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Modern Views of Plato's Silence
by James M. Rhodes
Part 9
This excerpt from Professor Rhodes's Eros, Wisdom and Silence: Plato's Erotic Dialogues is offered here with permission of Professor Rhodes and his publisher, the University of Missouri Press, from whom more information about the book may be obtained. This excerpt is from Chapter Two which will be presented here in its entirety.
Stanley Rosen
Stanley Rosen himself is a grateful student of Leo Strauss who nevertheless announces: "I am in considerable disagreement with Strauss's general program." 115 His dissent from Strauss assimilates irony to postmodernism, pressing esotericism in rhetorical directions that Strauss does not wish to take.
Rosen agrees with his teacher about much. Like Strauss, he proclaims "recognition of irony as the central problem in the interpretation of Plato." Although he dislikes the "great theologian," he also accepts Schleiermacher's "canon of interpretation," especially with regard to the nexus between form and substance in Plato's works, and the importance of context. He echoes Strauss, and reaffirms Schleiermacher, in asserting that "those who extract what they take to be Plato's theoretical views or 'arguments' from their dialogical and poetic presentation are studying images of their own theoretical presuppositions, but not Plato." Again like Strauss, he disavows Schleiermacher by saying: "In sum, it is entirely clear that Plato practices 'esotericism.' " 116 How, then, does he differ from Strauss?
The answer is revealed in Rosen's choice of a word, when he states that he repudiates Strauss's "program." Apparently, a "program" has two parts, one for each of the two queries that Rosen puts to Strauss: "whether his intentions were sound and his rhetoric suitable to the task." 117 It is significant that a "program" is composed of "intentions and rhetoric," and not of other elements that one might have imagined to be characteristic of philosophy, such as wonder and a plan of inquiry. We may expect that Rosen will disapprove of Strauss's intentions and rhetoric.
So, what were Strauss's intentions? How could we know whether they were sound? These questions are illuminated by what appears to be Rosen's idea of the intention of all genuine philosophers. Rosen makes several intriguing statements on this subject: "The ancient philosophers rejected the warnings of the poets, as exemplified in Pindar's admonition: 'do not strive to be a god.'" "The man of religious faith regards it as madness to attempt to become a god. The pagan philosophers, especially those of the Socratic school, thought otherwise." Socrates says in the Philebus, "[T]he wise all agree, thereby exalting themselves, that intellect [nous] is king for us of heaven and earth." The "philosophical question of the Platonic dialogues, and in particular of the Phaedrus," is "how can a human being become a god?"
The political name of individuals "who aspire to be gods" is "philosopher-kings." Alexandre Kojève is "exactly like Plato" in that he tries "to become a god." Plato was a "seriously playful god." Aristotle says in the Ethics that the theoretical life is higher than human life, adding: "Not qua human will one live it, but he will achieve it by virtue of something divine in him. ... If then the intellect is divine in comparison with man, so is the life of the intellect divine in comparison with human life." In announcing this fact, "Aristotle is even more explicit than Plato. . . . Aristotle's representation of himself as divine is a radical simplification of Plato's poetic evasiveness." Generally, "As Socrates puts it, the classical philosopher wills that the intellect be god." As for the moderns, "Kant acts not like a humble empirical scientist but like a world-maker or god."
"On the Hegelian account, one denies the separation of the eternal from the temporal, or identifies the two as the structure of the Concept, that is, the philosophical speech about the totality or the whole.... As a consequence,... he who is able to repeat the totality of this discourse becomes a god." Nietzsche, "like all great philosophers, engages in the divine prerogative of willing a world into being and hence of creating a way of life." Generally, "from Descartes forward, the intellect resolves that the will be god." Rosen himself does not wish to risk "being excluded from the company of the gods." Does Strauss share the grand obsession? Rosen asserts: "Strauss and Kojève, and Strauss as much as Kojève (once we put aside Strauss's exoteric flirtation with Hebraic tradition) are atheists who wish to be gods." 118
What does Rosen mean by "being a god"? In one place, Rosen replies that to be a god is to be causa sui. Is this, then, really Strauss's highest, most secret wish? Strauss never says this in so many words. However, as a student of Strauss, Rosen might know more than an outsider.
