The Harmony of the Cosmos, the Soul, and Society in Plato

The Harmony of the Cosmos, the Soul, and Society in Plato

Joseph Milne

And the love, more especially, which is concerned with the good, and which is perfected in company with temperance and justice, whether among gods or men, has the greatest power, and is the source of all our happiness and harmony, and makes us friends with the gods who are above us, and with one another.[1]

Greek philosophy emerged through speculation on the cosmic myths that symbolically revealed the divine order of the universe. From these speculations on the cosmic order arose the various notions of the elements, the planetary motions and mathematics, and these notions were related to the question of the human order and the order of society.[2] It was understood that the human order was distinct from that of the immortal gods, yet also distinct from biological necessity. Human nature dwelled in a region between the immortal and the mortal, open to eternity yet projected into time, apprehending the unchanging yet compelled to adapt to the ever-changing. In the primordial myths the order of nature (physis) and human law (nomos) arose together and were bound together.[3] The order of nature and the order of the city resided in the rule of the gods, and this order could be observed in the harmony and proportion found throughout the Earth and the heavenly motions. The cosmos was filled with intelligence and with reason (nous), and every part and every motion attended the good of the whole.

In the myth of the Golden Age the human realm and the divine realm lived in perfect harmony. For example, in Hesiod we read:

The gods, who live on Mount Olympus, first
Fashioned a golden race of mortal men;
These lived in the reign of Kronos, king of heaven,
And like the gods they lived with happy hearts
Untouched by work or sorrow. Vile old age
Never appeared, but always lively-limbed,
Far from all ills, they feasted happily.
Death came to them as sleep, and all good things
Were theirs; ungrudgingly, the fertile land
Gave up her fruits unasked. Happy to be
At peace, they lived with every want supplied,
[Rich in their flocks, dear to the blessed gods.]
And then this race was hidden in the ground.
But still they live as spirits of the earth,
Holy and good, guardians who keep off harm,
Givers of wealth: this kingly right is theirs. [4]

In the Laws Plato alludes to that ancient age in which Kronos ‘set up at that time kings and rulers within our cities – not human beings but demons, members of a more divine and better species . . . They provided peace and awe and good laws and justice without stint’.[5] Yet this could not endure, and men began to devise their own laws, forgetting the gods and breaking the bond between the eternal and the temporal. The visible, temporal world may at best embody the divine pattern, and be regulated by it, and laws ought to be made as like as possible to the age of Kronos.[6] This distinction drawn between the eternal and the temporal realms becomes the birthplace of philosophical enquiry because the distinction arouses a part of the soul that seeks reconciliation between the eternal and temporal orders of truth. The eternal realm beckons the soul, which finds itself dwelling between the two orders, to enquire into the truth of things for its own sake, as an end in itself. But once this yearning for truth is born, the mythological symbols of reality no longer suffice. They were born from primordial intuition, a form of knowing the essentially true at a single stroke but which is not yet reflective upon itself. The desire to understand this truth, beyond simply assenting to it, is the birth of philosophy.

In this way, Greek philosophy originated in meditation on cosmic myth, the primordial apprehension of the whole, with a view to affirming its truth through reason. And this meditation takes the form of the question: how may the human being and society live in accord with the cosmic good? What is the appropriate life of the human person or citizen? It is at once a rational and a religious question. For the Greek philosophers, questions of the explanation of things are secondary to this essential question that awakens questioning in the first place. Philosophical enquiry is not a precursor to the scientific explanation of things, because explanation is not a final end in itself, while the question of how should life be lived is. And so Greek philosophy, even in its weaker or degenerate forms, for example, with the sophists whom Plato frequently challenges in the dialogues, always remains concerned with the relation of the divine cosmic order and the order of society or the polis.[7] The polis and the cosmos are bound together, just as the polis and the soul are bound together. Greek society drifted into political decline as it forsook these connections. Thus Voegelin writes:

In their acts of resistance to the disorder of the age, Socrates, Plato, and Aristotle experienced and explored the movements of a force that structured the psyche of man and enabled it to resist disorder. To this force, its movements, and the resulting structure, they gave the name nous. As far as the ordering structure of his humanity is concerned, Aristotle characterized man as the zoon noun echon, as the living being that possesses nous.[8]

And it is with a view to restoring these connections that Plato and Aristotle enquired into the nature of the polis and the question of the relation between nature (physis) and law (nomos). Thus Heraclitus says ‘Those who speak with understanding must hold fast to what is common to all as a city holds fast to its law (nomos), and even more strongly. For all human laws (anthropeoi nomoi) are fed by the one divine law (theois nomos). It prevails as much as it will, and suffices for all things with something to spare’. Hence the nature of the polis and the divine law that sustains it cannot be separated without causing harm.

Neither Plato nor Aristotle abandon the gods nor the mythic symbols from which Greek philosophy was born.[10] This may be seen in their insistence that virtue and knowledge are bound together and that only the virtuous soul may contemplate the truth of things and live in accord with nature. In his Nicomachean Ethics, for example, Aristotle writes that the contemplative life is the happiest, as it is the life and activity of the gods:

For the gods, the whole of life is blessed, and for human beings it is so to the extent that there is some likeness to such a way of being-at-work; but none of the other animals is happy since they do not share in contemplation at all. So happiness extends as far as contemplation does, and the more it belongs to any being to contemplate, the more it belongs to them to be happy, not incidentally but as a result of contemplating since this is worthwhile in itself.

Coming at the close of the Nicomachean Ethics in Book 10, it is clear that it is only those who follow a noble life of virtue and excellence have the capacity to participate in the contemplative life. Contemplative knowledge is a kind of living alignment with truth, and this is possible only in the soul of the virtuous person who has self-mastery. In the human realm this relation between knowledge and virtue is the first harmony, the harmony where the soul comes into accord with itself and with the divine order of things. Plato elaborates on this in the Timaeus:

God invented and gave us sight to the end that we might behold the courses of intelligence in the heaven, and apply them to the courses of our own intelligence which are akin to them, the unperturbed to the perturbed; and that we, learning them and partaking of the natural truth of reason, might imitate the absolutely unerring courses of God and regulate our own vagaries . . . Moreover, so much of music as is adapted to the sound of the voice and to the sense of hearing is granted to us for the sake of harmony; and harmony, which has motions akin to the revolutions of our souls, is not regarded by the intelligent votary of the Muses as given by them with a view to irrational pleasure, which is deemed to be the purpose of it in our day, but as meant to correct any discord which may have arisen in the courses of the soul, and to be our ally in bringing her into harmony and agreement with herself; and rhythm too was given by them for the same reason, on account of the irregular and graceless ways which prevail among mankind generally, and to help us against them.[12]

Yet for the soul to come into this accord remains a calling, something to be worked towards and not something simply given, even though it is the proper end or telos of human nature.

