Will Morrisey Reviews

Book reviews and articles on political philosophy and literature.

  • Home
  • Reviews
    • American Politics
    • Bible Notes
    • Manners & Morals
    • Nations
    • Philosophers
    • Remembrances
  • Contents
  • About
  • Books

Recent Posts

  • Orthodox Christianity: Manifestations of God
  • Orthodox Christianity: Is Mysticism a Higher Form of Rationality?
  • The French Malaise
  • Chateaubriand in Jerusalem
  • Chateaubriand’s Voyage toward Jerusalem

Recent Comments

    Archives

    • June 2025
    • May 2025
    • April 2025
    • March 2025
    • February 2025
    • January 2025
    • December 2024
    • November 2024
    • October 2024
    • September 2024
    • August 2024
    • July 2024
    • June 2024
    • May 2024
    • April 2024
    • March 2024
    • February 2024
    • January 2024
    • December 2023
    • November 2023
    • October 2023
    • September 2023
    • August 2023
    • July 2023
    • June 2023
    • May 2023
    • April 2023
    • March 2023
    • February 2023
    • January 2023
    • December 2022
    • November 2022
    • October 2022
    • September 2022
    • August 2022
    • July 2022
    • June 2022
    • May 2022
    • April 2022
    • March 2022
    • February 2022
    • January 2022
    • December 2021
    • November 2021
    • October 2021
    • September 2021
    • August 2021
    • July 2021
    • June 2021
    • May 2021
    • April 2021
    • March 2021
    • February 2021
    • January 2021
    • December 2020
    • November 2020
    • October 2020
    • September 2020
    • August 2020
    • July 2020
    • June 2020
    • May 2020
    • April 2020
    • March 2020
    • February 2020
    • January 2020
    • December 2019
    • November 2019
    • October 2019
    • September 2019
    • August 2019
    • July 2019
    • June 2019
    • May 2019
    • April 2019
    • March 2019
    • February 2019
    • January 2019
    • December 2018
    • November 2018
    • October 2018
    • September 2018
    • August 2018
    • July 2018
    • June 2018
    • May 2018
    • April 2018
    • March 2018
    • February 2018
    • January 2018
    • December 2017
    • November 2017
    • September 2017
    • August 2017
    • July 2017
    • June 2017
    • May 2017
    • April 2017
    • March 2017
    • February 2017
    • January 2017
    • December 2016
    • November 2016
    • September 2016
    • August 2016
    • July 2016
    • June 2016
    • April 2016
    • March 2016
    • February 2016
    • January 2016

    Categories

    • American Politics
    • Bible Notes
    • Manners & Morals
    • Nations
    • Philosophers
    • Remembrances
    • Uncategorized

    Meta

    • Log in
    • Entries feed
    • Comments feed
    • WordPress.org

    Powered by Genesis

    Religious Toleration Among the Aristocrats? Chateaubriand’s Thought Experiment

    October 16, 2024 by Will Morrisey

    François-René de Chateaubriand: The Adventures of the Last Abencerraje. A. S. Kline translation. London: On-Demand Publishing, 2011.

     

    Chateaubriand describes the Abencerrajes as a Moorish tribe that ruled the Emirate of Grenada, the last city ruled by Muslims in Spain, reconquered by Ferdinand and Isabella in 1492. The marriage of Ferdinand of Aragon and Isabella of Castile, uniting the two Christian Catholic kingdoms, gave the Spaniards the military heft they needed to complete the reconquest of their country, much of which had been taken by Sunni Muslims, beginning in the 700s. The Nasrid dynasty had ruled Grenada since the 1200s but had been weakened by factional struggles by the 1400s, with the Abencerrages facing off against the rival Zegris. After his surrender to the Spaniards, Grenada’s governor, Boabdil (Muhammed XII), departed for north Africa, stopping on Mount Padul, where he could see the Mediterranean and look back on the city and the tents of the Spanish army. As he wept, his mother, the Sultana Aixa, maintained the warrior spirit of Islam: “Thou weepest now like a woman for a kingdom thou wast unable to defend like a man.”

    The Abencerrajes settled in the outskirts of Tunis, founding, “within sight of the ruins of Carthage, a colony that can still be distinguished today from the other Moorish colonies of Africa, by the elegance of its moeurs and the temperance of its laws.” So strong was their love of “their former homeland,” the exiled Abencerrajes prayed five times a day, facing not Mecca but Grenada. “Allah was invoked in order that he might render once more to his elect that land of delights,” which no longer “sounded to their cry to arms: ‘Love and Honor.'” Nevertheless, they turned to the practice not of war but of medicine; a “race of warriors, who had once inflicted wounds, now occupied themselves with the art of healing,” an art they had once practiced even during war, “tend[ing] the wounds of the enemy they had conquered.” The study of medicine was “a calling as esteemed among the Arabs as the profession of arms”—both satisfying the aristocratic passion for honor. Of the medicinal herbs they gathered, some relieved “the ills of the body,” some “the sorrows of the soul”; “the Abencerrajes especially valued those that served to calm vain regrets,” those “dispel[ling] those foolish illusions and hopes of happiness forever nascent, forever disappointed.” What religion perpetuated, futilely, medicine palliated. In the Islamic world, piety and philosophy once balanced each other.

    Chateaubriand begins his story in 1516, a generation later, with young Aben-Hamet, a descendant of a man who was accused of seducing the Sultana by Ibrahim Benedin, leader of the rival Zegris,  in Grenada. He determines to return to Grenada “to satisfy his heart’s desire, and to accomplish a purpose which he hid carefully from his mother,” a purpose Chateaubriand will not reveal quite yet. Under the guise of an herb-gathering Arab physician, he heads for Spain, and although pained by the sight of palm trees planted by his ancestors and by the sight of Moorish ruins, he acknowledges to himself that “since Allah had willed that the Moors of Spain should lose their beautiful homeland,” he “could not help but esteem its somber conquerors. “And the beauty of that homeland has its own influence, as climatologist Montesquieu would expect: “Enchanted skies, a clear and delightful atmosphere, plunge the mind into a secret languor, from which travelers, even mere passers-by, can scarcely defend themselves. It would seem that in this country the tender passions would quickly extinguish the heroic ones, if love, to appear valid, had not the need to be always occupied with glory.” As his guide identifies the great, partly ruined castles, one “where they claim the Abencerraje was surprised with the Sultana Alfaima,” “how cruel it was” to Aben-Hamet “that he must have recourse to strangers to identify the monuments of his ancestors and be told by those indifferent to them the history of his family and friends!” He lodges at a caravanserai which had been built by the Moors but, “too agitated to enjoy even a brief repose,” he wanders the streets, listening to the sound of flutes, playing songs of love, which have replaced the sound of the Arabic trumpet: “the victors rested on the bed of the vanquished.” By daybreak, he is lost.

    He then sees a beautiful Spanish girl, accompanied by a duenna, walking toward a monastery for morning Mass. “Recovering from her initial astonishment” at the sight of a Moor in Grenada, guessing that he is lost, “she beckoned to the stranger to approach with the grace and freedom peculiar to the women of that country.” He responds with Arabic eloquence: “Sultana of the flowers, delight to the eyes of man, O Christian slave, more beautiful than the virgins of the mountains of Georgia, thou hast divined it!” Well. “The Moors are renowned for their gallantry,” she replies “with the sweetest of smiles,” but “I am neither a Sultana of the flowers, nor a slave, nor pleased to be commended to Mohammed.” She exhibits Christian charity, guiding him to the caravanserai, then disappearing. With this, Aben-Hamet forgets to gather medicinal flowers, as “the flower he now sought was the beautiful Christian.”

    The story will proceed from there, sometimes but if not always predictably. But why does Chateaubriand choose to tell it? 

    Early in his career, Chateaubriand took upon himself the task of vindicating Christianity in the wake of the Enlightenment. In The Genius of Christianity, published in 1802, he showed that pre-modern, Christian Europe had made substantial advances in science, without the materialism of modern science. Yet, there was another charge the Enlightenment made against Christianity, and against religion generally. Religion had sparked uncompromising wars not between Christians and Muslims but among Christians themselves. These wars saw priests urging warlike aristocrats to fight heretics. Chateaubriand’s source for his story, Ginis Bérez de Hitas’s Guerras civil de Grenada, would have provided him with a forceful reminder of this. Was religious toleration founded upon a turn to ‘secularization’ and ‘democratization’ (especially rule by the commercial middle classes) not more favorable to real peace than the Religion of Peace—a claim fought over by both Christians and Muslims? Yet had not the Enlightenment issued in the French Revolution and the Napoleonic Wars, embarrassments to Enlightenment pacifiers? What Chateaubriand offers might be called a thought experiment, one showing how religious fidelity and aristocracy might overcome the urge to fight, how chivalry might not deserve to die. It is noteworthy that Christopher Columbus was likely present at the conquest of Grenada; he would set sail for what would turn out to be an unknown continent later that year. If Columbus’s voyage might be considered the beginning, or at least the harbinger, of European modernity, inaugurating the ‘Age of Exploration,’ might this hinge between religious and aristocratic feudalism and irreligious and ‘bourgeois’ modernity not strike Chateaubriand as a point of considerable interest?

