
the Poetics: (1) the interpretation of poetry as mimesis, (2) the insistence on the primacy and unity of mythos, or plot, and (3) the view that tragedy serves to
arouse the emotions of pity and fear and then to effect a katharsis
of these emotions. (excerpt from www.sparknotes.com)
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Aristotle with a bust
of Homer - Rembrandt |
Read: Online text of Poetics: (read preface by
Gilbert Murray and have a look at the text by
Aristotle)
< http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/etext04/poeti10.txt
>
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Literature: Sophocles - Oedipus Rex
(Oedipus the King)
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Ancient theatre at
Dodoni |
Lyre of Apollo |
Background: Greek Theater
Greek theater was very different
from what we call theater today. It was, first of all, part of a religious festival. To
attend a performance of one of these plays was an act of worship, not entertainment or
intellectual pastime. But it is difficult for us to even begin to understand this aspect
of the Greek theater, because the religion in question was very different from modern
religions. The god celebrated by the performances of these plays was Dionysus, a deity who
lived in the wild and was known for his subversive revelry. The worship of Dionysus was
associated with an ecstasy that bordered on madness. Dionysus, whose cult was that of
drunkenness and sexuality, little resembles modern images of God.
A second way in which Greek theater was different from modern theater is in its
cultural centrality: every citizen attended these plays. Greek plays were put on at annual
festivals (at the beginning of spring, the season of Dionysus), often for as many as 15,000 spectators at once. They dazzled viewers with their
special effects, singing, and dancing, as well as with their beautiful language. At the
end of each year’s festivals, judges would vote to decide which playwright’s
play was the best.
In these competitions, Sophocles was king. It is thought
that he won the first prize at the Athenian festival eighteen times. Far from being a
tortured artist working at the fringes of society, Sophocles was among the most popular
and well-respected men of his day. Like most good Athenians, Sophocles was involved with
the political and military affairs of Athenian democracy. He did stints as a city
treasurer and as a naval officer, and throughout his life he was a close friend of the
foremost statesman of the day, Pericles. At the same time, Sophocles wrote prolifically.
He is believed to have authored 123 plays, only seven of
which have survived.
Sophocles lived a long life, but not long enough to
witness the downfall of his Athens. Toward the end of his life, Athens became entangled in
a war with other city-states jealous of its prosperity and power, a war that would end the
glorious century during which Sophocles lived. This political fall also marked an artistic
fall, for the unique art of Greek theater began to fade and eventually died. Since then,
we have had nothing like it. Nonetheless, we still try to read it, and we often
misunderstand it by thinking of it in terms of the categories and assumptions of our own
arts. Greek theater still needs to be read, but we must not forget that, because it is so
alien to us, reading these plays calls not only for analysis, but also for imagination.
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Terra Cotta tragic
mask |
The story was not invented by Sophocles. Quite the
opposite: the play’s most powerful effects often depend on the fact that the audience
already knows the story. Since the first performance of Oedipus
Rex, the story has fascinated critics just as it fascinated Sophocles. Aristotle
used this play and its plot as the supreme example of tragedy. Sigmund Freud famously
based his theory of the “Oedipal Complex” on this story, claiming that every boy
has a latent desire to kill his father and sleep with his mother. The story of Oedipus has
given birth to innumerable fascinating variations, but we should not forget that this play
is one of the variations, not the original story itself.
Plot:
A plague has stricken Thebes. The citizens
gather outside the palace of their king, Oedipus,
asking him to take action. Oedipus replies that he already sent his brother-in-law, Creon,
to the Oracle at Delphi to learn how to help the city. Creon returns with a message from
the Oracle: the plague will end when the murderer of Laius, former king of Thebes, is
caught and expelled; the murderer is within the city. Oedipus questions Creon about the
murder of Laius, who was killed by thieves on his way to consult an oracle. Only one of
his fellow travelers escaped alive. Oedipus promises to solve the mystery of Laius’s
death, vowing to curse and drive out the murderer.