Let us assume for the sake of argument that Strauss's intentions might be "sound." Now Rosen sees a problem. The classical philosophers of the Socratic school "understand by praxis the construction of a cosmos in which there is an exoteric separation of theoria and poiesis." Strauss follows them, but the moderns do not. Rosen observes further that the "quarrel between the ancients and the moderns . . . has its inner or esoteric meaning in the question quid sit deus?" 119 Evidently, one can fail to understand what it means to be a god and, thus, fail to become a god by taking the wrong stand on the issue of whether there should be an exoteric separation of theoria and poiesis. Why is that?
The explanation of this mistake seems to depend on the difference between the ancient and modern positions on the necessity of thoroughly consistent esotericism, or on the relative merits of "strong" and "weak" irony. In Persecution, Strauss says that the earlier philosophers saw the gulf between the wise and the vulgar as "a basic fact of human nature which could not be influenced by any progress of popular education." These classical thinkers practiced strong esotericism by adhering to the rule that public communication of the philosophic or scientific truth was undesirable for all times.
Strauss follows them by inveighing against the "heterodox philosophers" who "believed that suppression of free inquiry, and of publication of the results of free inquiry, was accidental, an outcome of the faulty construction of the body politic, and that the kingdom of general darkness could be replaced by the republic of universal light." In keeping with this notion, the apostates practiced weak irony: "[T]hey concealed their views only far enough to protect themselves as well as possible from persecution," and otherwise revealed their truths openly in order to "enlighten an ever-increasing number of people who were not potential philosophers."
On Rosen's account, Kant was one of Strauss's worst heretics. He planned to "counter the pre-Enlightenment rhetoric of caution with a rhetoric of daring, that is to say, of frankness." In this, he meant "to produce a new kind of human being, one who is mature rather than immature." Further, Rosen stresses that Kant's transition from prudence to frankness is "produced not simply by historical circumstances but by Kant's will to change those circumstances," 120 One must ask whether a god is a being who acknowledges the necessity of strong esotericism or who opts for the weak variety. When the question is stated thus, it immediately becomes clear to Rosen that Strauss's intentions, or at least his means of realizing them, are fatally defective. To admit the necessity of strong esotericism is to accept nature as a limitation on the divine will. It is to wish to be a god without affirming one's own omnipotence. Hence, it is to abandon the project of being causa sui.
Similarly, to separate theoria (seeing) and poiesis (making) is to confess publicly that nature constrains the divine will. Strauss wants to be a god but does not believe in the possibility of his divinity. Rosen must repudiate him and does so by proclaiming himself a postmodernist, that is, one who openly unifies theoria and poiesis. (Rosen might be too hasty in rejecting Strauss for this reason; the possibility that Strauss only pretends to practice the strong irony while actually engaging in the weak might complicate the analysis.)
Well, then, what about Strauss's rhetoric? Although Strauss has gotten the aim wrong, can his rhetoric accidentally realize the right intention? This depends chiefly on the nature of the task. What must a god's rhetoric accomplish? Rosen has already specified a portion of the job, "to produce a new kind of human being, one who is mature rather than immature." This is only a part, though. One must recall the problem that moved Nietzsche's Zarathustra to come down from the mountain: "But at last a change came over his heart, and one morning he rose with the dawn, stepped before the sun, and spoke to it thus: 'You great star, what would your happiness be had you not those for whom you shine?'"
As Rosen knows well, deities must have "worshipers (disciples)," and "the masters require servants." 121 So, the would-be god must establish his divinity by willing it, by preparing many other individuals to will their divinity, too, and by convincing all these potential gods, who will want to act like supreme beings, and whose passions therefore might be quite strong, nevertheless to adore and obey him—a self-contradictory enterprise.