    As the months wear on, the lonely Abencerraje returns to gathering herbs. One day he hears his beloved’s voice singing a Castilian song “which traced the history of the Abencerrajes and the Zegris.” Once again, his greeting is gallant: “I cast at thy feet the heart the heart of Aben-Hamet.” This time, she won’t disappear, as her song was a song in remembrance of him, and their encounter. But she doesn’t know that he himself is “the last of the Abencerrajes,” and “a vestige of prudence restrained him” from telling her so, as that news might prove dangerous if related to the rulers: “The Moorish Wars were scarcely over, and the presence of an Abencerraje at that moment might justly inspire fear among the Spaniards.” For his part, he fears not the danger of combat but the danger of separation from Dona Blanca. 

    Who is she? She descends from Roderigo Diaz de Bivar, the famous El Cid, who conquered Valencia and ruled it in the years before his death in 1099. During a period of exile from the Castilian court, he had fought with the Muslims, and as ruler of Valencia he found support among both Christians and Muslims. Although his line fell into “extreme poverty,” Blanca’s grandfather revived their fortunes, becoming “well known less for his true titles than for the brilliance of his valor”—that is, by means of virtue, of nature, not of convention. Ferdinand made him Duke of Santa Fé as reward for his battlefield prowess. His son, Don Rodrigo, was named for El Cid, who has two children, eighteen-year-old Blanca and her valorous older, also Don Rodrigo but called Don Carlos to distinguish him from him from his now elderly father. Don Carlos accompanied Cortez in his expedition to Mexico in 1519 the continuation of European voyages of discovery and conquest; “endur[ing] every danger, he had witnessed all the horrors of that astonishing venture,” witnessing “the fall of the last king of a world till then unknown.” A few years later, he fought among the Spanish forces allied with the House of Hapsburg, defeating the French at the Battle of Pavia, an event that led to the imprisonment of the French king. “The aspects of the new world, the long voyages over as yet unknown seas, the spectacle of revolutions and vicissitudes of fate, had badly shaken the religious and melancholy mind of Don Carlos,” who renounced marriage, giving his possessions to his sister and joining the Order of Calatrava. That is significant because the Order of Calatrava was founded in the twelfth century by warrior aristocrats and Catholic monks who had joined in defending a Spanish fortress; it valorizes the Church-aristocracy alliance of Spanish and indeed of European feudalism. 

    His sister sings, dances, rides a horse: “Athens would have taken her for Aspasia and Paris for Diane de Poitiers.” “But allied to the charms of a French woman, she had the passion of a Spaniard, and her natural coquetry stole nothing from the steadiness, constancy, force, and elevation of the sentiments of her heart.” When her father rushes to discover what the commotion is, she nonetheless lies, telling him that the Moor “entered the garden to thank me for having shown him the way” to the caravanserai. She has already chosen to leave her father and to cleave to him, which would be an act of Christian if not filial fidelity. That will prove easier to think than to do. Chateaubriand pauses, however, to elaborate on the ethos and the moeurs of the Spanish regime: “The Duke of Santa Fé received the Abencerraje with the grave and yet simple politeness of the Spaniards. There is nothing of a servile manner to be seen in that nation, none of those turns of phrase that denote abjection of thought or degradation of spirit. The language of the great lord and of the peasant is one, greetings, compliments, habits, customs, all are one. Both their trust in and the generosity of that people towards, foreigners are boundless, just as their vengeance is terrible when betrayed. Heroic in their courage, unfailing in their patience, incapable of yielding to evil fortune, they must overcome it or be crushed. They have little of what we call wit, but the exalted passions take the place of that enlightenment that comes from subtlety and abundance of ideas. A Spaniard who spends the day without speaking, who has seen nothing, who cares to see nothing, who has read nothing; studied nothing; compared nothing, still finds in the grandeur of his resolutions that resources required to face the hour of adversity.” That is, in terms of modernity’s democracy, the Spanish were and remain democratic in the uniformity of their moeurs but aristocratic in their moeurs, and so in reality, by their nature as improved by their regime, not by convention, as established by the false nature-philosophy of the Enlightenment philosophes. Spaniards remain outside of the Enlightenment but suffer nothing on account of that, thanks to their grandeur, their greatness, of soul. For Chateaubriand, then, they are models of what other Europeans might be.

    At a birthday celebration for her father, Blanca, worried that her beloved might be distracted by the other women, dances a Zambra, “an expressive dance the Spaniards had borrowed from the Moors.” The music and her dance “settled the fate of the last Abencerraje irrevocably: they would have sufficed to disrupt a heart less afflicted than his.” As for Blanca, although “to love an Infidel, a Moor, a foreigner, seemed so strange a thing to her,” she accepted “that malaise like a true woman of Spain,” foreseeing “dangers and sorrows” calmly. “Let Aben-Hamet become a Christian, let him love me, and I will follow him to the ends of the earth.” That, of course, is the dilemma, as for his part Aben-Hamet thinks, “Let Blanca become a Muslim, let her love me, and I will serve her till my dying breath.” “Fixed in their resolutions,” the lovers “only awaited the moment to reveal their feelings to one another.”

    He has disclosed this much, that his family originated in Granada. She invites him to walk through the Alhambra, surely a site of interest. They enter at the Gate of Justice, where “all the charms of his homeland, all his regrets, mingled with the glamor of love, seized the heart of the Last Abencerraje,” in this place where “something sensual, religious, and yet warlike” pervaded this “kind of cloister of love, a mysterious retreat in which the Moorish kings tasted all the delights, and forgot all the duties, of life.” He sheds “ears of fidelity, loyalty, and honor” at the sight of King Boabdil’s name inscribed in the mosaics. When she leads him to the Room of the Abencerrajes, Blanca points out their bloodstains, caused by their slaughter as punishment for the seduction of the Sultana. “That is the manner in which they treat men who seduce credulous women in your country,” she observes, doubtless intending this as a cautionary monition. Aben-Hamet responds nobly, swearing “by the blood of these knights, to love thee with the constancy fidelity, and ardor of an Abencerraje.” He has not yet quite disclosed that he is an Abencerraje, but the religious impasse remains: she would have him to convert; he, her. Having resisted the temptation to forsake religious fidelity for romantic love, they “emerged from that place of danger,” but not before Blanca asks him how he would love her, if he was indeed an Abencerraje. “More than glory and less than honor,” the Moorish aristocrat answers, confirming that his natural virtue overrides conventional opinion. Given both the impasse and their strength of character, they agree never to love anyone else, to wait with patience until one or the other converts. He vows to return every year “to see if thou hast kept faith with me, and whether thou wishest to renounce thy errors,” that is, Christianity.

    He does return the following year, bringing with him the gift of a gazelle, “almost as light-footed as thou,” on whose collar “she read with tender gaze her own name.” Both lovers would have known that the gazelle symbolizes the soul and is often depicted as being attacked by a lion symbolizing the passions. This living gazelle has survived the hunt. Having tested each other’s fidelity in love and in religion, “they separated again without succumbing to the passion that drew them to one another.” The next year proves more eventful, and fateful. Having returned “like one of those birds of passage that love brings back to us when it is spring in our climate,” in France, it transpires that Blanca’s brother has also arrived, accompanied by a French prisoner, captured at the Battle of Pavia, whom he has befriended. Perhaps borrowing from the custom of the Abencerrajes, or simply out of Christian charity, Don Carlos, “who witnessed Lautrec’s bravery” on the battlefield, “cared for the young Frenchman’s wounds, and between them one of those heroic friendships” in which “esteem and virtue form the foundation.” Aben-Hamet “felt his hear sink,” seeing that Don Carlo’s intends this man, Thomas de Lautrec, to court Blanca. And Don Carlo “nourished in his heart that hatred against the infidels which he had inherited from El Cid.” Introduced by his sister to the Moor, Don Carlos chivalrously acknowledges him as a man of “noble race and brave”; in the coming war of Spain against Tunisia, “I trust we will see you take the field.” Aristocratic courtesy tempers religious animosity, without abandoning religious animosity. To his grave disappointment, Blanca “made no attempt to hide the secret of her heart” and, having one the love battle before taking the field in any war, Aben-Hamet gracefully takes his leave.