In the cosmic myths the relationship between the cosmic order and the ethical is implicit, because truth and falsehood, and justice and injustice are bound together in action, just as in Greek drama.[13] But once the true and the just can be abstractly or metaphysically distinguished from one another, then their necessary unity comes into peril. It requires deep philosophical reflection to understand how they are ultimately bound together and originate from the Good. Thus Plato writes: ‘Therefore, say that what provides the truth of the things known and gives the power to the one who knows, is the idea of the good’.[14] It is for this reason that Plato is always asking questions about the essence of things. For it is, according to Plato, only through knowing the essence of a thing that one can see how it originates in the good. Likewise, the convergence of the true and the just in the order of things is the ground of the original harmony that extends into the cosmic order and into every particular being.[15] Thus Apollo presides over law and the celestial song of the Muses and over healing through his son Asclepius. The bringer of order is also the bringer of law and healing. Plato often likens the art of the lawmaker to that of the physician.[16]

For example, while speaking of how people desire only laws that will please them the Athenian Stranger says ‘Such a provision is in opposition to the common notion that the lawgiver should make only such laws as the people like; but we say that he should rather be like a physician, prepared to effect a cure even at the cost of considerable suffering.’[17] Also Gorgias draws a comparison between the physician and the judge in administering justice, one curing the body, the other the soul.[18] Again in the Laws Plato sees judicial penalty as aiming to restore the soul rather than merely causing it to suffer the consequences of injustice.[19] In Laws we also read: ‘This, then – the knowledge of the natures and habits of souls – is one of the things that is of the greatest use for the art whose business it is to care for souls. And we assert (I think) that that art is politics. Or what?’[20] In the Republic Plato draws a direct analogy between health and sickness and justice injustice, arguing that sickness and injustice are alike contrary to nature, while health and justice are according to nature.[21] Or as Brill observes: ‘Plato’s infamous employment of the language of medicine to characterize the work of the laws, language which we have seen play a critical role in the Republic, is in part a function of his focus upon the condition of the soul of the citizen. This is to say that Plato’s therapeutic conception of law is inextricably linked to his psychology… Plato thus allots a dual educative/therapeutic function to the law’.[22]

Thus the step from the primordial mythic apprehension of the cosmos to the reflective philosophical understanding of the truth of things, which took place in classical Greece after the age of Homer, also brings reason into reflection upon itself. This raises the question of the capacity of human intelligence to know the truth of things, and so the soul is brought into self-reflection and self-examination. Self-knowledge, knowledge of nature (physis), and divine knowledge reveal themselves as distinct orders of knowledge and yet bound together. We can see this most clearly wherever Plato raises the question of justice. Those who cannot or will not truthfully observe themselves, such as Thrasymachus, who in the Republic argues that justice is rule by the strongest for their own benefit and gives up and leaves the discussion once his argument does not stand up to scrutiny, or Meno who likewise sees virtue as doing what is to one’s advantage and harmful to one’s enemies, cannot grasp the true nature of justice. [23]  They conceive the just or the good only as what is advantageous to themselves. They cannot consider justice in itself as it belongs to the right relation of all things with one another, or as belonging to the harmony of the soul. Justice for Plato signifies more than anything else the great harmony that is of the essence of all things. So to conceive justice as privately advantageous is not only to mistake the nature of justice but also to divide the human individual off from the polis, and the polis from the cosmos. Civil fragmentation or factionalism is one of the perils of the step from the holistic mythic apprehension of the world and the human situation to the reflective philosophical apprehension of things.[24] There is an ever-present danger of losing the sense of the whole that belongs to the mythic and cosmic symbolism.[25] In philosophical reflection, reason must trace a path towards the whole from the particular, and from the immanent to the transcendent, as, for example, in the allegory of the cave in the Republic[26] or the ascent to the Beautiful in the Symposium.[27]

Plato draws upon the earlier philosophers, as well as the poets, for the themes that occupy his dialogues. With some he draws out further what they express only tersely, for example, Heraclitus and Parmenides while others he strongly disputes, such as the Sophists Gorgias and Meno.[28] The great question that distinguishes these different interlocutors lies in the understanding of the relation of language (logos) to the truth (aletheia) of things. Speech may be divinely uttered and inspired or deviously uttered for private advantage, giving birth either to order and friendship, or to chaos and tyranny. For Plato there is a correspondence between words uttered and the truth of things, expressed in the word logos itself which means at once language and reason or intelligence. To ‘speak truthfully’ is possible either by divine inspiration, as with poetic frenzy, or where the soul is in harmony with itself and perceives the true order of things and can speak their right names.[29] Such speech arises from reverence for truth or piety and is profitable to all. The Sophists have separated speech from the logos of things through false employment of rhetoric. For the Sophists the art of speech is nothing else than the art of persuasion. They taught this art to those seeking a successful political career. In this sense the Sophists are utilitarian and pragmatic. But to reduce rhetoric merely to the art of persuasion divorces the logos from truth and from virtue.[30]

There is, however, a middle place between true Platonic speech and sophistic speech, and this is doxa or opinion. Doxa is opinion held without proper enquiry or reflection, or views believed on hearsay.[31] Such opinions may indeed be true, or a mixture of true and false. For Plato and for Aristotle common opinion is insufficient to establish either the truth of things or the good life. This applies as much to opinions about the gods, nature or politics as it does about everyday things. The examination of common opinions plays a major role in the dialogues of Plato. Aristotle also will often begin his examination of a topic with a statement of what people generally believe. There is a strong dialectical element in his Nicomachean Ethics and Politics which, like Plato, seeks a path from what seems to be true to what is actually true. Since this involves an examination of the premises or presuppositions of one’s own thought it also demands self-examination and honesty, because the aim is not to establish a new opinion or doxa but to come into a transformed relationship with truth, to harmonise the soul with the nature and intelligent order of things.

For Plato the problem of the truth of things does not lie in correct or incorrect theories or doctrines, or in true or false statements, but in bringing the soul into a right disposition towards truth, ethically as well as intellectually. It may only be open towards it or closed towards it. Paradoxically, the soul is closer to truth by a recognition of its not knowing, as we see in Socrates’ insistence in Apology that “I do not think I know what I do not know”. The urge for certainty can be an obstacle because it tends to reduce truth to mere propositions. What the philosopher seeks to accomplish is to bring the soul into harmony with itself and with the cosmic or heavenly order, as in Timaeus 47C.

That passage in the Timaeus alludes to the Pythagorean concept of the ‘music of the spheres’ in which the motions of the heavens form a choir of divine music, which only few can hear, and which regulates the universe in perfect proportion and symmetry, described in detail at Timaeus 35-37.[34] It is a symbolic idea, not to be taken literally, embodying an understanding of the universe governed entirely by intelligent order – not as imposed upon it from outside, but as its own living intelligence. Because it is intelligent harmony it is akin to the human soul when it is brought into its own proper order.[35] From this comes the tradition of the soul as a ‘microcosm’, containing within itself the same intelligence and beauty as the ‘macrocosm’. The soul is not to be understood as a mere replica of the macrocosm, but as participating in the same intelligence, just as different living creatures participate in the same life. Intelligence and life are universals, just as the ‘numbers’ discerned in the music of the spheres are universals. Plato took ‘number’ very seriously and the study of mathematics played a major part in the Academy. The ‘mathematical’ is a type of learning or knowledge that shows itself as self-evident, as Plato demonstrates in the Meno with the slave who could solve a geometrical problem without any prior knowledge.[36] Nevertheless, the question of the real nature or essence of number remains a profound mystery, even though it manifests everywhere in the forms, symmetry, rhythms and cycles of nature.

