Diotima on Immortality: A Question of Infamy

Diotima attributes several characteristics to love, including the desire to be attached to that which is good and the desire for that attachment to be an eternal one. She continues by saying that human beings naturally want immortality so that they can be attached to the good forever. This leads to the idea of immortality by generation, and pregnancy through both body and mind. Using these, men come as close as they can to immortality. In the case of Hesiod and Homer, this immortality comes from "pregnancy of mind," as they created poetry that carried their names into history. The next (and more perplexing claim) that Diotima makes is that this same pregnancy of mind led Achilles to risk his life for Petroclus; as she puts it, he would not have risked his life for his lover if that same action would not have given him an eternal, heroic name.

This led me to an interesting question: can this same drive for immortality occur outside of Love? I think it can (as many media-based bad guys have shown), but I'm wondering what the explanation would be from Diotima's standpoint. Why do I ask? Consider some of history's bad guys: Vlad the Impaler, Attila the Hun, Marquis de Sade, Elizabeth Bathory. They all have two things in common; each of them attempted immortality (from Diotima's description) in one form or another, and each of them did horrible things to attain this goal. It seems that, in these instances, these individuals are seeking an eternal attachment something....in this case, though, the "something" is not the good. So, because it is not oriented toward the good, then this kind of striving for immortality isn't based in love, despite having many of the same characteristics. My question is this: what are bad guys striving for? If heroic fame grounded in love is what motivated Achilles, then what is infamy grounded in and how does it motivate the actions of men in a similar manner to love?

Eryximachus on Love: A Parallel to Christian Love

Eryximachus's description of love is, by far, my favorite and the most familiar to me. Of the perspectives on love offered in the Symposium thus far, Eryximachus's description seems to most closely resemble the Christian perspective on love. More specifically, there are several parallels between 1st Corinthians chapter 13 and his exposition on the nature of love. Here are just a few similarities I noticed.

First, let's address all this hoop-la about love being the root of other virtues (excellence, wisdom, goodness, etc.), and the claim that love is a prerequisite to these other virtues. If indeed love inspires the other virtues, so much so that the gods could not become the masters of their individual fields without love, then there is a distinct parallel between the importance of love in this description and the following passage from 1 Corinthians chapter 13:

"If I speak in the tongues of men or of angels, but do not have love, I am only a resounding gong or a clanging cymbal. ² If I have the gift of prophecy and can fathom all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have a faith that can move mountains, but do not have love, I am nothing. ³ If I give all I possess to the poor and give over my body to hardship that I may boast, but do not have love, I gain nothing."
----http://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=1+Corinthians+13&version=NIV

In both cases, all other accomplishments mean little in the absence of love.

Further, Eryximachus claims that love is just precisely because it is not forceful, and suggests that all the virtues for which love is a prerequisite are characteristics of love itself. This follows along nicely with 1 Corinthians chapter 13:

"Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. ⁵ It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. ⁶ Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. ⁷ It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres."
----same source as previous quotation

Granted, not all of the "virtues" mentioned in this passage from Corinthians correspond with the virtues Eryximachus associates with love. In fact, there is some debate as to whether or not some of the virtues associated with love by Christians would be considered virtues at all to the Greeks (hope, for example). However, the point still stands that, in both accounts, many virtues are listed as being distinct characteristics of love, suggesting (perhaps more strongly than one should be comfortable with, in all cases) that possessing the virtue of love is not just a prerequisite to all the other virtues: it's a prerequisite to the path of the good life. Can one even set forth on the path to the good life without love? Good question. I'd be interested to hear your thoughts on the matter.

P.S. Ironically, Socrates believes that all the previous dialogues (including Eryximachus's) don't touch on the truth of love. While Eryximachus provided a worthy praise of love, one must wonder whether the parallels between Christian love and his exposition result (from a Greek perspective) from a romanticized conception of the thing.

Leucippus and Democritus: Atom-Smashing Parmenides!

