A Superficial Poem

Shall I dwell upon the surface, or
Dive into the depths? Doesn't it depend
Upon the end, the object, the bend of will?
I'm sitting on a surface, my feet upon a surface,
My skin enfolded by surfaces. Each keeps
Its own texture, density, mass, extension, tension,
Opacity, load-bearing capacity, elasticity,
Light sensitivity, composition, and dexterity.
If I could align my eye parallel to these
Planes, would their silent undulations not
Reveal depths? Rolling folds, fissures,
Depressions from long-standing pressures,
Pressed upon their. . .surfaces? My own
Surface cracks at the sinister-side of its cavern,
Curling up cheek folds, closing up a window, to
Keep out--ALL-TOO-SERIOUS--depths; dark,
Shadowy burglars what steal away the best
Superficialities.

On Plato's Seventh Epistle

Occasionally I read something that returns my mind to former days of study, when leisure came at a lower cost and the energy behind youthful visions of grandeur still spurred me on to (vain?) inquiries. Today I read an article by Peter Leithart that summarized some general observations of David Bentley Hart about the sacrificial aspects of ancient metaphysics. The following quotation prompted a memory of Plato's Seventh Epistle:

Philosopher may have pretended to put all that behind them, but Hart doesn’t think so: “from the time of the pre-Socratics, all the great speculative and moral systems of the pagan world were in varying degrees confined to this totality, to either its innermost mechanisms or outermost boundaries. . . . none could conceive of reality except as a kind of strife between order and disorder, within which a sacrificial economy held all the forces in tension” (63).

Platonism’s “inexterable dualism” of change and stasis, its “equation of truth with eidetic abstraction” treated the world as “the realm of fallen vision, separated by a great chorismos from the realm immutable reality” (63). Aristotle’s “dialectic of act and potency [is] . . . inseparatble from decay and death” and his “scale of essences” reflected the cosmic determinism of the myths, in which “all things – especially various lcasses of persons – are assigned their places in the natural and social order” (63).

In Neoplatonism, the task of philosophy is “escape” from everything that is not the One – “all multiplicity, change, particularity, every feature of the living world.” Truth “is oblivion of the flesh, a pure nothingness, to attain which one must sacrifice the world” (64).

 The bolded remark prompted my memory, for in Plato's Seventh Epistle he exposits, in brief, what is required of those who would be philosophers over and against those who only pretend. His description reveals some kinship with Hart's observation:

For everything that exists there are three instruments by which the knowledge of it is necessarily imparted; fourth, there is the knowledge itself, and, as fifth, we must count the thing itself which is known and truly exists. The first is the name, the, second the definition, the third. the image, and the fourth the knowledge. If you wish to learn what I mean, take these in the case of one instance, and so understand them in the case of all. A circle is a thing spoken of, and its name is that very word which we have just uttered. The second thing belonging to it is its definition, made up names and verbal forms. For that which has the name "round," "annular," or, "circle," might be defined as that which has the distance from its circumference to its centre everywhere equal. Third, comes that which is drawn and rubbed out again, or turned on a lathe and broken up-none of which things can happen to the circle itself-to which the other things, mentioned have reference; for it is something of a different order from them. Fourth, comes knowledge, intelligence and right opinion about these things. Under this one head we must group everything which has its existence, not in words nor in bodily shapes, but in souls-from which it is dear that it is something different from the nature of the circle itself and from the three things mentioned before. Of these things intelligence comes closest in kinship and likeness to the fifth, and the others are farther distant.

The same applies to straight as well as to circular form, to colours, to the good, the, beautiful, the just, to all bodies whether manufactured or coming into being in the course of nature, to fire, water, and all such things, to every living being, to character in souls, and to all things done and suffered. For in the case of all these, no one, if he has not some how or other got hold of the four things first mentioned, can ever be completely a partaker of knowledge of the fifth. Further, on account of the weakness of language, these (i.e., the four) attempt to show what each thing is like, not less than what each thing is. For this reason no man of intelligence will venture to express his philosophical views in language, especially not in language that is unchangeable, which is true of that which is set down in written characters.