But this passage from the Timaeus refers to an order of another kind, in which the soul is brought into accord with itself through the virtues. If the soul is to truly govern itself, as the cosmos does, then its various powers must be coordinated, and this is the work of the virtues. The virtue of temperance brings the appetitive, the spirited, and the rational parts of the soul into concord, with reason ruling.[37] But this virtue comes about through the cultivation of the virtues of phronesis (right judgement), courage and justice. For Plato, as for Aristotle also, ethics is not based on moral principles but on the virtues, which are states of the soul being at work or in action. The virtues are like skills. Temperance refers to the inner order of the soul, while the other virtues refer to its relationship with the world while maintaining its inner order. In the Republic and the Laws Plato assigns to the cultivation of the virtues the principle concern of education, not only for the sake of each individual but also because only virtuous souls can truly become citizens and live in harmony and friendship. For Plato citizenship and friendship are practically identical, since friendship and citizenship are sustained by a common love of excellence and justice.[38] Friendship is the proper proportion of the polis, resembling the cosmic order and the law of the gods. Plato speaks of this in the Gorgias:

Now philosophers tell us Callicles, that communion and friendship and orderliness and temperance and justice bind together heaven and earth and gods and men, and that this universe is therefore called Cosmos or order.[39]

This passage demonstrates how for Plato the understanding of ‘order’ always bears an ethical meaning, and so the order of the cosmos is at once a proportional and virtuous order. Likewise, the proper relation between gods and men is at once proportionate, just and temperate. We find the same idea in Plato’s Laws when discussing the ends the lawmaker must seek to attain: ‘When we asserted one should look toward moderation, or prudence (phronesis), or friendship, these goals are not different but the same’.[40] This connection of the proportionate and the virtuous in the order of nature passes down through the Stoics, Neoplatonists, the Christian Fathers, and through to the High Middle Ages where it is given full expression by Aquinas in the Summa Theologica. There is a particular word, homonoia, which bears this special sense. It is made up of Greek prefix homo-, which means ‘alike’ or ‘same’ and nous which means ‘mind’ or ‘understanding’ or ‘insight.’ So homonoia means to be ‘like-minded’ or of common understanding or agreement. Its opposite is stasis, ‘internal division’, which in the political sense means ‘civil war’ or ‘factionalism’. For Plato these words are strongly connected with justice and injustice. Justice is a form of harmony and right proportion, while injustice is a form of discord and disproportion. This is clear in Republic Book I:

Injustice, Thrasymachus, causes civil war [stasis], hatred and fighting among themselves, while justice brings friendship and a sense of common purpose [homonoia]. Isn’t that so?

Let it be so, in order not to disagree with you.

You’re still doing well on that front. So tell me this: If the effect of injustice is to produce hatred wherever it occurs, then, whenever it arises, whether among free men or slaves, won’t it cause them to hate one another, engage in civil war [stasis], and prevent them from achieving a sense of common purpose [homonoia]?

Certainly.

What if it arises between two people? Won’t they be at odds, hate each other, and be enemies to one another and to just people?

They will.

Does injustice lose its power to cause dissension when it arises within a single individual, or will it preserve it intact?

Let it preserve it intact.

Apparently, then, injustice has the power, first, to make whatever it arises in — whether in a city, a family, an army, or anything else — incapable of achieving anything as a unit, because of the civil wars [stasiazonta] and differences it creates, and, second, it makes that unit an enemy to itself and to what is in every way its opposite, namely, justice. Isn’t that so?

And even in a single individual, it has by its nature the very same effect. First, it makes him incapable of achieving anything, because he is in a state of civil war [stasis] and not of one mind [homonoia]; second, it makes him his own enemy, as well as the enemy of just people.

Hasn’t it that effect?

Yes.[42]

This discussion is an attempt to refute the Sophist position that justice is not a universal principle and that injustice for the individual may be advantageous. If each individual seeks their own advantage, the Sophist holds, then somehow all will gain and justice is superfluous. The Sophist cannot see that strife between the different parts of the individual soul will follow from any form of injustice, internal or external. For Plato the individual soul cannot be broken off from the universal order without harming itself. Hence justice has the peculiar quality of being at once a principle (arche) ordering nature as a whole and an active state of being of the just person. For Plato only the just person really knows the nature of justice. Or the nature of justice is known only in its active performance.

As we observed at the outset, Plato is seeking to articulate in philosophy what was previously evident in myth where the gods presided over the cosmic order and in every particular down to the smallest detail. Thus ‘cosmos’ and ‘law’ were practically identical, as is clear in the passage from Gorgias above. But with the rise of early philosophy, which began to consider the cosmic order in rational rather than in mythic terms,[43] there also arose various forms of agnosticism, especially with the Sophists. Here two words already discussed become especially important: physis (nature) and nomos (law). Originally these two words formed a single concept, as may be seen in Heraclitus’ fragment B 114:

Thou who speak with the intellect [xyn nooi] must strengthen themselves with that which is common [xynoi] to all, as the polis does with the law [nomos], and more strongly so. For all human laws [anthropeioi nomoi] nourish themselves from the divine law [theios nomos] which governs as far as it will, and suffices for all things, and more than suffices.[44]

For Heraclitus to speak of the divine law (theios nomos) is to speak the law that ‘suffices for all things’, including the laws of the polis that ‘nourish themselves from the divine law’, and there is no appearance of physis as separate from nomos. Nature and law are bound together. And the polis likewise comes into being through nomos, since human laws take their existence from the same divine law that governs all things. The human citizen, by definition, is the being that reflects and deliberates on law, or on justice and injustice.[45] That is the original philosophical understanding. But later physis began to be conceived as separate from divinity and nomos and then the notion arose that human laws (anthropeioi nomoi) derived neither from divine law (theios nomos) nor from physis.[46] Rather, human law began to be conceived as merely conventional, differing from city to city, with no ground in physis. Thus arose the notion that individuals could follow their own nature (physis) and ignore the laws of the polis. And since the laws of the polis existed only by convention, the Sophists believed that no harm could come to them through disobeying them, at least in private if not in public. From this arose the further notion that the laws of the polis were made by the strongest and that justice was nothing else than the rule of the strong over the weak.[47]

While the Sophists could argue private advantage with this teaching, for Plato it indicated the decline of Athens and the destruction of citizenship.[48] But it also indicated, on a more profound level, the loss of the symbolic understanding of the order of the cosmos as revealed through the myths of the gods. The loss of knowledge of the divine order signified the fragmentation of the human order. Thus for Plato homonoia, physis, and nomos form a single complex, and it is the challenge of human reason to grasp this. We find the same insight articulated centuries later by Cicero: ‘But those who have reason in common also have right reason in common. Since that is law, we men must also be reckoned to be associated with the gods in law. But further, those who have these things in common must be held to belong to the same state (civitas)’.[49] The citizen comes into being through homonoia, oneness of mind, agreement on a common purpose. Human reason is rooted in cosmic reason. The flourishing of the polis depends upon this grounding of the soul in the universal order and unity of physis and nomos.