Considering their time, Leucippus and Democritus weren't too shabby on their conception of the atom as the building block of all that is. In a flurry of philosophical theories where the elements (Avatar: Last Airbender elements, not the flashy chemistry ones), the gods or some indefinite substance called the boundless is supposed to make up the entirety of the universe, it's refreshing to see two philosophers who are a little less wide-of-the-mark. What's more, one major detail in their philosophy gives poor Parmenides (one of my least favorite philosophers of the bunch) a much-needed swift kick in the pants.....they grant their version of "what is not" (aka: the void, the nothing, the empty) to actually exist, as opposed to being simply the negation of atoms (aka: what is, the something). And, blessed relief, this move takes their theory out of the aggravating realm of rational skepticism (which is where you end up if you question the tenability of sense experience; thanks a lot, Parmenides).

With regard to Parmenides, I wholeheartedly agree.

This representation of "what is not" is highly reminiscent of the way modern folk might describe space (the final frontier). That interesting observation having been made, their basic theory of atoms is what's really impressive because (yet another bow to Parmenides) atoms actually satisfy the Parmenidian pre-requisites for existence. The characteristics of atoms that made this possible were their indivisibility, their constancy (unchanging nature), their indefinite number, their uniformity and their exemption from the coming-to-be and passing-away process. Granted, not all of the assumptions about atoms that made them Parmenides-Approved are actually accurate; after all, with today's advanced technologies, we actually can split atoms. It's just an expensive (not to mention explosive) process. Nonetheless, in a time when philosophers were struggling to meet Parmenidian standards for their understanding of coming-to-be and passing-away, Leucippus' and Democritus's philosophy is both scientifically and philosophically ahead of its time.

Empedocles: Thought Provoking and Existentially Satisfying!

For those of you who were mildly distressed with all this coming-to-be and passing away nonsense, whether you're Zeno and Parmenides and make the distinction based on that which-is and that which isn't, or you're Anaximander revelling in that sin which is coming-to-be, Empedocles should be a sunny reprieve from such unsettling philosophical notions. Why? Because he sees a false dichotomy between that which is eternal and that which is effimeral. In a move that would make modern high school physics teachers proud, he suggests that everything is made up of some mixture of the roots (fire, water, air and earth) and the forces of Love (bringing together) and Strife (hateful force of tearing apart), and that the matter of these are neither created nor destroyed as things come into and out of being; rather, different amounts and mixtures of an ever-existent whole (comprised of the roots, Love and Strife) mix together (or break apart, as the case may be) to create different beings. As such, when a creature "dies," the eternal parts that make it up simply return to the whole and are re-mixed into something new. In other words, everything that is is in some way tied to the eternal. This seems to nicely wrap up the issue of that which-is and that which-is-not, plus the convenience of humans being able to trust their sensory experiences. Again, a nice reprieve, and certainly easier to deal with on an existential level than some of the other philosophers we've studied thus far.

When I Googled Empedocles, this picture turned up. He certainly looks cooler than those other philosophers do.

Considering all these things, there are a few thoughts that come to mind that seem worth discussing. First, while no mention of it is made, Empedocles's use of the roots, Love and Strife to physically make up human beings might be interestingly extended to the use of these fundamental building blocks to form individual human dispositions. In this way, particularly because Empedocles was a physician, perhaps his idea of the roots, Love and Strife can be compared to the four humors, in that the four humors also identify both physical and dispositional characteristics of individuals. Carrying this idea a bit further, Empedocles implies quite often that Love (Aphrodite) is a force of good, versus Strife, which is a force of evil. As such, could the dispositional makeup of a person (particularly their goodness versus their badness) be explained based on the degree to which either Love or Strife participated in their formation? I honestly don't know, though the prospect itself is rather interesting.

Another thought worth pondering is the parallel between Love/Strife and Eros/Chaos. In both cases, there exists one fundamental driving force for bringing the fabric of existence together (Love and Eros), as well as a single driving force for tearing things apart (Strife and Chaos). Perhaps Empedocles has been influenced by Hesiod as well as by Parmenides and Pythagoras.