    When Don Carlos demands an explanation from his sister, she unhesitatingly declares her love for the Moor: “Nobility, honor, chivalry, are his; I will worship him till my last breath,” and you, brother, should “keep thy vows of knighthood as I will keep my vows of love,” refusing to marry unless he converts to Christianity. When Don Carlos complains that “our family will vanish from the earth,” Blanca ripostes, “It is for thou to revive it.” “Besides, what use are descendants thou wilt never see, and who will lapse from thy virtue? Don Carlos, I feel that we are the last of our race; we are too far out of the common order for our race to flourish after us: the Cid was our ancestor, he will be our posterity.” Spanish aristocrats are the Christian equivalents of the last of the Abencerrajes.  Blanca will “worship” her beloved but not at the expense of relinquishing her worship of Christ. And although she worships the man of chivalry, she also suspects that chivalry is dead, at least in her family, knowing that genuine aristocracy, what Chateaubriand’s older contemporary, Thomas Jefferson, called the natural aristocracy of virtue and talent, is no matter of inheritance. Shining in a few generations, it eventually must disappear.

    Frustrated by his sister, Don Carlos challenges Aben-Hamet to a duel. Once satisfied that Blanca has not sent him (“she loves thee more than ever,” the knight tells him), the Moor declines the challenge; he is not a knight, and Don Carlos would betray his superior rank if he were to fight him. Don Carlos promptly grants him a knighthood, “gird[ing] him with the very sword that the Abencerraje might well be about to plunge into his chest: such was the former idea of chivalry.” He also offers Aben-Hamet baptism, which the Moor faithfully refuses. In the fight, Don Carlo proves the better swordsman, but Aben-Hamet’s Arabian horse is more agile, his Arab-forged sword stronger. With the Christian at his mercy, the Muslim refuses to kill him. “Thou wert free to kill me, but I have never thought to do you the least injury; I wished only to prove to thee that I was worthy of being thy brother, and to prevent thee from despising me.” The principle of warrior aristocracy, across religious lines, is honor; at the same time, both Christianity and Islam add grace, grace in imitation of God, to honor. That is “the former idea of chivalry.”

    Despite Blanca’s efforts, the three men will not reconcile, as Don Carlos continues to “loathe” Aben-Hamet, Lautrec to “envy” him. As for the Muslim, “I esteem Don Carlos, and I pity Lautrec, but I cannot love them.” Blanca can only counsel patience.

    Her patience is nearly rewarded. “It came to [Aben-Hamet’s] mind to enter the temple of Blanca’s God, and seek advice from the Lord of Creation.” In “an ancient mosque converted into a church by the faithful,” his heart is “seized by sorrow and religion” in this “temple that was once of his God and his homeland.” “The airy architecture of the Arabs was married to the Gothic, and without losing its elegance had acquired the gravity appropriate to meditation.” Married, indeed, but human beings are not buildings. “Aben-Hamet was about to throw himself headlong onto the marble floor” and give himself to Christ, “when he saw, in the lamplight, an Arabic verse from the Koran, which appeared beneath the half-ruined plaster of the wall. Remorse awoke in his heart, and he hastened to leave the building where he had considered renouncing his loyalty to his religion and country.” Upon leaving the church, he meets Blanca, who worries that, now weakened by passion, she will die if he does not “adopt my faith before the Christian altar.” This moves him to “renounce the error of his religion,” as “the fear of seeing Blanca’s death outweighed all other feelings” in his heart. “After all, he told himself, the God of the Christian may well be the true God,” a “God of noble souls, since He is worshipped by Blanca, Don Carlos and Lautrec.” It seems that love and honor overcome the aristocrat’s religious fidelity. Chateaubriand appears to prepare what indeed would be a ‘Romantic’ conclusion to his tale, one that his sentimental readers would expect and delight in.

    But not so. At a gathering arranged by Lautrec, who had also been present in the church, praying for guidance, the three men tell stories of victory: Don Carlos, the conquest of Mexico; Aben-Hamet, the founding of the Ottoman Empire, “newly established on the ruins of Constantinople” (conquest can cut both ways); Lautrec the glories of the French royal court and “the rebirth of the arts from the barbaric womb,” uniting Christian France with ancient Greece. Each man then sings a ballad: the captive Lautrec longing for his homeland; Aben-Hamet longing for the lost Grenada, “lost to an accursed Christian,” but “so it is written” by the will of Allah; Don Carlos of “his illustrious ancestor El Cid,” who “preferred his God, his King, his Ximena, to life itself, and above all: his honor.” Until now, Aben-Hamet had no thought that Don Carlos and Blanca were descendants of El Cid, “whom Christians call the Flower of Battles” while having “a name among us for his cruelty,” that this family was Blanca’s grandfather, the one who killed his grandfather during the conquest of Grenada. Like Boabdil before him, Aben-Hamet weeps, first confessing that “yesterday, the sight of this French knight at prayer” and the sound of “thy words in the cemetery of the temple, made me resolve to know thy God, and sacrifice my faith for thee.” He had come to Grenada in order to revenge his family for the death of his grandfather. Now, he absolves Blanca of her vows to him and “to fulfill by my eternal absence, and my death, what we both owe to the enmity between our gods, our homelands, and our families.” He forfeits Blanca to the French knight, who chivalrously refuses the offer: “Thou shalt not carry into exile the fatal idea that Lautrec, insensitive to thy virtue, seeks to profit from thy misfortunes.” For his part, Don Carlo tells them both, “I expected nothing less from your illustrious origins.” He then offers to meet Aben-Hamet once again in combat; “If I am vanquished, all my good, once yours, will be faithfully restore to you,” and if you refuse combat, “become a Christian and receive the hand of my sister, which Lautrec has requested on your behalf.”

    Although “the temptation was great,” it “was not beyond the self-rule of Aben-Hamet,” not beyond the virtue of his nature. “He could not think without horror of any idea of uniting the blood of the persecutors to that of the persecutors” in “so unholy an alliance,” as his grandfather would have deemed it. “Let Blanca pronounce my fate,” which she does: “Return to the desert!” At this, Aben-Hamet “offered his adoration to Blanca even more than to Heaven,” leaves Grenada and soon undertakes a pilgrimage to Mecca, perhaps to repent of that impious adoration. Blanca will pass “the rest of her days among the ruins of the Alhambra,” the palace of love. “She did not complain; she did not weep; she never spoke of Aben-Hamet: a stranger might have thought her happy,” the sole survivor in her family after her father dies of grief and Don Carlos is killed in a duel. 

    Chateaubriand breaks in with his own memory. In Tunisia he had been shown, in a cemetery near the ruins of Carthage, where Dido mourned the absence of her lover, Aeneas, a tomb called “The Tomb of the Last of the Abencerraje.” “The rainwater collects at the bottom of this funeral basin and serves, in that hot climate, to quench the thirst of birds of passage,” emblems of lovers. There Chateaubriand leaves his story, but his readers, familiar with Virgil’s epic, know that Aeneas left Dido, not only the queen but the founder of Carthage, even as Blanca’s people were the founders of reconquered Grenada; he left her not at her command but at the command of Jupiter, who intended the exile from conquered Troy to become the founder of Rome. Unlike Christian Blanca, pagan Dido cursed the Trojans and committed suicide, prefiguring the brutal wars between Carthage and Rome, and their outcome. Rome would conquer Europe, including Spain, providing the political framework within which Christians could evangelize, despite persecution—or because of it, since the blood of the martyrs was the seed of the Church. The Spanish reconquest of Spain, ending in Grenada, reprises both the Roman conquest of Europe and the Christian conquest of Rome. 

    The religio-political settlement Chateaubriand arranges in The Adventures of the Last of the Abencerrajes thus amounts to a thought experiment vindicating both Christian and Muslim aristocracies while acknowledging their demise. The settlement depends primarily upon the character of aristocracy itself—the genuine aristocracy of virtue, and especially of warrior virtues, not the conventional aristocracy of titled oligarchs. This requires upholding honor by means of self-sacrifice. Religion inflects this conduct, but it is noteworthy that no priest and no imam ever appears in the course of the story. Chateaubriand keeps his thought experiment centered on the conduct of aristocrats as aristocrats, across religious frontiers. Aristocrats can settle peace between rival religions, at the cost of exile and loving sacrifice. Chateaubriand’s much younger distant cousin, Alexis de Tocqueville, would find a different role for aristocrats, one consonant with their decline in the wake of civil-social equality, a role consistent with the maintenance of honor.