One remarkable way in which Plato conceives the proportionate ordering of the polis in the Laws[50] is to limit the population to 5,040 households or extended families. The land for such a city should be large enough to support its population moderately, without excess, yet sufficient for defence against injustice from neighbouring cities, and strong enough to aid neighbours if they suffer injustices. The number 5,040 has exactly 60 divisors, counting itself and 1, and also is the sum of 42 consecutive primes. It therefore lends itself to complex proportionate divisions of functions of the population. This is not the place to elaborate on the special characteristics of this number. But the notion of a natural size of a self-sufficient polis which accords with the fertility of the land, the natural division of the human crafts and due administration of law, education and religious rites, and is of sufficient strength to have good relations with neighbouring cities, indicates that the human person naturally belongs to society. In his study of Plato’s Republic Voegelin writes: ‘Human nature is conceived as dispersed in variants over a multitude of human beings, so that only a group as a whole will embody the fullness of the nature. Order in society would then mean the harmonisation of the various types in correct super- and subordination’.[51] There is a final argument that gives the natural size of the polis strong support. Such a polis is of a size where all citizens may know one another and be friends, and this is conducive of virtue:

There is no greater good for a city than that its inhabitants be well known to one another; for where men’s characters are obscured from one another by the dark instead of being visible in the light, no one ever obtains in a correct way the honour he deserves, either in terms of office or justice. Above everything else, every man in every city must strive to avoid deceit on every occasion and to appear always in simple fashion, as he truly is – and, at the same time, to prevent other such men from deceiving him.[52]

Friendship emerges yet again as a principle of harmony promoting justice, openness and honesty. Human happiness is not attained through amassing wealth or by taking advantage of fellow citizens or of other cities or nations. For Plato the economic aspect of the city belongs to the realm of necessity and is therefore the least dignified of human concerns. The regulation of the population to 5,040 where each household has equal land to support itself, maintained by a prohibition on selling its land, removes the need for competition or opportunity for exploitation and frees all citizens to pursue the arts, learning and culture. Plato introduces another mathematical proportion, suggesting that the difference in wealth between citizens should never be more than ten times, and so the realm of necessity does not become an occasion for strife. Indeed, Plato says the earth must be acknowledged and honoured as the mother and sustainer of all living beings and must never be abused. There is a natural apportionment in which things ought to be honoured:

We say, then, that the likelihood is that if a city is to be preserved and is to become happy within the limits of human power, it must necessarily apportion honours and dishonours correctly. The correct apportionment is one which honours most the good things pertaining to the soul (provided it has moderation), second, to the beautiful and good things pertaining to the body, and third, the things said to accrue from property and money. If some lawgiver or city steps outside this ranking either by promoting money to a position of honour or by raising one of the lesser things to a more honourable status, he will do a deed that is neither pious nor statesmanlike.[53]

This apportionment of honours corresponds with the cosmic hierarchy, where the divine intelligence descends through the orders of nature, ruling things justly and according to their proper ends. In Book X of the Laws Plato disputes the Sophist view that denies this divine hierarchy and holds that things come into being instead by nature, by art and by chance.[54] This view separates physis and nomos where the laws of cities are held to be arbitrary conventions devised by art. It conceives of intelligence coming into being last in the order of things, rather than first since nature (physis) here signifies only blind necessity. This view brings the gods into dispute, or at least their origin. For if the universe came into being through blind necessity, then the gods can be neither wise nor beneficent to the cosmos, the city or the soul, but will themselves be ruled by blind necessity.

From this state of affairs there arise various positions in relation to the gods: (a) that they do not exist, (b) they exist but care nothing for humanity, and (c) they exist and may be bribed into granting human desires. These positions derive from the belief that the gods came into being after the elements and the heavens, and that ‘intelligence’ is an incidental or chance product of nature (physis), and so all human laws and institutions have no ground in the cosmic order and exist only by human invention. It is a consequence of separating physis and nomos. It reduces physis to a mere mechanism, and nomos to arbitrary invention, and removes intelligence and justice from the cosmos – rendering it no longer a cosmos.

Plato devotes the whole of Book 10 of the Laws to this question, and how reasoned argument can overcome this false interpretation of the order of things. It is here where we can see most clearly how Plato is concerned to recover philosophically what has been lost or corrupted in the understanding of cosmic myth. The truth of the ancient myths is no longer intelligible to the Athenians. The symbols that once communicated the presence of the divine intelligence in all things, and in the art of law-making, no longer reveal their meaning. If indeed the universe is ordered by blind mechanism rather than divine intelligence, then there is no basis to cosmic justice or justice in civilisation. There is no ground for preferring a virtuous life to the opposite. And even if the mechanisms of nature may be discerned through empirical investigation and calculation, they will have no intelligible purpose or end. What emerges is a universe with no telos, where things exist without meaning. Enquiry into such a universe itself has no meaning.

There is, however, an alternative approach that Plato takes to the question of the order and harmony of things. This is through kallos, beauty. All that is truthful, harmonious, or virtuous appeals not only to the rational part of the soul but also to eros, the love of beauty. But just as reason can go astray with sophistry, so likewise eros can go astray by identifying beauty with particular objects. In the final speech in the Symposium, Socrates reports a discourse he had with Diotima on the ascent of eros from temporal things to eternal Beauty. In the Phaedrus Plato demonstrates that, whatever we behold here on earth as beautiful, moves the soul to a great passion because it is reminded of Absolute Beauty which it once beheld before coming into the human body.[55] This great passion is eros, which desires at once to unite with and to create beautiful things. In the earthly sense it is the desire for bodily generation, which is to attain a kind of immortality. But what eros truly desires is not particular instances of beauty in temporal things, but the Beautiful itself which is eternal and the source of all beauty. What the soul most desires is to give birth to the beautiful within itself, to become that divine Beauty. Thus whenever it beholds the beauty of goodness, it desires to become good, or in beholding the beauty of justice it desires to become just, or in beholding the beauty of wisdom it desires to become wise. It desires both to unite with these beautiful things and to give birth to them. For Plato truth is always associated with beauty, and beauty always associated with goodness, and so the true and the beautiful give birth to virtue in the soul.

One of the great questions of philosophy is: how is truth known to be truth? One of Plato’s answers is that the soul recognises truth whenever it presents itself. It is an act of anamnesis, remembering. This is what occurs with the slave in the Meno discussed earlier. In myth this is the goddess Mnemosyne, mother of the Nine Muses. Since the intelligence of the soul corresponds with the universal intelligence, or with the ‘rational motions of the heavens’ as described in the Timaeus, it responds through kinship with the universal intelligence. Or, as Aristotle says in the opening of Metaphysics, ‘All human beings by nature stretch themselves out towards knowing’,[56] just as he says in the Nicomachean Ethics that the senses are oriented towards what is best or most beautiful: ‘. . . since every one of the senses is at work in relation to something perceptible, and is completely at work when it is in its best condition and directed towards the most beautiful of the things perceptible by that sense’.[57] This is the ground of reason, and why it is drawn towards truth, with the senses directed to the same end.

