Phaedo
I finished reading Plato's dialogue on the death of Socrates, for the first time - as opposed to doing something that's actually important and urgent. It's been a while since I've read a dialogue I haven't read before, and it's been even longer since I've thought critically about Platonism and how it would measure up in relation to my own beliefs. Is it a convincing argument that the soul is immortal? There's a lot at stake in that question, much more than say, what is the nature of love (Symposium), or what is the difference between truth and belief (Gorgias)? Especially since Socrates gave this speech on his deathbed, it make you wonder if he really believed his own argument (or if this was just another of those proverbial rivers in Egypt).
One thing that became crystal clear for me is how much more doubtful and insecure I've become since I first tangoed with Plato - I must have been 16 or 17 then. In those days I was enarmored by Socrates because he was so uncompromising and everything he said made sense to me. I found myself much more skeptical today, because I thought it would be a beautiful thing to have that kind of conviction; but isn't it hopelessly, foolishly idealistic? Can you really rid yourself of your baser desires (food, drink, sex, love, honor, duty to home and city) just by telling yourself that they come a far second to the care of the soul? Or to put it in more concrete terms: could I really be satisfied with my studies and self-improvement if they didn't come with some promise of a job, and eventually, a well-respected tenured professorship (material sustenance and honor, respectively)?
Everyone knows that idealism is for the young, but I must have always hoped, somewhere in the back of my mind, that character would grow with age. Now I'm suspecting that nothing grows stronger, in the Socratic sense. Conviction is a luxury for the strong and young and beautiful. For the rest of us, terror obliterates character. Each day the probability that I'll really die a spinster librarian looms more and more likely that I find myself wondering if it's worth it, or if I should just jump ship from my feminist idealism in order to recoup the "baser" pleasures of having people to take care of me in my lunatic old age.
But then I read about the courage of Socrates and remind myself, Fuck that noise. Better to die with honor. Victory or death.
One thing that became crystal clear for me is how much more doubtful and insecure I've become since I first tangoed with Plato - I must have been 16 or 17 then. In those days I was enarmored by Socrates because he was so uncompromising and everything he said made sense to me. I found myself much more skeptical today, because I thought it would be a beautiful thing to have that kind of conviction; but isn't it hopelessly, foolishly idealistic? Can you really rid yourself of your baser desires (food, drink, sex, love, honor, duty to home and city) just by telling yourself that they come a far second to the care of the soul? Or to put it in more concrete terms: could I really be satisfied with my studies and self-improvement if they didn't come with some promise of a job, and eventually, a well-respected tenured professorship (material sustenance and honor, respectively)?
Everyone knows that idealism is for the young, but I must have always hoped, somewhere in the back of my mind, that character would grow with age. Now I'm suspecting that nothing grows stronger, in the Socratic sense. Conviction is a luxury for the strong and young and beautiful. For the rest of us, terror obliterates character. Each day the probability that I'll really die a spinster librarian looms more and more likely that I find myself wondering if it's worth it, or if I should just jump ship from my feminist idealism in order to recoup the "baser" pleasures of having people to take care of me in my lunatic old age.
But then I read about the courage of Socrates and remind myself, Fuck that noise. Better to die with honor. Victory or death.
posted by Rex at 1:19 PM
1 Comments:
The older I get, the more I feel that life is just trivial. You live, you do some shit, and you die. In that vein, I figure its best to live it in a way that will ultimately make me happy. Part of that is passing on my memes and genes, but more importantly memes. Screw all other noise indeed.
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