     

     

    Filed Under: Manners & Morals

    Socrates and the Sophist

    October 9, 2024 by Will Morrisey

    Plato: Greater Hippias. Harold N. Foster translation. Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1967. 

    Catherine H. Zuckert: Plato’s Philosophers: The Coherence of the Dialogues. Chicago: Chicago University Press, 2009. Chapter 4, section iv: “The Sophist’s Inability to Say What Is Noble.”

     

    Socrates greets the prominent sophist, Hippias of Elis, newly arrived at Athens, calling him kalos (noble, beautiful) and wise—the word ‘sophist’ itself meaning ‘wise one.’ “What a long time it has been since you have put in at the port of Athens!” Well, yes, “I have no leisure, Socrates,” since the regime in Elis calls on him whenever it needs to transact business with “any of the poleis,” calling upon his ambassadorial skills, “thinking that I am the ablest judge and messenger of the words that are spoken by the several poleis“— particularly formidable Lacedaemon. After all, a truly wise man must be the best judge and also the one most capable of relaying messages accurately, and of understanding their meaning. Socrates appears impressed, indeed enthusiastic, exclaiming, “That’s what it is, Hippias, to be a truly wise and perfect man!” Hippias looks like the perfect specimen of humanness itself, traveling from polis to polis, serving Elis but in some respects a citizen of the world, or at least of Greece as a whole, its many poleis with their several regimes. He seems at once a patriot and one who transcends city-states and their regimes. What is more, privately, he makes “much money from the young,” whom he charges for his teaching, while “confer[ring] upon them still greater benefits than you receive,” even as he “benefits[s]” his own city-state, “as a man must who is not to be despised but held in high repute among the many.” Hippias seems to square all the circles. But is his seeming a reality? If, for example, he has no leisure, when does he have the time to think, to become wise, a ‘soph-ist’? Or does his sophistry mean that, having become wise already, he no longer needs to think?

    As always, Socrates has a question. “What in the world is the reason why those men of old whose names are called great in respect to wisdom—Pittacus, and Bias, and the Milesian Thales with his followers—and also the later ones, down to Anaxagoras, are all or most of them, found to refrain from the affairs of the polis?” Because they were not me, Hippias replies; they “were not able to compass by their wisdom both public and private matters.” They were wise privately but lacked political wisdom. Their public reputation was a recognition by the many of their sound personal advice; they were the Dr. Phils of their time. 

    Hippias affirms Socrates’ suggestion, that “your art has progressed” since then, “just as the other arts have progressed,” and so the ancients “who were concerned with wisdom are of no account in comparison with you.” This might suggest that the art of sophistry might progress still further, that Hippias might still have much to learn, that he is not fully wise after all. But Hippias doesn’t take the hint. Instead, he confides a trade secret: although he knows his superiority to the ancients, “I am in the habit of praising the ancients and our predecessors rather than the men of the present day” as “a precaution against the envy of the living and through fear of the wrath of those who are dead.” (Hippias appears to presume that the dead only get wind of his public statements, not his private ones.) Socrates makes a show of agreement, pointing to the sophist Gorgias, who came to Athens and “spoke excellently in the public assembly, and in his private capacity, by giving exhibitions and associating with the young, he earned and received a great deal of money from this city.” “Our friend here, Prodicus,” has done the same thing. [1] “But none of those ancients ever thought fit to exact money as payment for his wisdom or to give exhibitions among people of various places; so simple-minded were they, and so unconscious of the fact that money is of greatest value.” And indeed, Socrates himself, admittedly no sophist, no wise man but a philosopher, a lover of wisdom, charges no money for his conversations. 

    Socratic irony is lost on Hippias. “Why Socrates, you know nothing of the beauties of this. For if you were to know how much money I have made, you would be amazed.” Not only has he far surpassed the ancients, but he has bested his competitors, his contemporaries: “I pretty well think that I have made more money than any other two sophists together,” including Protagoras, older and more famous than Hippias but surpassed by him in getting money out of Sicily. Still in seeming agreement, Socrates cites the earlier sophists “of the school of Anaxagoras,” who likewise missed the money boat, and Anaxagoras himself, who made money and then lost it “so mindless was his wisdom”—he, who taught that Mind rules the universe. Hippias caps the point by aphorizing, “A wise man must be wise for himself especially, and the test of this is, who makes the most money.” Evidently, even Hippias’ service to his city-state amounts to an advertisement for himself, an indirect means of lining his pockets. And of course, Elis is his city-state; its prosperity may well redound to Hippias’ benefit. For Hippias, a ‘proof’ consists not of a logical argument, nor of a right assessment of another’s soul, but of a visible, tangible thing. He is an ’empiricist.’

    But not so fast, Hippias. Have you made the most money at Lacedaemon, the city-state you have visited most frequently? This elicits Hippias’ first oath: “No, by Zeus. I never made anything at all” there. Socrates finds this obvious self-contradiction “a marvel, and a wondrous one at that.” And so he asks, your wisdom makes “better men in regard to virtue?” And yet the Lacedaemonians desire virtue as much as the citizens of other city-states and they have the money to pay him. Nor do they educate their children better than you, Hippias, as Hippias readily affirms. Nor did the fathers of the young Lacedaemonians “begrudge it to their children to become as good as possible.” Further, Lacedaemon is well-ruled, and in well-ruled city states “virtue is most highly honored”? And you are, as you say, demonstrably the best at “transmitting” virtue to others, the proof of which is seen in one’s earnings, which you didn’t get from the Lacedaemonian regime or from its citizens? 

    What is more, since sophistry an art, why should it have a different effect in Lacedaemon than elsewhere? The best teacher of horsemanship could teach it Thessaly, be “most honored” there, and in all of Greece, receiving more money than all of the other teachers of that art. This being so, as Hippias concedes, “then will not he who is able to transmit the doctrines that are of most value for the acquisition of virtue be most highly honored in Lacedaemon and make the most money, if he so wishes, and in any other of the Greek poleis that is well governed?” Tell us why, then, Lacedaemon failed to lavish you with drachmas? Why, it is because they are hidebound, Hippias replies. “It is not the inherited usage of the Lacedaemonians to change their laws or to educate their children differently from what is customary.” They resist progress. Do you mean to say, Hippias, that “for the Lacedaemonians” it is “the hereditary usage not to act rightly, but to commit errors?” Surely, if a father has the choice between following the traditions of the ancestors, the ancients, and doing what is best for them, he will choose to do what is best, educate the young better, not worse? But (now changing ground) “it is not lawful for them to give [the young men] a foreign education,” Hippias explains, shifting the blame from Lacedaemonian traditionalism to their suspicion of the foreign. The Lacedaemonians love to listen to me; “they applaud me”; but they do not pay me much because “it is not the law.”

    This raises the question of the status of law. “Do you say that law is an injury to the polis, or a benefit?” It is made “with benefit in view,” according to the opinion that it is beneficial, but “if the law is badly made,” if the art of lawmaking is defective in that instance, “it is injurious.” Hippias agrees that lawmakers, those who ‘craft’ the laws (as our eminently artistic American lawmakers like to say, nowadays), do so for “the greatest good to the polis,” and to fail to do so would make it “impossible to enjoy good government.” If those who make the laws “miss the good” they have “missed the lawful and the law,” yes? That is, law is an instrument crafted by lawmakers for the sake of the good, which is therefore not identical to the law. Yet to be good law, true law, the law must serve the good? Hippias cannot disagree: “Speaking accurately, Socrates, that is true, however, men are not accustomed to think so.” What men? Those who know, or those who don’t know? Why, those who don’t know, “the many.” As to those who do know, they must “think that in truth for all men that which is more beneficial is more lawful than that which is less beneficial”? Well, Hippias answers, “they think it is so in truth.” Hippias, a sophist or ‘wise one,’ that knower of truth, allows the possibility that there may be a disjunction between wisdom conceived as knowledge of the good and wisdom conceived as he conceives it, as money-making. 