Again you must learn the point which comes next. Every circle, of those which are by the act of man drawn or even turned on a lathe, is full of that which is opposite to the fifth thing. For everywhere it has contact with the straight. But the circle itself, we say, has nothing in either smaller or greater, of that which is its opposite. We say also that the name is not a thing of permanence for any of them, and that nothing prevents the things now called round from being called straight, and the straight things round; for those who make changes and call things by opposite names, nothing will be less permanent (than a name). Again with regard to the definition, if it is made up of names and verbal forms, the same remark holds that there is no sufficiently durable permanence in it. And there is no end to the instances of the ambiguity from which each of the four suffers; but the greatest of them is that which we mentioned a little earlier, that, whereas there are two things, that which has real being, and that which is only a quality, when the soul is seeking to know, not the quality, but the essence, each of the four, presenting to the soul by word and in act that which it is not seeking (i.e., the quality), a thing open to refutation by the senses, being merely the thing presented to the soul in each particular case whether by statement or the act of showing, fills, one may say, every man with puzzlement and perplexity.

Now in subjects in which, by reason of our defective education, we have not been accustomed even to search for the truth, but are satisfied with whatever images are presented to us, we are not held up to ridicule by one another, the questioned by questioners, who can pull to pieces and criticise the four things. But in subjects where we try to compel a man to give a clear answer about the fifth, any one of those who are capable of overthrowing an antagonist gets the better of us, and makes the man, who gives an exposition in speech or writing or in replies to questions, appear to most of his hearers to know nothing of the things on which he is attempting to write or speak; for they are sometimes not aware that it is not the mind of the writer or speaker which is proved to be at fault, but the defective nature of each of the four instruments. The process however of dealing with all of these, as the mind moves up and down to each in turn, does after much effort give birth in a well-constituted mind to knowledge of that which is well constituted. But if a man is ill-constituted by nature (as the state of the soul is naturally in the majority both in its capacity for learning and in what is called moral character)-or it may have become so by deterioration-not even Lynceus could endow such men with the power of sight.

In one word, the man who has no natural kinship with this matter cannot be made akin to it by quickness of learning or memory; for it cannot be engendered at all in natures which are foreign to it. Therefore, if men are not by nature kinship allied to justice and all other things that are honourable, though they may be good at learning and remembering other knowledge of various kinds-or if they have the kinship but are slow learners and have no memory-none of all these will ever learn to the full the truth about virtue and vice. For both must be learnt together; and together also must be learnt, by complete and long continued study, as I said at the beginning, the true and the false about all that has real being. After much effort, as names, definitions, sights, and other data of sense, are brought into contact and friction one with another, in the course of scrutiny and kindly testing by men who proceed by question and answer without ill will, with a sudden flash there shines forth understanding about every problem, and an intelligence whose efforts reach the furthest limits of human powers. Therefore every man of worth, when dealing with matters of worth, will be far from exposing them to ill feeling and misunderstanding among men by committing them to writing. In one word, then, it may be known from this that, if one sees written treatises composed by anyone, either the laws of a lawgiver, or in any other form whatever, these are not for that man the things of most worth, if he is a man of worth, but that his treasures are laid up in the fairest spot that he possesses. But if these things were worked at by him as things of real worth, and committed to writing, then surely, not gods, but men "have themselves bereft him of his wits."

Anyone who has followed this discourse and digression will know well that, if Dionysios or anyone else, great or small, has written a treatise on the highest matters and the first principles of things, he has, so I say, neither heard nor learnt any sound teaching about the subject of his treatise; otherwise, he would have had the same reverence for it, which I have, and would have shrunk from putting it forth into a world of discord and uncomeliness. For he wrote it, not as an aid to memory-since there is no risk of forgetting it, if a man's soul has once laid hold of it; for it is expressed in the shortest of statements-but if he wrote it at all, it was from a mean craving for honour, either putting it forth as his own invention, or to figure as a man possessed of culture, of which he was not worthy, if his heart was set on the credit of possessing it.