On top of that, the self-made god must face the difficulty that gods need unlimited speculative freedom, but the many who are not yet divine remain to be enlightened, a process that "is impossible without the extirpation of ignorance and superstition." The eradication of ignorance requires "a restrictive political rule, or the employment of enforced purification, with or without force of the vulgar sort, but always by means of rhetorical polemic." It seems that Rosen has not dispensed with Rousseau's insight that people must be "forced to be free." It is not for nothing that he endorses Kojève's denunciation of modern liberal democracies as "the result of the failure, not the success of the Enlightenment," uses the expression "we Maoists," and ominously warns Richard Rorty that he "is making himself a candidate for the guillotine," this perhaps being a joke that loses its humor when one contemplates the West's long history of political murder. 122 These parts of Rosen's project seem self-contradictory, too. His gods must devise a rhetoric that smooths out all the difficulties by directing an efficacious blend of weak esotericism, frankness, ad hominem verbal attacks, and outright violence at the body politic—a hard job, if not impossible. Is Strauss's public teaching adequate to the task?
Rosen does not believe that Strauss keeps all these requirements of divine rhetoric in balance. Obviously, when Strauss denies the possibility of bridging the gulf between the wise and the vulgar, he renounces the aim of creating a new race of mature men and gives rhetoric absolutely improper purposes. Rosen says: "I take Strauss's error to be this: from the correct observation that there is always and of necessity a tension or indeed conflict between philosophy and the city, Strauss draws the false inference that it is always necessary for philosophers to accommodate to the city in the style of Plato, Cicero, Al Farabi, and Maimonides." Strauss thus manifests an apparent disregard of Socrates' advice to adjust his speech to the audience. 123
This Nietzschean critique is imprecise. If Strauss's observation of the "necessity" of the sort of conflict that he envisages—a war between philosophers and hopeless troglodytes—is "correct," his ideas about accommodation seem more strategically apt than Nietzsche's defiance. Rosen must mean that there is always and necessarily a tension between philosophy and polities of malleable people, the variability of human nature being the relevant condition under which a demand for "adjusting to audiences" would be intelligible. The conflict that Rosen supposes is necessary must have to do with the gods' need for worshipers, both before and after the creation of the new world. If this is the matter about which Strauss has erred, then does it make sense to claim that his rhetoric is cowardly? Is it right to say accusingly that "were we to enact a 'city' rooted in Strauss's version of the 'noble reserve' and the 'calm grandeur' of the classical thinkers, the results would be restrictive and demeaning to the human spirit, and hence base rather than noble"? 124
Rosen reaches the same result with regard to Strauss's procurement of worshipers. Strauss finds disciples who adore him, but he relegates them to the degraded status of "a special race of academic administrators, themselves acting under the impression that they are wise men." With respect to the task of bringing freedom into balance with enforced purification, Strauss's rhetoric takes the form of "a generalized philosophical thesis according to which the gentleman, i.e., the rural aristocrat, is the practical imitation of, and points toward, the philosopher." Rosen asserts that this "is philosophically mistaken, and it has bad political consequences for philosophy." The flaw in the philosophic reasoning is Strauss's suppression of "the Platonic teaching that philosophy is divine madness." The political folly lies in the irrelevance of Strauss's vision of gentlemanly rule to our time, which wants freedom. 125
What do Rosen's disagreements with Strauss have to do with Platonic silence? Exactly this: We have already seen that Rosen attributes divinity to Plato. Rosen informs us further that "Plato practices esotericism ... in the sense that he seeks to persuade us that philosophy has won, or can win, its quarrel with poetry." However, "the principles of Socrates', and of Plato's, conceptions of philosophy are indeed to be found within the dialogues." At a "deeper level" of Platonic esotericism, which is nevertheless perceptible because it rises up to the surfaces of the dialogues, it is suggested that "there is no quarrel between philosophy and poetry."
So, Plato's exoteric separation of theoria and poiesis is merely provisional, weak irony. Further, in the context of the choice between cautious and bold rhetoric, it "should never be forgotten that the publication by Plato of his dialogues, given the political circumstances of his day, was a revolutionary act of extreme fearlessness." Thus, to understand Plato's esotericism better than Kant or Strauss do, one must realize that Plato "was in fact a Kantian." That is, "Plato was a 'modern,' not an 'ancient.' " 126
In another place, Rosen offers a different account of Platonic irony, or at least another perspective on the same explanation. He surprises us by asserting that "Strauss never accuses Plato of duplicity"—a claim that is incredible in the face of the argument of Persecution and the Art of Writing. Relying on Nietzsche, Rosen now declares that there are two kinds of esotericism, the first a deliberate concealment of one's views "for reasons of prudence, playfulness, or aristocratic pride" and the second a reflection of "the intrinsic deceptiveness of becoming." Both are "the inevitable consequence of our warranted suspicion of nature." This is to say with Nietzsche that being, at root, is a randomly shifting chaos.