    If so, Socrates persists, for the Lacedaemonians it must then be “more beneficial to be educated in your education, which is foreign, than in the local education”; more, beneficial things are lawful; therefore, it is more lawful to be educated “contrary to the law” in Lacedaemon. “I agree to that,” Hippias now states, “for you seem to be making your argument in my favor.” If only the Lacedaemonians saw what Socrates sees, they would have given me money, the measure of wisdom. Arguments do not prove anything, but they can be useful. Pesky logic says otherwise, however: turning to their listeners (thus appealing to the opinion sophists seek to manipulate) Socrates says, “My friends, we find that the Lacedaemonians are law-breakers, and that too in the most important affairs—they who are regarded as the most law-abiding of men.” Their reputation, the public opinion not only of themselves but of all Greeks, is mistaken. If so, Hippias, “what sort of discourses” do these lawless upholders of law and of tradition enjoy and applaud you for? Astronomy? No. Geometry? No, some of them don’t even know arithmetic. “The processes of thought,” then? “Far from it indeed, by Zeus.” Nor harmonies. Rather than such matters of the mind, such as it were Anaxagorean concerns, they love to hear about “the genealogies of heroes and men,” the “foundations of cities in ancient times and, in short, about antiquity in general”—precisely those things progressive, master of the art of sophistry Hippias has deprecated. “For their sake”—that is, for his own sake—Hippias “has been obliged to learn all that sort of thing by heart and practice it thoroughly.” But does that not mean that Hippias cares for something other than money, only? Does he not love to be applauded, honored? 

    This is enough to elicit an oath not from Hippias but now from Socrates. “By Zeus, Hippias, it is lucky for you that the Lacedaemonians do not enjoy hearing one recite the list of our archons from Solon’s time,” as it is very long. [2] But Socrates, “I can remember fifty names.” My mistake, Hippias, “I did not understand that you possess the science of memory” as well as the science of wisdom. But in both cases, what are your arts for? The Lacedaemonians “make use of you as children make use of old women, to tell stories agreeably.” They rule you, not you them; for all your supposed wisdom, betokened by wealth, they don’t pay you a dime. This brings out a “by Zeus” from the sophist; on the contrary, my reputation in Lacedaemon derives from “telling story about noble and beautiful pursuits,” exactly the virtues Socrates had initially attributed to him. I recount what the pursuits “of a young man should be.” That is, the memorized genealogies of heroes, men, and cities teach virtue. His finest speech consists of the story of Neoptolemus, who, after the fall of Troy, “asked Nestor what the noble and beautiful pursuits were,” and received a list of “many lawful and beautiful pursuits” (if not necessarily noble ones?). Hippias invites Socrates to listen to his discourse, which he will deliver at a school tomorrow. And be sure that you bring “others who are able to judge of discourses that they hear.” In the Greek poetic tradition, Nestor, the elderly adviser of warriors at Troy, gives counsel that sometimes doesn’t work out well, although this may register the unpredictability of gods or luck more than unwisdom; Neoptolemus, son of Achilles, has a decidedly mixed record in terms of both virtue (he seems to have had a cruel streak) and fortune (he founded a city but was killed by Orestes). Promising to go, “God willing” (the philosopher is more mindful of circumstances than either warriors or sophists), Socrates quickly turns to a philosophic question, having been “reminded” of the beautiful “just at the right moment.” In doing so, concocts an imaginary questioner who supposedly asked him “very insolently” how he knew what the beautiful is. The insolent questioner asks exactly the kind of question Socrates himself famously asks. Claiming that he vowed to ask the next of the “wise men” he met, in order to return to renew the dialectic with his questioner, he puts the question to Hippias. As usual, the sophist does not lack confidence. If I cannot do this, Hippias says, “my profession would be worthless and ordinary.” Indeed. Socrates promises to imitate the insolent questioner by interjecting “exceptions,” counter-examples,” to what Hippias will say.

    Just, wise, men and good things are so by justice, wisdom, and goodness; beautiful things are beautiful “by the beautiful.” Very well, what is the beautiful? Hippias asserts that there is no difference between the beautiful (what the beautiful is) and beautiful things (what is beautiful). All right, but the questioner wanted to know what the beautiful is, to which Hippias answers that a beautiful maiden is beautiful—a what-is-beautiful answer, not the answer to the question. The questioner remarks that a beautiful mare is also beautiful, as are a beautiful lyre and even a beautiful pot. All of these objects share beautiful in common, but they are different things. How can what the beautiful is be the same thing as what is beautiful?

    Hippias is offended at the mention of the lowly pot. “Socrates, who is the fellow? What an uncultivated person, who has the impudence to mention such worthless things in a dignified discussion!” To this ad hominem argument Socrates immediately but ironically yields: “That’s the sort of person he is, Hippias, not elegant, but vulgar, thinking of nothing but the truth.” Yet isn’t a well-wrought Grecian pot beautiful? Yes, for what it is, but “it does not deserve to be regarded as beautiful in comparison with a mare and a maiden and all the beautiful things,” things innately superior to a pot. Yes, but if we compare maidens or wise men to gods, will they too not be inferior in beauty? And even so, we have not found what “the absolute beauty,” beauty itself, is. 

    Just as we begin to suspect that Hippias cannot think abstractly, only concretely and instrumentally (as would a materialist, Zuckert observes), he tells Socrates that if that is all the questioner is looking for, “nothing is easier to answer.” Beauty is that “by which all other things are adorned and by the addition of which they are made to appear beautiful.” Tell him that the beautiful “is nothing else than gold.” To the sophist, a thing is as it appears to be. The sophist, who takes money to be the coin of wisdom, takes beauty to be less than skin deep, a thing of surfaces. The wise man coats his speech with appealing words, glistening appearances. Money is gold, gold is money.

    Socrates’s vulgar questioner is ready with a counter-example. Phidias the sculptor doesn’t cover his beautiful statue of Athena (goddess of the wisdom Hippias claims to possess, calling himself a ‘sophist’) with gold. His statue is made of ivory. A beautiful pot may hold soup, which may be nutritious but is seldom beautiful. The statue is ivory all the way through; it beautiful; it does not merely appear to be beautiful. Don’t even talk with this fellow “when he asks such questions,” noble-by-appearance, wise-by-appearance Hippias advises. Socrates accordingly shifts to another, related question: Is the ladle of gold or a ladle of fig wood more appropriate to spooning soup? The ladle of fig wood, Hippias replies. But why did Phidias “not make the middle parts of the eyes also of ivory, but of stone, procuring stone as similar as possible to the ivory,” since the ivory is beautiful? The beautiful stone is also beautiful, Hippias stipulates, so long as it is “appropriate.” Then, it will be ugly when not appropriate? Emphatically so—indeed, “if anyone has anything to say against this, you may say I know nothing at all.” Hippias assumes that he knows quite a lot, that he has escaped the dialectic, whereas the philosopher is famous for asserting that indeed he knows nothing except that he does not know. To prove that he knows quite a lot, Hippias ventures a definition of what a beautiful way of life is, implying that he knows not only what is beautiful but what is noble. “I say, then, that for every man and everywhere”—universally—it is “most beautiful to be rich and healthy, and honored by the Greeks, to reach old age, and, after providing a beautiful funeral for his deceased parents, to be beautifully and splendidly buried by his own offspring.” Wealth, health, honor, longevity, giver and receiver of beautiful funerals—such is the fitting, the appropriate. As Zuckert writes, “the sophist wants to be admired everywhere, by everyone” for his wisdom, but this depends upon the opinion of both the few and the many. The sophist wants self-sufficiency but depends upon reputation, granted by others. That is, the profitability of his art, whether in money or in honor, depends upon his ability to defend his art in the face of Socrates, in the face of a philosopher, in terms of the rational dialectic he would prefer to avoid.

