A. Hitherto you are on my side; I will see to that by-and-by; and, in the mean while, whence are those verses? I do not remember them.
M. I will inform you, for you are in the right to ask. Do you see that I have much leisure?
A. What, then?
M. I imagine, when you were at Athens, you attended frequently at the schools of the philosophers.
A. Yes, and with great pleasure.
M. You observed, then, that though none of them at that time were very eloquent, yet they used to mix verses with their harangues.
A. Yes, and particularly Dionysius the Stoic used to employ a great many.
M. You say right; but they were quoted without any appropriateness or elegance. But our friend Philo used to give a few select lines and well adapted; and in imitation of him, ever since I took a fancy to this kind of elderly declamation, I have been very fond of quoting our poets; and where I cannot be supplied from them, I translate from the Greek, that the Latin language may not want any kind of ornament in this kind of disputation.
But, do you not see how much harm is done by poets? They introduce the bravest men lamenting over their misfortunes: they soften our minds; and they are, besides, so entertaining, that we do not only read them, but get them by heart.
Thus the influence of the poets is added to our want of discipline at home, and our tender and delicate manner of living, so that between them they have deprived virtue of all its vigor and energy.
Plato, therefore, was right in banishing them from his commonwealth, where he required the best morals, and the best form of government. But we, who have all our learning from Greece, read and learn these works of theirs from our childhood; and look on this as a liberal and learned education.
M. I will inform you, for you are in the right to ask. Do you see that I have much leisure?
A. What, then?
M. I imagine, when you were at Athens, you attended frequently at the schools of the philosophers.
A. Yes, and with great pleasure.
M. You observed, then, that though none of them at that time were very eloquent, yet they used to mix verses with their harangues.
A. Yes, and particularly Dionysius the Stoic used to employ a great many.
M. You say right; but they were quoted without any appropriateness or elegance. But our friend Philo used to give a few select lines and well adapted; and in imitation of him, ever since I took a fancy to this kind of elderly declamation, I have been very fond of quoting our poets; and where I cannot be supplied from them, I translate from the Greek, that the Latin language may not want any kind of ornament in this kind of disputation.
But, do you not see how much harm is done by poets? They introduce the bravest men lamenting over their misfortunes: they soften our minds; and they are, besides, so entertaining, that we do not only read them, but get them by heart.
Thus the influence of the poets is added to our want of discipline at home, and our tender and delicate manner of living, so that between them they have deprived virtue of all its vigor and energy.
Plato, therefore, was right in banishing them from his commonwealth, where he required the best morals, and the best form of government. But we, who have all our learning from Greece, read and learn these works of theirs from our childhood; and look on this as a liberal and learned education.
—from Cicero, Tusculan Disputations 2.11
I have a disposition to melancholy, and my sentiments are easily moved, so beneath my attempt at a calm and unassuming exterior lies the heart of a romantic poet.
Now I have never managed to write poetry with any skill, but as the years have passed, I find myself reading it more and more, and certain lines will become inscribed in my thoughts, acting like signposts for meaning. The philosophy forms the framework, while the literature fleshes it out with depth and color.
Sometimes this serves me well, as when a poetic bent pushes me to be brave or inspires my compassion, but more often I must be very careful with this inclination, as I find my feelings getting ahead of my thoughts, and what should be an orderly appearance becomes a distorted and exaggerated mess.
We tend to assume that reason and the passions are meant to be at odds with one another, yet Nature intended for them to work together, and it is foolish to try thinking in one world while feeling in another.
Nevertheless, there is a grave danger in following an emotion without the direction of the understanding, and that is precisely what happens to me when I permit the poetic to ignore the philosophical.
If I am reading a philosopher like Nietzsche, I may be swept away by the intensity of his appetites, and this masks the corruption in his intellect; how easy it is to become intoxicated with the lust for power, while forgetting how I am now treating the human person as an object to be violated by force.
It’s all well and good to tug at the heartstrings, though I shouldn’t play with rhetoric while wearing a blindfold.
So yes, poetry, or any form of artistic expression, can indeed get me into trouble, not because creativity itself is a problem, but because creativity requires a steady hand, like Plato’s charioteer, who works to rein in the two horses representing our better and worse instincts.
Now if I am only occupied with the drama, is it any wonder when I become weak and despondent? If I already lack a habit of character within me, the problem is so much worse, and I end up pitifully staring out at the sea while chain smoking.
I have always taken Plato’s Republic as a symbolic reflection instead of a literal blueprint for a community, so I do not know if outlawing the artsy crowd is really a solution. Might we not discourage lazy bouts of self-pity or rage and encourage calm and patient consideration?
A liberal education, properly understood, is, after all, about ruling oneself through prudence.
I have a disposition to melancholy, and my sentiments are easily moved, so beneath my attempt at a calm and unassuming exterior lies the heart of a romantic poet.
Now I have never managed to write poetry with any skill, but as the years have passed, I find myself reading it more and more, and certain lines will become inscribed in my thoughts, acting like signposts for meaning. The philosophy forms the framework, while the literature fleshes it out with depth and color.
Sometimes this serves me well, as when a poetic bent pushes me to be brave or inspires my compassion, but more often I must be very careful with this inclination, as I find my feelings getting ahead of my thoughts, and what should be an orderly appearance becomes a distorted and exaggerated mess.
We tend to assume that reason and the passions are meant to be at odds with one another, yet Nature intended for them to work together, and it is foolish to try thinking in one world while feeling in another.
Nevertheless, there is a grave danger in following an emotion without the direction of the understanding, and that is precisely what happens to me when I permit the poetic to ignore the philosophical.
If I am reading a philosopher like Nietzsche, I may be swept away by the intensity of his appetites, and this masks the corruption in his intellect; how easy it is to become intoxicated with the lust for power, while forgetting how I am now treating the human person as an object to be violated by force.
It’s all well and good to tug at the heartstrings, though I shouldn’t play with rhetoric while wearing a blindfold.
So yes, poetry, or any form of artistic expression, can indeed get me into trouble, not because creativity itself is a problem, but because creativity requires a steady hand, like Plato’s charioteer, who works to rein in the two horses representing our better and worse instincts.
Now if I am only occupied with the drama, is it any wonder when I become weak and despondent? If I already lack a habit of character within me, the problem is so much worse, and I end up pitifully staring out at the sea while chain smoking.
I have always taken Plato’s Republic as a symbolic reflection instead of a literal blueprint for a community, so I do not know if outlawing the artsy crowd is really a solution. Might we not discourage lazy bouts of self-pity or rage and encourage calm and patient consideration?
A liberal education, properly understood, is, after all, about ruling oneself through prudence.
—Reflection written in 7/1996
IMAGE: Joesph Severn, Posthumous Portrait of Shelley Writing Prometheus Unbound (1845)
No comments:
Post a Comment