 The whole section provides the context for the bolded portions, which show Plato's struggle to reach permanence (knowledge) whilst using the tools of change (names, verbal definitions, images). What must be sacrificed is also telling, and the passage immediately prior to his exposition of the method makes it clear (though the end of the passage above also indicates the sacrifice):

On my arrival, I thought that first I must put to the test the question whether Dionysios had really been kindled with the fire of philosophy, or whether all the reports which had come to Athens were empty rumours. Now there is a way of putting such things to the test which is not to be despised and is well suited to monarchs, especially to those who have got their heads full of erroneous teaching, which immediately my arrival I found to be very much the case with Dionysios. One should show such men what philosophy is in all its extent; what their range of studies is by which it is approached, and how much labour it involves. For the man who has heard this, if he has the true philosophic spirit and that godlike temperament which makes him a kin to philosophy and worthy of it, thinks that he has been told of a marvellous road lying before him, that he must forthwith press on with all his strength, and that life is not worth living if he does anything else. After this he uses to the full his own powers and those of his guide in the path, and relaxes not his efforts, till he has either reached the end of the whole course of study or gained such power that he is not incapable of directing his steps without the aid of a guide. This is the spirit and these are the thoughts by which such a man guides his life, carrying out his work, whatever his occupation may be, but throughout it all ever cleaving to philosophy and to such rules of diet in his daily life as will give him inward sobriety and therewith quickness in learning, a good memory, and reasoning power; the kind of life which is opposed to this he consistently hates. Those who have not the true philosophic temper, but a mere surface colouring of opinions penetrating, like sunburn, only skin deep, when they see how great the range of studies is, how much labour is involved in it, and how necessary to the pursuit it is to have an orderly regulation of the daily life, come to the conclusion that the thing is difficult and impossible for them, and are actually incapable of carrying out the course of study; while some of them persuade themselves that they have sufficiently studied the whole matter and have no need of any further effort. This is the sure test and is the safest one to apply to those who live in luxury and are incapable of continuous effort; it ensures that such a man shall not throw the blame upon his teacher but on himself, because he cannot bring to the pursuit all the qualities necessary to it. Thus it came about that I said to Dionysios what I did say on that occasion.

I did not, however, give a complete exposition, nor did Dionysios ask for one. For he professed to know many, and those the most important, points, and to have a sufficient hold of them through instruction given by others. I hear also that he has since written about what he heard from me, composing what professes to be his own handbook, very different, so he says, from the doctrines which he heard from me; but of its contents I know nothing; I know indeed that others have written on the same subjects; but who they are, is more than they know themselves. Thus much at least, I can say about all writers, past or future, who say they know the things to which I devote myself, whether by hearing the teaching of me or of others, or by their own discoveries-that according to my view it is not possible for them to have any real skill in the matter. There neither is nor ever will be a treatise of mine on the subject. For it does not admit of exposition like other branches of knowledge; but after much converse about the matter itself and a life lived together, suddenly a light, as it were, is kindled in one soul by a flame that leaps to it from another, and thereafter sustains itself. Yet this much I know-that if the things were written or put into words, it would be done best by me, and that, if they were written badly, I should be the person most pained. Again, if they had appeared to me to admit adequately of writing and exposition, what task in life could I have performed nobler than this, to write what is of great service to mankind and to bring the nature of things into the light for all to see? But I do not think it a good thing for men that there should be a disquisition, as it is called, on this topic-except for some few, who are able with a little teaching to find it out for themselves. As for the rest, it would fill some of them quite illogically with a mistaken feeling of contempt, and others with lofty and vain-glorious expectations, as though they had learnt something high and mighty.

The philosopher must sacrifice the body, the pleasures of common life, and the acceptance of and converse with larger society (though he main gain society amongst his fellow philosophers). One might even say, to the extent that Plato's Republic represents anything close to an ideal, that the philosopher must sacrifice the freedom of individual wills to the pursuit of permanence and of ordering the soul in accordance with its dictates.

On Love Poems

On Love Poems: a Sonnet

Twin turns converge upon a sunswept glade,
And along each a traveler ascends.
With each faint footfall images cascade;
Hand clasp, and coy glance, and soft summer winds.
As when fruits on boughs swell with sweet liquor,
So each heart's pregnant anticipation
Swells to the venules with love's sweet ichor,
Pressing their pace with each palpitation.
As idyll for lovers long since parted,
Or lyric where lonely desires arise,
So too these twin turns converge where started,
In each lover's heartsick sigh's last reprise:
     Fancy's false edge can ne'er cut through whetting,
     Nor bloodless words join lovers, through letting.