    Socrates congratulates Hippias. The philosopher now swearing by Hera, the kind goddess, for “coming to my assistance”—well, “to the best of your ability.” The appearance of Hippias is one thing, his nature another. He is neither gold nor ivory, all the way through. But, Socrates conjectures, the questioner will laugh at the answer. If so, Hippias assures him he will “be laughing at himself and will himself be laughed at by those present”; the questioner will lose ‘face,’ the appearance of wisdom, the honor that accrues to the appearance of wisdom. Not only that, Socrates says; more alarmingly, the questioner may beat me with a stick. Is he your master, Socrates? Or does Athens so “disregard justice and allow the citizens to beat one another unjustly?” On the contrary, Hippias, “the beating would be just, I think.” Now it is finally time for Hippias to ask a question: Why do you think so? Because the questioner “asked for the absolute beautiful,” that “by which everything to which it is added has the property of being beautiful.” You have evaded the question, but I, the questioner, have caught you and I shall now punish you, in justice. (Hippias could of course ask, ‘What is justice?’ but that would only suggest that he sees the questioner’s vulgar-but-true point, that the distinction between what beauty is and what is beautiful must be a real distinction, that ‘What is’ questions ‘make sense.’) The questioner will ask, bringing his own concrete example into the dialectic, if “the stranger from Elis”—patriotism cuts both ways—claims that “for Achilles it was beautiful to be buried later than his parents, and for his grandfather Aeacus, and all the others who were born of gods, and for the gods themselves”—some of whom overthrew the older gods, the Olympians having overthrown the Titans. Hippias can only sputter, recurring to an argumentum ad hominem, “these questions of the fellow’s are not even respectful to religion.” Socrates does not deny it, preferring respectfully to change the subject to the demigod hero, Heracles, who didn’t bury his parents, one of them being Zeus. Hippias continues to retreat before the dialectical onslaught. I didn’t mean to include the gods in my definition, or those who were children of gods. So, the beautiful is the fitting, the appropriate, then? Not even that, as a man might wear clothes that fit him and still be “ridiculous,” as Hippias understands. Socrates pounces, once again. “It could not be the fitting” to make things “appear more beautiful than they are,” to not “let them appear as such as they are.” 

    Still, “we must”—once again—attempt “to say what that is which makes things be beautiful.” Hippias gives it another try: “the fitting, Socrates, makes things both be and appear beautiful by its presence.” He has, at last (and at least) managed to separate an idea from things. This, Socrates remarks, means that things really beautiful must also appear to be beautiful. But why, then, is there so much “strife and contention” over what things are beautiful? If they were beautiful and appeared to be beautiful, and if that connection were necessary, then no such controversy would erupt. If the fitting both makes things beautiful and makes them appear so, then the coincidence of beauty and beautiful appearance would hold; since it doesn’t the fitting can at most only make things beautiful in reality, in their being, or in their appearance. Speaking very much as a sophist, Hippias chooses to say that the fitting makes things appear beautiful; to a sophist, a word fitly spoken gilds being with an attractive surface. But this is to admit that Socrates is right; the fitting cannot produce one dimension of beauty, namely, real beauty, the beauty of a thing by nature, its ‘inner’ beauty, as it were. We still haven’t discovered what beauty is.

    The putatively wise knower now scales back on his claim to know, telling Socrates that he knows “that if I should go away into solitude and meditate alone by myself, I could tell [what the beautiful is] with the most perfect accuracy.” A reader might be excused for suspecting that the honor-loving, money-loving sophist wants to escape this dialogue with whatever remains of his reputation intact. “Ah, don’t boast, Hippias”; stay with us, “for Heaven’s sake,” and “find it in my presence or, if you please, join me, as you are now doing, in looking for it.” If we find it now, I will not be a nuisance” to you, anymore—no idle threat, given the precarity of Hippias’ profession, dependent as it is on the approval of the few and the many. Socrates has caught him in another contradiction, this one not in thought but in his way of life. To save his reputation, Hippias must go; to save his reputation, Hippias must stay. Socrates has turned the sophist’s tactic of ad hominem argument against the sophist. In the event, Hippias stays, and Socrates begins the inquiry anew.

    He approaches the question by invoking a new idea or ‘abstraction,’ the useful. Perhaps the beautiful is “whatever is useful for us.” For example, beautiful eyes are not those that seem to be beautiful but are sightless; beautiful eyes are “those which are able and useful for seeing.” Similarly, “the whole body is beautiful” when fully ‘functional.’ And not only natural objects but artifacts, customs, and laws. We look at each thing with regard to “how it is formed by nature, how it is wrought, how it has been enacted”; “the useful we call beautiful, and beautiful in the way in which it is useful, and for the purpose for which it is useful, and at the time when it is useful.” More than two millennia later, Americans still exclaim ‘Beautiful!” when something ‘works.’ Beleaguered Hippias quickly agrees.

    Oh, but no. A powerless thing is a useless thing. If usefulness is beauty, then power is beautiful and lack of power is “disgraceful or ugly.” The money-lover likes the sound of that: “Decidedly. Other things, Socrates, testify for us that this is so, but especially political affairs; for in political affairs and in one’s own polis to be powerful is the most beautiful of all things, but to be powerless is the most disgraceful of all.” Very well, then is wisdom, your claim to power or authority, “also for this reason the most beautiful thing and ignorance the most disgraceful thing”? Maybe, Hippias cautiously rejoins. And maybe not. If a person cannot do “what he did not know how and was utterly powerless to do,” and if “men do many more bad things than good,” erring involuntarily, then the acts of the powerful cannot necessarily be beautiful and power cannot be beautiful. Hippias then suggests a qualification. The acts that one has the power to do are beautiful “if they are powerful and useful for good.” If so, Socrates says, beautiful persons and customs must be beautiful because they are beneficial, “the beautiful seems to us to be the beneficial.” 

    But no. If the beautiful causes the good, if the beautiful “has the nature of a kind of father,” then the good cannot be the caused by the beautiful any more than a father can be his own son. “By Zeus,” the beautiful cannot be the good, or the good beautiful. This “does not please me at all,” Hippias says, himself swearing by Zeus. He is stuck conversing with ugly old Socrates, who pronounces himself to be “at a loss.” As for Hippias, he has nothing more to say, except to recur to his desired escape-hatch: he is “sure I shall find it after meditation.” 

    Socrates happily presses on, being a man who is never at a loss for long. Perhaps “the beautiful is that which is pleasing through hearing and sight.” For example, beautiful customs and laws are beautiful for that reason; we are pleased to hear and see Lacedaemonian customs and laws, to take the ones instanced earlier. Socrates prompts Hippias to admit that sensual pleasures, not only laws and customs, are truly pleasurable. This admission may ruin the claim, however, since the act of eating and the act of sexual intercourse can be pleasant but they are hardly pleasant to hear or to see. And if you were to admit that these pleasures are beautiful, you would lose respect among the people, since they “do not seem so to most people,” and you depend upon public opinion to make money. But that is not truly dispositive, since “that is not what [the questioner] asked”: again, he asked not “what seems to most people to be beautiful, but what is so.” So, we still might say “that that part of the pleasant which comes by sight and hearing is beautiful,” despite what the many may suppose. If we say that what is pleasant through sight is beautiful, we do not mean to say that what is pleasant through the other senses is not beautiful.” All these pleasant things “have something identical which makes them beautiful,” both as individual things and collectively. Or, taking another idea, as Hippias now sees, “if we are both just, would not each of us be just also and if each is unjust, would not both again also be unjust”? Now on a roll, as the expression goes, Hippias identifies health, affliction, nobility, wisdom, honor, age and youth as the sort of characteristics the questioner has in mind. But he has a new objection.

    “You see, Socrates, you do not consider the entirety of things, nor do they with whom you are in the habit of conversing, but you all test the beautiful and each individual entity by taking them separately and cutting them to pieces. For this reason, you fail to observe that embodiments of reality are by nature so great and undivided. And now you have failed to observe to such a degree that you think there is some affection or reality which pertains to both of these together, but not to each individually, or again to each, but not to both; so unreasoning and undiscerning and foolish and unreflecting is your state of mind.” That is, Hippias wants to emphasize the unity of the cosmos, its homogeneity, against the Socratic claim of a heterogeneous whole. The homogeneous cosmos fits nicely with Hippias’ sophistry because the more the cosmos is conceived as homogeneous, undifferentiated, the less reason, with its principle of non-contradiction, can understand it. As Zuckert remarks, Hippias “embodies a way of life based on such a homogeneous cosmology,” posing “an important test of the rationale for Socratic inquiry” and, one might add, to any “rationale” at all. Hippias claims to understand reality all at once and as a whole; again, as Zuckert has it, Hippias has no felt need for dialogue because he is unerotic, supposing he already has wisdom, already knows the nature of the cosmos.

    Unfortunately for Hippias, “human affairs,” as Socrates replies, “are not what a man wishes, but what can”; wishful thinking doesn’t make the wish ‘come true.’ Hippias now tries to bluff his way out: “You will speak to one who knows, Socrates,” a soph-ist, “for I know the state of mind of all who are concerned with discussion; but nevertheless, if you prefer, speak.” “Well, I do prefer.”