Zeno: The Poster-Child for Couch Potatoes

I hate running. My lungs wheeze in protest, my muscles cramp up and my everything sweats. The only good part of running is when it’s over, and you can drink a couple-dozen gallons of water before hitting the showers and plopping back down on the couch. So, naturally, I look for any excuse in the book to avoid the abhorrent activity. Luckily for me, Zeno offers the perfect excuse: Motion doesn’t actually exist, so why bother?

Reading Zeno, the one aspect of his philosophy that repeatedly sticks out to me is the concept of infinity. In particular, he goes through quite the rig-a-marole to prove motion doesn’t exist using the concept of infinity. Consider Zeno’s  first three (out of four) arguments regarding motion. The first is the Dichotomy, the argument that “there is no motion” because a given distance between A and B can be infinitely divided in half (half the distance between A and B, and that half is divided in half, and so on) (Curd 68). The infinite number of divisions means that point B can never be reached from point A. Personally, if I were one of those unfortunate souls who ran the Bear Trail on a regular basis, just the thought of this argument would be enough to make me strongly reconsider my daily exercise regimen.

Infinity? That seems like an awful long time for morning cardio.

Infinity rears its ugly head yet again in the Achilles argument. As Zeno describes it, “the slowest as it runs will never be caught by the quickest [because] the pursuer must first reach the point from which the pursued departed” (Curd 68). In other words, as a result of Dichotomy, the pursuer will never reach the point at which the slow runner started because the distance must be infinitely divided, meaning that the slow runner will always be ahead of the fast runner. Admittedly, this argument doesn’t particularly help my cause; all I’d really have to do to win a race (assuming I’d ever start one) is start a few feet in front of all the faster runners in order to win, regardless of how agonizingly slow I decided to run. However, the chances of me reaching the finish line (pesky Dichotomy argument) are pretty much non-existent, so that doesn’t give me much incentive. 

The third argument (which, as it so happens, has no fancy name like the first two do) states that “if…everything is always at rest when it occupies a space equal to itself, and what is moving is always ‘at a now,’” then the moving object in question is motionless (Curd 69). This concept reminds me of watching an instant replay of a football game frame-by-frame. As the player moves in space, he is frozen motionless in each individual frame as the play moves forward. The motionlessness of each frame, though , applies to all movement (or lack-thereof?); as long as we occupy a space equal to ourselves and every moment in time is a “now,” then we are not actually moving. This certainly takes some of the glamour out of instant replays. It also makes me think that, no matter how much running I do (presumably for my own good), I won’t actually be moving. This seems to defeat the purpose of running, which is active motion to get me in shape. As such, really, why bother?

I honestly didn’t understand the last argument (I think it would’ve required a blackboard and lots of bad doodling), but I’m sure it in some way proves my point, too. If someone wants to help me prove my point further, feel free to leave a picture representation (because really, that’s what it would take) in the comments box below.

Please Parmenides, be a bit more clear!

As Nietzsche paints him, Parmenides is the pessimistic  step-ancestor of Descartes. By that, of course, I’m referring to cogito ergo sum, the now-commercialized catchphrase of Descartes and a foundational idea in Parmenides thought. For Parmenides, empirical evidence is useless; that which is empirical is gathered through observation (i.e., our senses), and the senses cannot be trusted to provide any true insight into that which exists. 

Say what you want, you're not going to convince a dog that leftovers don't exist. Perhaps keener canine senses are all the more deceiving.