Oedipus sends for Tiresias, the blind prophet, and asks
him what he knows about the murder. Tiresias responds cryptically, lamenting his ability
to see the truth when the truth brings nothing but pain. At first he refuses to tell
Oedipus what he knows. Oedipus curses and insults the old man, going so far as to accuse
him of the murder. These taunts provoke Tiresias into revealing that Oedipus himself is
the murderer. Oedipus naturally refuses to believe Tiresias’s accusation. He accuses
Creon and Tiresias of conspiring against his life, and charges Tiresias with insanity. He
asks why Tiresias did nothing when Thebes suffered under a plague once before. At that
time, a Sphinx held the city captive and refused to leave until someone answered her
riddle. Oedipus brags that he alone was able to solve the puzzle. Tiresias defends his
skills as a prophet, noting that Oedipus’s parents found him trustworthy. At this
mention of his parents, Oedipus, who grew up in the distant city of Corinth, asks how
Tiresias knew his parents. But Tiresias answers enigmatically. Then, before leaving the
stage, Tiresias puts forth one last riddle, saying that the murderer of Laius will turn
out to be both father and brother to his own children, and the son of his own wife.
After Tiresias leaves, Oedipus threatens Creon with death
or exile for conspiring with the prophet. Oedipus’s wife, Jocasta
(also the widow of King Laius), enters and asks why the men shout at one another. Oedipus
explains to Jocasta that the prophet has charged him with Laius’s murder, and Jocasta
replies that all prophecies are false. As proof, she notes that the Delphic oracle once
told Laius he would be murdered by his son, when in fact his son was cast out of Thebes as
a baby, and Laius was murdered by a band of thieves. Her description of Laius’s
murder, however, sounds familiar to Oedipus, and he asks further questions. Jocasta tells
him that Laius was killed at a three-way crossroads,
just before Oedipus arrived in Thebes. Oedipus, stunned, tells his wife that he may be the
one who murdered Laius. He tells Jocasta that, long ago, when he was the prince of
Corinth, he overheard someone mention at a banquet that he was not really the son of the
king and queen. He therefore traveled to the Oracle of Delphi, who did not answer him but
did tell him he would murder his father and sleep with his mother. Hearing this, Oedipus
fled his home, never to return. It was then, on the journey that would take him to Thebes,
that Oedipus was confronted and harassed by a group of travelers, whom he killed in
self-defense. This skirmish occurred at the very crossroads where Laius was killed.
Oedipus sends for the man who survived the attack, a
shepherd, in the hope that he will not be identified as the murderer. Outside the palace,
a messenger approaches Jocasta and tells her that he has come from Corinth to inform
Oedipus that his father, Polybus, is dead, and that Corinth has asked Oedipus to come and
rule there in his place. Jocasta rejoices, convinced that Polybus’s death from
natural causes has disproved the prophecy that Oedipus would murder his father. At
Jocasta’s summons, Oedipus comes outside, hears the news, and rejoices with her. He
now feels much more inclined to agree with the queen in deeming prophecies worthless and
viewing chance as the principle governing the world. But while Oedipus finds great comfort
in the fact that one-half of the prophecy has been disproved, he still fears the other
half—the half that claimed he would sleep with his mother.
The messenger remarks that Oedipus need not worry, because
Polybus and his wife, Merope, are not Oedipus’s biological parents. The messenger, a
shepherd by profession, knows firsthand that Oedipus came to Corinth as an orphan. One day
long ago, he was tending his sheep when another shepherd approached him carrying a baby,
its ankles pinned together. The messenger took the baby to the royal family of Corinth,
and they raised him as their own. That baby was Oedipus. Oedipus asks who the other
shepherd was, and the messenger answers that he was a servant of Laius.
Oedipus asks that this shepherd be brought forth to
testify, but Jocasta, beginning to suspect the truth, begs her husband not to seek more
information. She runs back into the palace. The shepherd then enters. Oedipus interrogates
him, asking who gave him the baby. The shepherd refuses to disclose anything, and Oedipus
threatens him with torture. Finally, he answers that the child came from the house of
Laius. Questioned further, he answers that the baby was in fact the child of Laius
himself, and that it was Jocasta who gave him the infant, ordering him to kill it, as it
had been prophesied that the child would kill his parents. But the shepherd pitied the
child, and decided that the prophecy could be avoided just as well if the child were to
grow up in a foreign city, far from his true parents. The shepherd therefore passed the
boy on to the shepherd in Corinth.
Realizing who he is and who his parents are, Oedipus
screams that he sees the truth and flees back into the palace. The shepherd and the
messenger slowly exit the stage. A second messenger enters and describes scenes of
suffering. Jocasta has hanged herself, and Oedipus, finding her dead, has pulled the pins
from her robe and stabbed out his own eyes. Oedipus now emerges from the palace, bleeding
and begging to be exiled. He asks Creon to send him away from Thebes and to look after his
daughters, Antigone and Ismene. Creon, covetous of royal power, is all too happy to
oblige. (excerpt from Sparknotes.com)
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(Please go to class discussion for Week 3)
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