    And now, Hippias is really in for it. “Are you and I one or are you and I two?” Socrates begins. That is, are we both an odd number and an even number? Undeniably so. Therefore, “what both are, each is, and what each is, both are.” This establishes the principle of heterogeneous unity. By the same logic, “some things are so and some are not so.” Pleasures through sight and through hearing are distinct as to the senses through which they come to us, but they are both beautiful. You yourself have “conceded that both and each were beautiful.” If so, “if both are beautiful, they must be beautiful by that essence which belongs to both. So it is, with strength and “countless other cases.” That is, Socrates has proved that the cosmos is not homogeneous, that it encompasses heterogeneous parts. If so, then if a pleasurable thing may not be beautiful (as they have already agreed), pleasure is not the same as beauty; if it were, then all pleasurable things would be beautiful. 

    Hippias can no longer dispute the argument. He can dispute the worth of the argument. “What do you think all [philosophizing] this amounts to? It is mere scrapings and shavings of discourse, divided into bits.” It is sophistry that is “beautiful and of great worth” because sophistry can “convince the audience,” “carry off the greatest of prizes, the salvation of oneself, one’s property, and one’s friends,” unlike these “petty arguments” of yours, “mere talk and nonsense,” by which you “appear to be a fool”—whether you are or not. Given the coming trial of Socrates, in which the philosopher fails to defend himself against his accusers in front of a jury of Athenian citizens, would Socrates not be better off if he were a sophist? To recur to the earlier argument, Hippias claims to be the noble mare, denigrating Socrates as the lowly pot. Socrates may be beautiful, but only in an inferior way.

    Socrates agrees, ironically. Yes, “my dear Hippias you are blessed because you know the things a man ought to practice, and have, as you say, practiced them satisfactorily,” while “I, as it seems, am possessed by some accursed fortune, so that I am always wandering and perplexed, and, exhibiting my perplexity to you wise men, am in turn reviled by you in speech whenever I exhibit it.” Why, I am so confused, “I do not even know what the beautiful itself is.” It is questionable, then, whether I am better to be alive than dead; in this way, the sophist’s accusation loses its force, not because it is false but because it is the sophist who fails to see “the entirety of things” even while asserting the homogeneity of things. In the case at hand, the danger of capital punishment might not be a real danger at all, inasmuch as I might be better off if my fellow Athenians go ahead and kill me. That, too, is a matter for philosophic inquiry. There is, however, one sure benefit to the philosophic life. I may not know what the beautiful is, but “I think I know the meaning of the proverb, ‘beautiful things are difficult.'” To move from wishful thinking to rational thinking is difficult because the cosmos is heterogeneous, complex, in need of rational explication, not as simple as the sophist wants it to be.

     

    Notes

    1. Prodicus has come down to us as the teller of the story of the ‘choice of Hercules,” who chooses chaste Lady Virtue over seductive but injurious Lady Vice. Is this wholesome teaching the sort of thing that makes Prodicus Socrates’ friend, if still a sophist? No other sophist is called Socrates’ friend in this dialogue, including Hippias—despite Socrates’ friendly greeting. 
    2. Plato’s readers will recall the Ion, in which Socrates dialogues with the eponymous rhapsode, a prodigy of memory who seldom bothers to think. 

     

    Filed Under: Philosophers

    Are Liberal Studies Moral?

    October 2, 2024 by Will Morrisey

    Seneca: Epistles. Number 88: “”On Liberal and Vocational Studies.” Richard Mott Gummere translation. Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1920.

     

    Addressed to “his friend Lucilius,” a Roman procurator, Seneca’s letters range over an array of topics likely to concern a gentleman-politician. Gentleman-politicians distinguish themselves from ‘the vulgar.’ But on what terms? By what criteria? Most immediately, because they are “free-born,” neither slaves nor dependent upon civil-social superiors, and therefore potentially capable of self-government and of governing the city. But capable in what way? And how can the desired capability be cultivated? Roman gentleman often hope to make their sons distinguished from ‘the vulgar’ by providing them with an education in the liberal arts.

    “You have been wishing to know my views with regard to liberal studies,” Seneca begins, alluding to the famous opening sentence of Aristotle’s Metaphysics, “All men by nature desire to know.” Gentlemen, however, direct this natural human inclination in a gentlemanly direction. “I respect no study,” Seneca continues, “and deem no study good, which results in money-making.” Respect or honor; deeming or judging; goodness: these are the preoccupations of one who wants to rule, one who wants to rule prudently, one who wants to rule virtuously, not with mere virtuosity. And surely not for a task so base as money-making. Seneca distinguishes the work of a gentleman from the work of buying and selling, some “profit-bringing” work “useful only in so far as” it prepares the mind for better things, which is “our real work” as gentlemen and perhaps as human beings simply. That is, while practical, the gentleman is no ‘utilitarian.’ Liberal studies “are studies worthy of a free-born gentleman,” and there is really only one such study, the one “which gives a man his liberty.” That is “the study of wisdom,” which is “lofty, brave, and great-souled.” The love of wisdom, which will lead a soul to the study of wisdom, is philosophy. But loftiness or high-mindedness, courage, and magnanimity are moral virtues par excellence. Seneca seems to conjoin philosophy not only with a life animated by morality but with the most conspicuous virtues, the virtues a gentleman-politician might most want to possess. He associates liberty primarily with philosophy, secondarily with what a gentleman would ordinarily think, that liberty is citizenship, sharing in the rule of the city.

    Do liberal studies really “make men good,” though? The liberal arts, the objects of liberal studies, consist of the trivium—grammar, rhetoric, logic—and the quadrivium—arithmetic, geometry, astronomy, music. What have they to do with moral virtue? When it comes to “investigations into language,” including works of history and poetry, Seneca doubts that they have much to do with it at all. “Pronouncing syllables, investigating words, memorizing plays, or making rules for the scansion of poetry, what is there in all this that rids one of fear, roots out desire, or bridles the passions?” Unlikely: linguistics, history, and poetry “would resemble each other if they taught the same thing,” whether it were morality or anything else. They don’t. That is, in terms of the trivium, logic tells us that grammar and rhetoric (specimens of which highlighted the works of the classical historians) do not teach virtue. 

    What about rhetoric, the most persuasive manifestation of which might be said to be poetry? Teachers of this liberal art often make the claim that Homer teaches virtue, that Homer “was a philosopher,” and therefore a teacher of virtue as Seneca has defined “philosopher.” Did Homer deploy poetry in defense of philosophy? If so, what school of philosophy did Homer represent? Some call him a Stoic, some an Epicurean, some a Peripatetic/Aristotelian, some an Academic/Platonist. “Yet “no one of these doctrines is to be fathered upon Homer,” just “because they are all there,” all seen in one or another of the characters he presents in his poems, and these characters “are irreconcilable with one another.” Homer’s characters thus defy the principle of non-contradiction, the principle of logic, the third liberal art of the Trivium. And even if Homer was indeed a philosopher, a philosopher who anticipated and comprehended all subsequent philosophic schools, “surely he became a wise man before he had any knowledge of poetry.” His wisdom must have preceded his art. The study of poetry didn’t make him wise. 

    What did? One cannot learn that by what ‘moderns’ would call the facts one might turn up by reading his poems—asking where Ulysses voyaged “instead of trying to prevent ourselves from going astray at all times.” There are storms of the soul “which toss us daily,” troubling us as much as all the misadventures of the Homeric hero. “For us there is never lacking the beauty to tempt our eyes, or the enemy to assail us; on this side are savage monsters that delight in human blood, on that side the treacherous allurements of the ear, and yonder is shipwreck and all the varied category of misfortune”; “show me rather, by the example of Ulysses, how I am to love my country, my wife, my father, and how, even after suffering shipwreck, I am to sail toward these ends, honorable as they are.” A philosopher will inquire not whether Penelope actually was “a pattern of purity,” or whether “she suspected that the man in her presence was Ulysses, before she knew it was he”; “teach me rather what purity is, and how great a good we have in it, and whether it is situated in the body or in the soul.” That is, a philosopher will ask questions about how things are, what they are, what good things are, and the nature of things—the ‘What is?’ questions of Plato’s Socrates. At best, poems might be the work of a poet who, already knowing the answers to these questions, or at least knowing the several opinions about them and thereby being capable of raising questions about the answers, portrays characters who illustrate virtues, vices, good fortune and bad, bringing them to us for our own investigation. 