Theological Virtues in C.S. Lewis' Mere Christianity

A Summary of C.S. Lewis’s perspective on the Theological Virtues (Faith, Hope, Love) in Mere Christianity (Book II, chapters 9-12)

Lewis begins his discussion of Charity with reference to his chapter on Forgiveness, which he calls “a part of Charity” (129). He notes that while man consider charity as “alms,” the giving of money to the poor constitutes only part of Charity. The central quality of Charity Lewis calls, “’Love, in the Christian sense,’” which characterizes a state of the will rather than of the emotions. What we like or do not like are not Charity (though they may aid or detract from Charity). Charity desires the good or happiness of others as much as one’s own, and it must be cultivated through habitual actions that put others first, whether or not one feels like doing so. Loving, like hating, increases itself—the more one does acts of love, the more one finds he does love the object of his loving action; and the more one does acts of hate, the more one finds he does hate object of his hating action.

Lewis defines hope as, “a continual looking forward to the eternal world,” remarking that, perhaps paradoxically, such thinking makes men far more useful in the present world (134). He cites history for examples that show that the most heavenly-minded Christians did the most worldly good. The principle runs this way: “Aim at Heaven and you will get earth ‘thrown in’: aim at earth and you will get neither” (134). Lewis then anticipates his famous “argument from desire,” by observing how often people have desires beyond what any earthy goods can satisfy. He says there are three possible responses to such desires: 1) The Fool’s Way, 2) The Way of the Disillusioned ‘Sensible Man,’ and 3) The Christian Way. The Fool’s way blames the earthly goods for his dissatisfaction and spends all of his energy moving from one pleasure to the next, always seeking after what nothing he seeks can provide. The Sensible Man’s way denies the longing as false and tries to find contentment in the lesser pleasures earth provides. Whereas the Fool runs up a lengthy account of disappointments, the Sensible Man avoids small disappointments, but still misses out on the true satisfaction Reality affords. The Christian way believes it is man’s nature to desire things beyond this world because he was made for another—the natural desire for otherworldly pleasure is evidence of the reality beyond this life. All of the Scriptural imagery for heaven constitute earthly expressions for the inexpressible treasures of Heaven: music indicates the ecstasy and infinity of Heaven; crows, our share of God’s splendor, power, and joy in Heaven; gold, the timelessness and preciousness of Heaven.

Lewis devotes two chapters to Faith, since there are two senses of the word. The first involves belief, or acceptance of the truth of the doctrines of Christianity. The nature of this acceptance constitutes virtue, because it clings to the truth against the sense, emotions, and moods that make unbelief easier or more comfortable. A man may “have faith” in a surgeon’s skill, yet feel afraid when he must go under the knife. His faith shows itself strong when he chooses to quiet his fear in response to his reason’s acceptance of the truth. Faith then, like Charity, requires habituation—a continual effort at overcoming emotions and moods to the contrary. The second kind of Faith pertains to this habituation, since the revelation of faith, or the strengthening of faith, requires that one battle against temptation. Giving in to temptation does show temptation’s strength, but only through resistance does one test the strength of temptation. Since Jesus alone resisted all temptation, he alone knows temptation’s full strength, and it is only in striving to overcome temptation that we discover that God alone possesses the power to resist, and that He freely provides that power to those who seek it. One cannot know how much one needs faith until one tries to be good and fails, and one only understands how much one’s good depends upon God when one’s failure leads one to confess one’s utter dependence upon God for faith and works. In short, one cannot possess great faith without exhibiting great moral effort, yet one cannot achieve great moral effort without the help of God received by faith.

Winter Sonnet

Upon the wastes of field and fen I plod,
And seek one lost, my love, whose body lies
Somewhere between the seafoam and the sod,
Betwixt the grassland greens and azure skies.
Your name I name with cries that sighing blow
Upon cold breezes carrion birds now fly;
Black wings and clouds descending with the snow
To cloak in palest shrouds, for hopes to die.
Ice falls and rests on limbs that lowly sway,
As tears from lookers on in canopies
Collect on shoulders plumed with winged splay,
As if to share the burden of my cries.
If winter ends in death and dirge's plaint,
Yet spring must resurrect my fallen saint.