 

 

So, it would seem that our senses trap us in a proverbial hall of mirrors, unable to make heads or tails of reality and far too confused to know which direction grants escape from the illusion. How then, you may ask, can we know anything if not through the use of our senses? After all, empirical evidence is the stuff science is built on, and that junk seems pretty real to me (until you start getting into some of the freakier theoretical physics). Logic, that oddball among all other philosophy classes, makes a valiant rescue. Parmenides claims that it is only through logical inference that the truth of matters can be discovered, and indeed the foundation for that (as far as I could make out from Nietzsche, anyway) is thought. To be honest, I missed the part where Parmenides made sense of why thought is trustworthy when information gathered from the senses is not (yeah, Parmenides, at least Descartes made his reasoning on that matter semi-clear). For the sake of moving the conversation forward, I’m just going to let him have that one and assume that I legitimately missed something in the text. If any of my humble readers would be so kind as to explain this to me, I’d greatly appreciate it.

What can be gathered more clearly from Parmenides thought, though, is the common denominator for all of the Pre-Socratics thus far: the concept of the one. That which-is is whole, unmoving, unchanging and eternal, with no beginning and no end. That which-is is the one, and constitutes all (the only singular thing) that actually exists. Anything that has passed away or come into being fits squarely in the other camp, that which-is-not; this includes, of course, human beings, who (last time I checked) are generally quite fond of the notion that they exist.

Now, some confessions, and a few questions I’d like to ask of anyone who happens upon this page with a deeper philosophical understanding than my own. I must admit at this point a deficiency in my certainty of Parmenides’ philosophy; these are the conclusions that I came to as I understood his philosophy, so any additional helpful perspectives you have would be welcomed. As far as I could discern, there was no proof given for Parmenides’ existence, and only the statement of thought being part of that which-is alludes to this possibility. From his perspective, is there any logical evidence that other humans exist? Is there any logical evidence that HE exists? If not, then what exactly are we (other than non-existent, because that really clears nothing up)? To say that we are phantasms of another person’s senses assumes that other people exist to be deceived by their senses. I also see little point in articulating a philosophy for non-existent people to read and understand their non-existence. It seems there are some pretty fundamental questions here that need answering in order for his philosophy to be moderately cohesive.

Pythagoras: More than Just a Math Guy

If you're anything like me, all you knew about Pythagoras before taking a philosophy class (and possibly even after that) was that he was responsible for the beginning of your high school geometry class nightmares. However, despite the fact that the Pythagorean theorem is what Pythagoras is most popularly known for, there's a lot more to him than he's given credit for nowadays. 

Pythagoras's greatest achievement can
be duplicated by a cat with a pizza box. 

Pythagoras wasn't just a great mathematician. He spawned an entire religion in which the fundamental agent of order within the universe was number. All in all, his conclusion doesn't seem completely ludicrous (unlike Thales' water nonsense). The Pythagoreans observed that the imposition of number can reveal harmony where previously only chaos could be perceived in sound, later generalizing this principle to all things. In other words, numbers organize the seemingly chaotic world into something that is rational and knowable, and thus must be the fundamental ordering agent. Worth mentioning, though, is the distinction between number as an ordering agent and the "fundamental principles" of the Milesian philosophers. While the Milesian philosophers sought to find the most basic stuff that the universe was formed from, Pythagoras proposed that number ordered the universe and made it knowable. In other words, where the Milesians proposed a material building block for the universe, Pythagoras proposed that all things within the universe (regardless of what they're made up of) are ordered by numbers.

"Big deal," you say, "he discovered the basis for geometry and part of chaos theory. That's hardly a basis for a religion." After proposing the fundamental ordering principle of the universe, Pythagoras decided to give this whole religion thing an encore that has been appropriately dubbed the "transmigration of souls." To me, this seems like a fun Greek twist on the concept of reincarnation. In a cycle that lasts a measly 3000 years, the immortal soul goes through a cycle of being "reborn" into a new animal every time its previous body dies; further, the newly transmigrated soul has no memory of its previous lives. Eventually you're reborn as a human, die, then have to wait another 3000 years to be a human being again (Curd 25). This doesn't make a lot of sense when you realize that Pythagoras claimed to have been a human in past lives several times within the span of 3000 years, but maybe (as a favorite of Hermes) he was given some special treatment.

Maybe pizza box cat is really Pythagoras reincarnated.