For Plato it is the same with eros, love. Eros is the ground of all the different kinds of love, and the root of all desire or yearning. It seeks to unite with divine Beauty, and this is the reason why the soul is moved whenever it is struck by anything beautiful. But in order for it to arrive where it desires to be, it must learn to distinguish between particular instances of beauty and Beauty itself. In the Symposium Diotima explains to Socrates how, upon seeing the beauty of one beautiful body, the soul must learn to see that it is the same beauty present in every beautiful body.[58] The same procedure must be followed with the virtues, and with institutions, and with laws, moving each time from the particular instances of beauty to the universal, until it finally arrives at Beauty itself which has no form, but which gives to all beautiful things their form.

It is clear that Plato understands that the truth of things, or goodness or beauty, can be known only through the ascent of the mind from the temporal realm to the eternal. The soul is by nature open to eternity. This is what defines the soul as dwelling between the mortal and the immortal. If it judges or measures only by the temporal or finite, then it will never arrive where it seeks to be and will have only relative or contingent knowledge, or at best what Plato calls ‘right opinion’. In many ways, this principle may be demonstrated. For example, we only know the finite by an intuitive reference to the infinite. Yet the infinite is never visible. Or we recognise the imperfect because we have an intuitive knowledge of the perfect. Yet the perfect is never visible. Likewise with justice or goodness. But also there is a kind of ‘poetic frenzy’ that embraces the divine, where the mind goes out of itself in giving birth to beauty:

If anyone comes to the gates of poetry and expects to become an adequate poet by acquiring expert knowledge of the subject without the Muses’ madness, he will fail, and his self-controlled verses will be eclipsed by the poetry of men who have been driven out of their minds.[59]

By the constant reference to the eternal or the transcendent, Plato opens the door to a philosophical understanding of what was previously established through cosmic myths and the gods. Yet, as is clear in Book X of the Laws, piety towards the gods remains essential if the harmony of the polis is to be maintained. The proper life of the city, which brings harmony to the soul, is possible only so far as the civil laws derive from the harmonious order of the universe permeated by divine intelligence. It is this divine intelligence that manifests in number and proportion everywhere, and in the providential laws that nourish life and draw human intelligence, through awakening eros, towards the contemplation of truth.

 

 

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Aristotle, Aristotle’s Politics translated by Carnes Lord (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2013).

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Katja Maria Vogt, Law, Reason, and the Cosmic City: Political Philosophy in the Early Stoa (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2008).

Lloyd L.Weinreb, Natural Law and Justice (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1990).

 

Notes

[1] Plato, Symposium, 188a, in The Dialogues of Plato, translated by B. Jowett, Volume I (New York: Random House, 1937).

[2] In Book 1 Chapter 3 of Metaphysics Aristotle gives a wide-ranging account of how the ancient thinkers conceived the origin and order of things, both of how the gods brought things into being and later how they conceived various elements, such as air, fire or water, as being the origin of things. In Chapters 4 and 5 he recounts how Hesiod, Parmenides, Empedocles and Anaxagoras conceived things coming into being in various ways. In Chapter 6 he gives an account of how Plato, following the lead of all these previous thinkers, sought to give more precise definitions of things, and that there was a distinction to be drawn between sensible changeable things and their forms and numbers which do not change, here drawing upon the Pythagoreans. For a penetrating study of the political and philosophical conditions of Athens that Plato confronts and seeks to remedy see Eric Voegelin, Plato and Aristotle, Order and History, Volume III, (Columbia: University of Missouri Press, 2000). For an excellent introduction to the emergence of philosophy in Greece see H. and H. A. Frankfort;  John Wilson and Thorkild Jacobson, Before Philosophy (Harmondsworth, UK: Penguin Books, 1973). See also Alexander P. D. Mourelatos, The Presocratics: A Collection of Critical Essays (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1974).

[3] See Frankfort Before Philosophy, Chapter VIII, pp. 248-262 for an account of how Greek poetry and myth were transformed into philosophy. See also Martin Heidegger An Introduction to Metaphysics (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1987), pp. 13-17 for an account of the original meaning of physis in Greek thought.

[4] Hesiod, Works and Days, translated by Dorothea Wender (Harmondsworth, UK: Penguin Books, 1979), pp. 62-63, lines 108-130.

[5] Plato, The Laws of Plato, translated by Thomas Pangle (New York: Basic Books, 1980), 713c.

[6] Plato, Laws, 714a.

[7] The word polis has no exact English equivalent and is often misleadingly translated as ‘city’ or ‘city-state’. In Classical Greece it meant a self-ruling people, where every citizen took part in the political rule of the community, including the making of laws. In the opening of his Politics Aristotle describes the polis as the coming together of the family, the village and the agricultural community into a single ‘natural’ society, the kind of society that human nature is inherently inclined towards, embracing the common good through rational discourse, able to sustain itself without the need of external trade, and strong enough to defend itself. Its aim is to live virtuously and nobly. In the discussion of the founding of Magnesia in the Laws Plato likewise sees the polis as self-sufficient and even having a natural limit of 5,040 households.

[8] Eric Voegelin, Anamnesis (Columbia: University of Missouri Press, 1990), p. 59. For an account of Socrates’ and Plato’s challenge to political corruption that prevailed in Athens, see Melissa Lane, The Birth of Politics (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 2014), Chapter 4.

[9] Heraclitus, Fragment B 114, quoted from Max Hamburger, The Awakening of Western Legal Thought, translated by Bernard Mial (New York: Biblo and Tannen, 1969) p. 9, with Greek terms inserted as given by Voegelin in Anamnesis p, 59.

[10] Every society has its founding myths and associated symbols, even a modern secular society, such as symbols of justice, liberty or sovereignty. Such symbols are also part of the social narrative or history through which a community identifies itself. A contemporary illustrative narrative is the materialist myth of progress, with its symbols of mastery over nature, an atheist narrative such as Plato critiques in Laws Book 10. In the dialogues, Plato often refers to or calls upon the presiding gods, even when speaking abstractly about justice, education or an art. Most dialogues begin with or imply a dedication to one of the gods or take place on a journey to a sacred shrine, as for example, in the Laws where the Athenian Stranger and his companions Kleinias and Megillus discourse on their way to the shrine of Zeus, or the opening of the Republic where Socrates goes with Glaucon to say a prayer to the goddess Bendis.

[11] Aristotle, Nicomachean Ethics translated by Joe Sachs (Newbury MA: Focus Publishing, 2002), Book 10 1178b.

[12] Plato, Timaeus 47d.

[13] For a full study of Plato’s understanding of the connection between cosmic order and virtue as exemplified in the Timaeus and Critias see T. K Johansen, Plato’s Natural Philosophy (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2004).

[14] Plato, Republic, translated by Allan Bloom (New York: Basic Books, 1968), 508e.

[15] See Laws Book 10.