Thus, Rosen argues: "Honesty here stands for philosophy as an existential requirement of the higher human type: a frank perception of the fanciful or invented status of natural order is the basis of concealment. To exist is to conceal chaos." The "higher man, who alone is capable of self-knowledge," has a sense of social responsibility to the many who could not bear knowledge of the true facts, so he "conceals this concealment." 127
If we wonder what this Hegelian and Nietzschean reasoning has to do with Plato, Rosen promptly replies by moving to unify the philosophies of Nietzsche and Plato. He appeals to a passage in Nietzsche's Nachlass without quoting it fully. The passage reads as follows: "My philosophy reversed Platonism: the farther from the really being, ever more pure, more beautiful, better it is. Life in appearance as goal." 128 Rosen treats Nietzsche's understanding of his philosophy as "reversed Platonism" as if it meant "Platonism."
It seems to me that one might wish to take Nietzsche at his word, as if he meant "reversed" Platonism, that is, he is conscious of Plato's affirmation of a being that really is being, and that he is also conscious of his own affirmation of a being that is merely a randomly changing chaos as a doctrine directly opposed to Plato's. However, Rosen does not see the matter this way. He proceeds to complete his unification of Nietzsche's and Plato's philosophies by assimilating early Greek poets, musicians, and sophists who are cited in Plato as practitioners of irony to Plato himself. He states, for example, that "Protagoras understands that Being is deceptive. Plato does not contest this." Therefore, the dispute between Protagoras and Socrates is "the quarrel between noble and base sophistry." 129 Plato, it seems, is an esoteric writer not only because he is a "Kantian" but also because he is a "noble sophist." Nonetheless, this term might apply more to Rosen than Plato. 
[Part 10 will appear next week].
NOTES
115. Rosen, Plato's "Symposium," xiv.
116. Ibid., xlii, Ivi; Rosen, The Quarrel between Philosophy and Poetry: Studies in Ancient Thought, 11.
117. Rosen, Hermeneutics as Politics, 125.
118. Ibid., 16,54,44,65, 71,105,106,59,180,25,96,126,180,18,17. It might be significant that Rosen omits the following comment by Kojève in Introduction to Hegel: "Now, if a being that becomes God in time can be called 'God' only provided that it uses this term as a metaphor (a correct metaphor, by the way), the being that has always been God is God in the proper and strict sense of the word" (120). He adds that to construe oneself as God in the proper and strict sense of the word is "absurd."
119. Quid sit deus? means "What is god?" Rosen, Hermeneutics as Politics, 16-17. Strauss himself calls quid sit deus? the "all-important question which is coeval with philosophy" (The City and Man, 241).
120. Strauss, Persecution, 33-34; Rosen, Hermeneutics as Politics, 30-31.
121. Nietzsche, Also sprach Zarathustra, in NW, 6.1.5.5-9; Thus Spoke Zarathustra, in The Portable Nietzsche, 121; Rosen, Hermeneutics as Politics, 108,181. 122. Rosen, Hermeneutics as Politics, 33,139,187.
123. Ibid., 133.
124. Ibid., 133.
125. Ibid., 137, 136, 134-37.
126. Rosen, Quarrel between Philosophy and Poetry, 12, 26; Rosen, Hermeneutics as Politics, 137, 122, 140.
127. Rosen, Metaphysics in Ordinary Language, 62, 2, 3.
128. Rosen quotes the recent paperback edition of the Nietzsche collection that I have been citing: Nietzsche, Kritische Studienausgabe, vol. 7, p. 199,1870/71, passage 156.
129. Rosen, Metaphysics in Ordinary Language, 13.
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