    As for the quadrivium, the study of music teaches virtue no more than poetry does. It teaches me to produce harmonies of sound, but that doesn’t “bring my soul into harmony with itself” or prevent “my purposes [to] be out of tune.” Mathematics, in particular geometry, teaches me “how to lay out the dimensions of my estates” but not “how to lay out what is enough for a man to own.” In teaching me to count, arithmetic only “adapts my fingers to avarice” without teaching me “that there is no point in such calculations,” except to ruin my soul. And as for my estate, why should I allow myself to indulge the love of what is my own—or rather, what only seems to be my own? If someone connives to take your carefully measured land that your father and grandfather owned, “Who owned the land before your grandfather?” And who owned it originally? After all, you are only tenant on that land, keeping it for some future tenant. Moreover, “what you hold and call your own is public property—it belongs to mankind at large.” And as for your grander calculations, your computations of “the distance between the stars,” if you were “the real master of your profession, measure me the mind of man!” And in terms of ethics, knowing what a straight line is doesn’t tell you what a straight life is.

    Astronomy? “What benefit will it be to know this?” As for astrology, the planets and stars “are driven along by an unending round of destiny, on a course from which they cannot swerve.” That being so, “if they are responsible for whatever happens, how will it help you to know the secrets of the immutable?” You can’t do anything about them. The right-minded man weighs probabilities, preparing for whatever events may befall, good or evil, exhibiting phronēsis, practical wisdom.

    What of the non-liberal, if not illiberal arts? Painting and sculpture are not liberal arts but mere “helps toward luxury.” Athletic training is even less liberal; to learn how to wrestle (for example) is to gain knowledge “compounded of oil and mud”—the oil with which wrestlers slather their bodies, the mud in the pits where wrestlers fight. As to the arts of perfumery and of cooking, they serve bodily pleasures, not the mind, catering to the wrong ordering of the soul. What of the strict warlike skills? “Do we really believe that the training which they give is ‘liberal’ for the young men of Rome, who used to be taught by our ancestors to stand straight and hurl a spear, to wield a pike, to guide a horse, and to handle weapons?” Those ancestors who taught their children “nothing that could be learned while lying down” were no better educators than our teachers of the arts of satiation. Why learn to “guide a horse and control his speed” without knowing how to bridle our passions? And why learn to beat opponents in wrestling, if we “find that we ourselves are beaten by anger?”

    Do liberal studies “contribute nothing to our welfare,” then? Yes, “but nothing at all as regards virtue.” They contribute to “the equipment of life.” Like all equipment, and like all the arts that equip us for thinking and acting, they cannot “bestow virtue,” but they can “prepare the soul for the reception of virtue.” “The liberal arts do not conduct the soul all the way to virtue,” but they do “set it going in that direction.” 

    How so? Seneca calls upon the authority of Posidonius, the massively learned Greek who promoted the advancement of Stoicism throughout the Roman Empire. Posidonius identified four arts: the “common and low”—arts worked with the hands, “concerned with the equipping of life” with “no pretense to beauty or honor”; “those which serve for amusement,” pleasing to eye and ear; those deployed to educate boys, especially the trivium and quadrivium, which Romans call liberal; and the genuinely liberal arts, “whose concern is virtue,” which is what truly liberates the human soul from its passions. Only those are truly liberal, truly liberating. Stoic philosophy has exactly that purpose. 

    Admittedly, philosophy also consists of the study of nature, and quadrivial geometry and arithmetic assist in that study. “But many things aid us and yet are not parts of ourselves”; were they parts of ourselves, we would not need to acquire them. “Mathematics is as indispensable to philosopher as the carpenter is to the mathematician” but carpentry isn’t mathematics and mathematics isn’t philosophy. The natural philosopher inquires into the causes of natural phenomena “while the mathematician follows up and computes their numbers and their measurements.” Similarly, the natural philosopher learns “the laws by which the heavenly bodies persist” and “what powers belong to them,” while the astronomer “merely notes their comings and goings.” No art is self-sufficient because all arts rest on “first principles” the art itself cannot and does not discover. If an art “could march unassisted to the truth, if it were able to understand the nature of the universe, I should say that it would offer much assistance to our minds; for the mind grows by contact with things heavenly and draws into itself something from on high.” But the only thing that perfects the soul is “the unalterable knowledge of good and evil.” Arts exist in order to alter things, not to discover the unalterable. No art “investigates good and evil.” The arts are amoral in and of themselves, although they may be propaedeutic to morality, and to philosophy generally. The possible exception, the third art of the Roman trivium, logic, is no exception in the sense that logic does not discover its first principle, the principle of non-contradiction; it rests upon that principle. Exercise in the art of logic can aid morality by helping (for example) to prevent incoherence of moral precepts. But it is itself no virtue; it does not make us good.

    Consider the virtues, Seneca tells Lucilius, following the ‘What is?’ line of philosophic inquiry. Do liberal studies make us courageous? Courage “challenges and crushes the powers of terror and all that would drive our freedom under the yoke,” all that would deprive us of liberty, whether political or philosophic. In what way do liberal studies strengthen souls in this? Loyalty, a foundation of the friendship Seneca and Lucilius enjoy, “the holiest good in the human heart,” does not arise from such study, either. Nor does moderation, which “knows that the best measure of the appetites is not what you want to take”—which a mathematician might count and measure—but “what you ought to take,” which might be measurable in terms of bodily good, but not moral good. Liberal studies cannot teach us to be kind, to know “that it is not for man to make wasteful use of his fellow man.” Liberal studies are worthwhile preparations for the attainment of wisdom but wisdom “is not learned by means of these studies.”

    Yet although “wisdom is not to be found in letters,” no man “ignorant of letters” will ever “be a wise man.” This is because “wisdom is a large and spacious thing,” indeed liberating, too large and spacious for any one person to become comprehensively wise. “One must learn about things divine and human, the past and the future, the ephemeral and the eternal”—time, the soul, the cosmos. “Whatever phase of things human and divine you have apprehended, you will be wearied by the vast number of things to be answered and things to be learned.” Better to “let all other things be driven out, and let the breast be emptied to receive virtue.” Winnow down your liberal studies to “as much of them as is essential.” Yes, all men by nature desire to know, but that desire too can be immoderate, as all desires can be. Pursue it immoderately to the peril of your soul. The “unseemly pursuit of the liberal arts makes men troublesome, wordy, tactless, self-satisfied bores, who fail to learn the essentials just because they have learned the non-essentials.” One scholarly pest wrote four thousand books; “I should feel pity for him if he had only read the same number of superfluous volumes,” writings that address “problems the answers to which, if found, were forthwith to be forgotten.” This being so, “I can show you many works which ought to be cut down with the axe.” To want to hear the praise, “What a learned man you are!” is vanity. If you want to be praised, seek the compliment, “What a good man you are!” A good man will refrain from “wallow[ing] in the geometrician’s dust.”

    You are a gentleman, Lucilius. You have no time for such things. To chase after them, you would need to “take no thought of all the time which one loses by ill-health, public duties, private duties, daily duties, and sleep.” Life is too short to be wasted on “superfluous and unpractical matter.”

    Where does this leave philosophy? In its place. Philosophers “have taken over into their own art all the superfluities of these arts,” and “the result is that they know more about careful speaking than about careful living.” That is, philosophy too is an art, but not often a liberal one, one that sets the soul free. Philosophers indulge in “over-nice exactness,” an enemy of truth. In so doing, they have gathered themselves into the distinct and opposing philosophic sects supposedly seen in Homeric poetry. Protagoras (the sophist Seneca classes with the philosophers) “declares that one can take either side on any question and debate it with equal success,” including the question of whether one can take either side on any question and debate it with equal success. And so it would seem, when examining philosophers who argue plausibly for atomism and reduce morality to mere rhetoric (Nausiphanes), for a cosmos that is real but whose various phenomenal manifestations are illusory (Parmenides), for the denial that anything at all exists (Zeno), and for the denial that we can know anything at all, with the possible exception of knowing that we do not know (the several schools of Skepticism). “You may sweep all these theories in with the superfluous troops of ‘liberal’ studies; the on class of men give me a knowledge that will be of no use to me, the other class do away with any hope of attaining knowledge.” Such philosophizing is nothing but a source of vexation. It is sophistry. It leads to intellectual confusion, not theoretical wisdom, and undermines morality, which requires practical wisdom not rhetorical posturing.

    Genuine philosophy, Stoicism, centers the soul upon the virtues. In this, it calms the suspicions of the gentlemen who regard philosophy itself as suspect because so many philosophers evidently think in vain and undermine morality. At the same time, Stoic philosophy frees the philosopher, Seneca, not only from the threat of persecution by indignant gentlemen but for the pursuit of philosophy, including the investigation of nature—of the cosmos and of the place of human beings within it. 

     

     

    Filed Under: Manners & Morals

    • « Previous Page
    • 1
    • …
    • 9
    • 10
    • 11
    • 12
    • 13
    • …
    • 226
    • Next Page »