[16] For example, in Laws 684c while speaking of how people desire only laws that will please them, the Athenian Stranger says ‘Such a provision is in opposition to the common notion that the lawgiver should make only such laws as the people like; but we say that he should rather be like a physician, prepared to effect a cure even at the cost of considerable suffering.’ Also Gorgias 478-479 draws a comparison between the physician and the judge in administering justice, one curing the body, the other the soul. Again in the Laws 728b Plato sees judicial penalty as aiming to restore the soul rather than merely causing it to suffer the consequences of injustice. In Laws 650b we read: ‘This, then – the knowledge of the natures and habits of souls – is one of the things that is of the greatest use for the art whose business it is to care for souls. And we assert (I think) that that art is politics. Or what?’ In Republic 444c-e Plato draws a direct analogy between health and sickness and justice injustice, arguing that sickness and injustice are alike contrary to nature, while health and justice are according to nature.

[17] Plato, Laws, 684c.

[18] Plato, Gorgias, 478-479 in The Dialogues of Plato, translated by B. Jowett, Volume I (New York: Random House, 1937).

[19] Plato, Laws, 728b.

[20] Plato, Laws, 650b.

[21] Plato, Republic, 444c-e.

[22] Sara Brill, Plato and the Limits of Human Life (Bloomington, IN: Indiana University Press, 2013), pp. 168-9 and 173.

[23] Plato, Republic, 337c; Plato, Meno, 71e in The Dialogues of Plato, translated by B. Jowett, Volume I (New York: Random House, 1937).

[24] For a detailed discussion of the break from myth and the transition to philosophy in Athens see Eric Voegelin The World of the Polis, Order and History, Volume II (Columbia: University of Missouri Press, 2000), Chapter 6, ‘The Break with Myth’.

[25] On the place of myth and symbol in any society Ricoeur observes ‘The first function of the myths of evil is to embrace mankind as a whole in one ideal history. By means of a time that represents all times, ‘man’ is manifested as a concrete universal; Adam signifies man. ‘In’ Adam, says Saint Paul, we have all sinned. Thus experience escapes its singularity; it is transmuted in its own ‘archetype’. Through the figure of the hero, the ancestor, the Titan, the first man, the demigod, experience is put on the track of existential structures: one can now say man, existence, human being, because in the myth the human type is recapitulated, summed up. See Paul Ricoeur, The Symbolism of Evil, (Boston: Beacon Press, 1969), p. 162. Also see Ford Russel, Northrop Frye on Myth (New York:  Routledge, 1998), Chapter 14, ‘Ricoeur and Fry on Myth’.

[26] Plato, Republic, 514a–520a.

[27] Plato, Symposium 201d-207a.

[28] For a valuable historical and philosophical discussion of the relation of Parmenides and Heraclitus to Plato See Voegelin, The World of the Polis, Chapters 8 and 9, and for the Sophists see Chapter 11. See also Mourelatos The Presocratics.

[29] For frenzy see, for example, Plato’s Phaedrus.

[30] For a valuable discussion of Plato’s views on the Sophists see the ‘Introduction’ in Joe Sachs, Socrates and the Sophists: Plato’s Protagoras, Euthydemus, Hippias Major and Cratylus (Indianapolis, IN: Focus Publishing, 2011).

[31] See, for example, Laws 899d – 902c on false or misguided opinions about the gods. For a detailed discussion of the special meaning of doxa in Parmenides and the shaping of Plato’s philosophy of being see Voegelin The World of the Polis Chapter 8, especially p. 285ff.

[32] In the Politics 1252A Aristotle argues that those who claim that skill in political rule is the same as household management or mastery of slaves, but on a larger scale, ‘do not speak beautifully’. As Sachs remarks on this passage in note 39, ‘the same assumption is made by the Eleatic Stranger at the beginning of Plato’s Statesman (258E-258C)’. The classic example of the movement from appearance to the true is the allegory of the Cave in Republic 514a–520a.

[33] Plato, Apology 21-22 in Plato: Complete Works, translated by G. M. A. Grubb (Indianapolis: Hackett Publishing Company, 1997).

[34] For a valuable study of this tradition see S. K. Heninger, Touches of Sweet Harmony (Tacoma, WA: Angelico Press, 2013).

[35] For a detailed study of Plato’s understanding of how the soul is brought into harmony see Francesco Pelosi Plato on Music, Soul and Body (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2010).

[36] See Plato, Meno 84c-85d. The question the dialogue poses is whether virtue can be learned and if a distinction can be drawn between given or innate knowledge and acquired knowledge. That the slave who can solve a geometrical problem without prior study suggests, Socrates argues, that certain kinds of knowledge are already within the soul. Nevertheless, the dialogue comes to no conclusion as to whether virtue is innate or can be taught. The final suggestion is that virtue may be a gift from the gods. It is worth bearing in mind that for Plato it is the enquiry itself that matters, even if it leads to contradictory conclusions or no conclusion at all. Through the act of enquiring into the truth of things the soul already comes into a more harmonious relation with itself and with the greater order of things. It becomes temperate. The path any dialogue follows depends upon the condition of the souls of the interlocutors. This should make us particularly cautious about drawing fixed theories or doctrines from them.

[37] Plato, Republic, 441e4-6.

[38] For wide-ranging study of Plato on friendship see Mary P. Nichols Socrates of Friendship and Community: Reflections on Plato’s Symposium, Phaedrus, and Lysis. (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2009).

[39] Plato, Gorgias, 507d in The Dialogues of Plato, translated by B. Jowett,

[40] Plato, Laws, 693c.

[41] Thomas Aquinas, Summa Theologica,4 Vols., (London, Second and Revised Edition, Literally translated by Fathers of the English Dominican Province, London Burns, Oates and Washbourne, 1920) 1a. 110-119 and 1a2æ. 90-97. See also on justice, community and the common good 2a2 æ. 58.

[42] Plato, Republic, 351d-352a in Complete Works, edited by John M. Cooper (Indianapolis/Cambridge: Hackett Publishing Company, 1997).

[43] See ‘The Emancipation of Thought from Myth’ in Frankfort Before Philosophy.

[44] Quoted from Voegelin, Order and History Volume II: The World of the Polis, p. 380.

[45] Aristotle, Politics, translated by Joe Sachs (Newbury MA: Focus Publishing, 2012), 1253a8.

[46] For a penetrating and comprehensive study of the emergence of physis from earliest Greek thought and its meaning in Plato see Gerard Naddaf, The Greek Concept of Nature (New York: State University of New York Press, 2005). For an excellent history of the rise of law on Greece see Michael Gagarin, Early Greek Law (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1989).

[47] In this regard it is worth noting that a unique characteristic of early Greek law was that it was governed by the citizens collectively and separately from political rule. Elsewhere laws were usually imposed upon citizens by a ruling class. See Gagarin, Early Greek Law. That by Plato’s time it could be thought to be imposed by the strong for their own advantage, as maintained by some Sophists, shows how the understanding of nomos had changed since the time of Homer and Hesiod.

[48] See Eric Voegelin, Order and History, Volume III, p. 68ff for a discussion of how Plato saw the decline of Athenian politics and how this led him to enquire into the nature of justice and the order of the polis.

[49] Quoted by Malcolm Schofield, The Stoic Idea of the City (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1999), p. 68 from Cicero’s De Legibus 1 23. There is a clear resonance here with Heraclitus’ fragment B 114 quoted earlier. Also see Katja Maria Vogt, Law, Reason, and the Cosmic City: Political Philosophy in the Early Stoa (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2008) for an excellent study of the political and ethical philosophy of the Stoa.

[50] Plato, Laws, 737c-738e.

[51] Eric Voegelin, Order and History, Volume III, p. 164. See also the discussion of the natural division of labour in the community in Brill, Plato and the Limits of the Human, Chapter 4, especially p. 98-99.

[52] Plato, Laws, 738e.

[53] Plato, Laws of Plato, Laws 697b.

[54] See Gabriela Roxana Carone, Plato’s Cosmology and its Ethical Dimensions, (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2011), p. 164 ff. for a useful discussion of this argument and its importance in the Laws, 888e.

[55] Phaedrus, 244-245, in The Dialogues of Plato, translated by B. Jowett, Volume I (New York: Random House, 1937).

[56] Aristotle Metaphysics, 980a translated by Joe Sachs (Santa Fe, New Mexico: Green Lion Press, 2002).

[57] Aristotle Metaphysics, 1174b.

[58] Symposium, 201d-207a.

[59] Plato, Phaedrus, 245a, in Plato: Complete Works edited by John M. Cooper.

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Classical Vision of Man’s Place in Nature

Joseph Milne

Lecture given at Temenos Academy 2013

To speak of man’s place in nature has become very difficult in our age, and some contemporary thinkers would suggest it is even absurd. Philosophers are saying we are past the age of ‘grand questions’ and should confine ourselves to more modest ones. Physicists are asserting that the universe is nothing more than a complex system of entities and laws, and there is no specific reason for man to exist in such a universe. Ethicists are claiming there is no ground in Nature for ‘moral values’ and that any kind of ethics is at best pragmatic and relative, and so each individual must devise an ethic based on their own private values and ‘life-style’. Religion is now openly dismissed as mere ‘personal belief’ and so has no further place in the public realm.

These ideas we hear all the time. They are largely taken as given truths in the popular media. They are spoken in bland complacency by leading intellectuals and artists, as though they had the certainly of Euclidean axioms.

Nevertheless, and despite this easy complacency, there remains an underlying perplexity before the ‘grand questions’ the philosophers once asked. To live in a mathematically abstracted universe, as much modern physics proposes, no matter how sophisticated such thought may be, throws no light anywhere, even though we are meant to stand in stupid amazement before such incomprehensible theory. The latest theories and claims of the physicists do not touch the place where our human questions of existence arise from. It is as if the physicists are trying to change the subject, or to replace the question of meaning with the question of mechanical history.

It is the same with the dismissal of the grand questions. The most intricate postmodern torture of words that make everything substantial seem to disappear also do not touch on the place where our human philosophical questions arise. All the noise of such convoluted thought has no real concern for anything. Reality and truth are regarded as indifferent, or merely material to manipulate in intellectual entertainment. Thought about things is no longer connected with things, and things no longer prompt thought. We can trace this position back to the first pages of Hobbes’ Leviathan, where he describes nature and man as nothing else than artificial automata with strings and wheels and joints signifying nothing else than mere motion. (Leviathan, Introduction)

So it is also with ethics. It is claimed that all moral values are relative and that each of us is free to elect our own moral position, and that nobody has the right to say how others ought to conduct themselves. Yet at the same time we hear the endless contentious demands for ‘human rights’, under the name of which we may make any kind of arbitrary claims upon society and our fellow citizens. Even so, amid this moral confusion that especially characterises our time, there remains an intuitive knowledge that justice and goodness are not relative or arbitrary or merely rights to be claimed. So, again, the climate of ethical debate does not touch the place where our ethical concern really arises from.

My point here is not to condemn our modern situation. Plenty of people are busy enough doing that. My point is to bring to the fore the profound disconnect between the prevailing ways of thinking and our actual sense of being and truth. For example, we naturally desire to know the meaning of existence. We sense there is an underlying meaning, yet we cannot quite get to it. The prevailing view of physics keeps us disconnected from any meaning that is there. And so it is with the prevailing moral relativism, and the dismissal of any religious significance to the universe or the life of man. The only ‘grand vision’ acceptable is that of reductive mechanism, such as Hobbes proposes in his Leviathan, and this lies at the opposite pole of any sense of connection with the life, truth, goodness or meaning of things. Western thought seems to have got stuck here for the last three hundred years, despite the many claims for new discoveries and advancement.

This situation sets us apart from the ancient Greek philosophers in a very profound way. This is why we find it hard to read them on their own terms. A good example is the persistent misreading of Plato’s political thought. It is assumed the Republic is a manifesto for an ideal society. Almost every philosophy undergraduate is introduced to Plato in this way. Not only is his Republic presented as a manifesto for an ideal society, it is also presented as a model of absolute authoritarian tyranny. At the same time, Plato’s Laws, which is in a certain sense a practical politics, is hardly read at all. Yet the Republic is not a manifesto. It is a gradual probing into the question of the nature of justice, not in order to arrive at a definition, but in order to praise it rightly and to see why it offers the best path for man to his natural place in Nature, where alone human nature itself may be fulfilled. In short, Plato’s Republic arises from a searching perplexity about whether the just life is the best life. And it asks this in terms of whether the just society is the best society for man. It is not, in any postmodern sense, perplexed about whether there is such a thing as justice. Rather, it asks if justice is to be praised above anything else as the proper way of life for man.

Plato, and also Aristotle, ask: what is the best life for man to live, or for society to live. They both find this question is essentially a moral question. The best life for man is the virtuous life. Only the virtuous life is the life of freedom, and only the free person can be virtuous. To be free is to be a citizen, a participant in the life that is human and belongs to man, and which distinguishes man from the other species. Yet this life, which is the proper life of man, is not simply given by nature to man. Nature gives to man a body and senses and faculties and the potential to become fully human, but this potential may be actualized only through man taking responsibility for his existence. Here is where man is distinct from the other creatures in nature, which actualize spontaneously, as the acorn grows into the oak. For the Greek philosophers ‘nature’, or physis, is the spontaneous birth and growth of things to their fullness, each according to its proper place within the whole order of things. This whole order of things is itself a manifestation of justice. It is ‘cosmos’ rather than ‘chaos’. Nature and justice are seen to belong inextricably together.

But man does not find his place in nature spontaneously, or indeed know his own nature spontaneously. Unlike the other animals, who live by natural instinct and fit into their natural environments, man does not live by natural instinct and fit into his natural environment. Rather man must live through his intelligence and build his habitat within the world. The human organism is defenceless before the elements and is compelled to clothe itself and make a shelter for itself. In this sense man is obliged to distinguish himself from the ‘womb of nature’ and to call upon his own resources or capacities in order to live within nature. For the Greek philosophers this peculiar circumstance of being compelled to discover resources within himself is the key both to man’s imprisonment in necessity and to his call to freedom. So long as man must labour to maintain his physical existence, or so long as he lets himself be ruled by mere necessity, he is not yet human but rather still living as an animal.

Yet it is possible to conceive of human life and the life of society as entirely ruled by necessity, which is to say, ruled entirely by the physical needs that arise because of man’s defencelessness and vulnerability before nature. The greater part of modern economic theory is based upon this view of man which goes back to Thomas Hobbes and Adam Smith. From this has arisen the acceptance of the consumer society, where nature is no longer seen as a just and harmonious order, but merely as ‘natural resources’ for man to set at his disposal and use up. The consumer society, a society governed entirely by trade and commerce, is not regarded as a society at all in the view of Plato or Aristotle. At best it is a kind of pre-society, a society ruled only by material necessity and material appetites, and therefore not yet properly human. Plato and Aristotle see the tendency towards commerce and money-making as signs of the decline or degeneracy.

This dismissal of wealth creation and exchange of goods for money that we find in Plato and Aristotle is probably one of the most unexpected things the modern reader comes upon. Yet Aristotle dismisses wealth creation early in his Politics, regarding traders as mere slaves, and usurers as the lowest type of human beings. Likewise in Plato’s Laws, the Athenian Stranger proposes that when founding their new city, Magnesia, it should be situated far from the coast because dwelling by the sea will encourage ship building and foreign trade, or invite invasions. Plato was quite aware of the Persian trading empire and the vast wealth that could be made through commerce. Yet he sees these as harmful to the proper life of man and as threats to the survival of a city state founded on justice and the virtuous life.

Neither Plato nor Aristotle are admirers of wealth. This is not because they regard gathering wealth as wicked in itself, but rather because it distracts from the proper life of man and binds him to necessity, to the mere sustaining of life for no end beyond sustaining it. To them such a life is that of animals. The animals live as a species, and therefore sustain their life for the sake of the species. But the human being is not subsumed to the necessity of the species. Rather each person has a life of their own, and therefore a life proper to a free being. That is to say, each man may perfect himself and his own life, and indeed is responsible for his own life before nature and the gods.

Here is a key to the Greek understanding of the proper life of man, and therefore his place within the natural order. Man is responsible for himself, and therefore responsible before the truth of things, or before the gods. This responsibility does not lie in commanding nature, in drawing wealth from nature, or in subduing it to his will. The Baconian idea of man as the master of nature, as the exploiter and thief of her secrets, is, from the Greek perspective, the embodiment of human slavery, of man chained to his desires and to physical necessity. It leaves human nature itself unperfected, unreflective and barren, a mere instrument of the exploitation of nature. In the modern sense, as expanded through the industrial revolution, it reduces man to a mere consumer of goods, as wholly bound to things external to himself, trapped in an endless chain of remaking consumables. Man as master of nature, as the age of reason imagined him, is still man as bound to necessity. The free man, for Plato and Aristotle, is neither a slave nor a master. Rather he is able to act according to truth and justice.

Living as we do in the modern industrial society it is quite challenging to see the proper life of society from the Greek perspective. We can see, at the very least, that man as mere consumer abuses the earth, by treating it as a mere resource to be called upon at will, with no life belonging to itself. The conception of the earth as nothing more than a resource for man is perhaps as far from the Greek classical understanding of nature as could be, and indeed from any ancient or pre-modern view of nature. In the Laws, Plato sees those who live in this ignoble manner as having a brief moment of glory to be followed by natures’ justice in wiping them out (Laws 716c onwards). A city state founded on merchandising and the gathering wealth cannot endure. The reason it will not endure is because the way of life it establishes for its citizens leaves them defenceless against the vices that will eventually poison the concord of the citizens. This manifests through partisan laws being enacted, dividing one part of the state against another. According to Plato the greatest danger for any society arises from it being divided against itself, a danger far greater than any external threat, but which also leaves it vulnerable to external threat. The typical way in which it divides against itself is through one party’s interests being placed above another’s and enacted through law. The legalisation of vice, or in modern language, of legalization self-interest, is the surest sign of a state in decline, because it sets private desire at variance with the public good.

A question Plato pursues in the Laws is, which laws should a state enact which will enable it to endure a long time. This question is quite foreign to how our modern age thinks about law. Our age gets endlessly entangled in legal complexities or debates over human rights behind which it is very hard to see any clear conception of law itself, or of law grounded in a justice beyond various conflicting interests. So our age asks what laws might best serve our immediate interests. It is becoming regarded as a kind of legal pragmatism. This means it is endlessly confronted with new questions for which it is not prepared. This is especially the case with the laws enacted by the European Community. Strictly speaking, these are ‘rules’ rather than laws in the classical sense, and rules arise from a different place than real laws.

So Plato’s question, which laws should a state enact which will enable it to endure for a long time, over many generations, springs from a ground hard for our age to stand in. It asks, what is the proper aim or purpose of law making? To answer such a question requires a quality or ability specific only to man, the capacity of foresight. To see which laws are needed and what consequences any law may have over a long time is the capacity that Aristotle names as the essential capacity of the politician. Indeed, it is the capacity that distinguishes the free citizen from what Aristotle calls the ‘natural slave’, the person lacking foresight. Only a mind free from the ties of necessity, or the endless stream of appetites, and fearless before truth and justice can have such foresight. In other words, only the virtuous man can see the true nature of law, its proper end, and know the art of law-making. Such a person is a human being in the real sense of being human.

If there are laws which, if enacted, would enable a society to flourish and endure for generations, this suggests that there is a correspondence of some kind between the nature of human society and law, or between human nature itself and law. Plato often likens the law-maker to the physician, one bringing health to the body and one to the state, and this suggests that human society is in some sense part of nature, even though of human devising. Aristotle is explicit in seeing the city state as natural, as part of nature, an insight forcefully opposed by the economists of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. For Aristotle man is the ‘political being’. If the laws that would enable a society to endure are in some sense natural to society, just as healthy living is natural to the body, it is but a small step to suppose that human society is natural to Mother Earth herself and has a place in the order of the whole universe, just as every other part of nature does.

There is an obvious connection between Aristotle’s understanding of human foresight and Plato’s concern for laws that would enable a city state to endure for a long time. The least that could be said of any such laws, if they were enacted, is that there would be nothing in them likely to produce a bad effect, or have a seed of future corruption in them – like the unwelcome side-effects of some medicines. A good law will be conducive only of a good end. Such a good end must be for the good of the whole society and for the individual simultaneously. Its goodness or rightness or justice must be perceived to be good on all grounds, by lawmakers and citizens alike.

Plato asks, what is the good end that all laws should seek? His answer is very Greek: it is friendship between all citizens. It is an answer far from the demands that our age makes upon law. In our times law is increasingly being regarded as a means of redress of wrongs, or even of retribution. In Plato’s view laws are not for the sake of overcoming wrongs or injustices, but rather for the sake of fostering individual virtue and the common good, and in such a way that citizens grow up to love the law as something beautiful and pure and good in itself. A good society is a society that loves good law. Indeed, the love of good law is a characteristic quality that makes man a citizen, a political being, a human being, as distinct from an animal or a slave. Likewise, only the virtuous person can know friendship, which springs from the common love of the true and the good and the capacity to reflect and discourse upon them.

We find friendship highly praised by the Greeks and also by the Romans, for example by Cicero who regarded it as a greater gift than wisdom. It is clear that friendship was understood to be more than the delights of companionship or comradeship. To the classical mind friendship is a good in itself, an end in itself, beyond any mutual advantage or utility. Friendship lies above the realm of necessity. It is good precisely because it is not useful. Friendship, as the aim of law-making, gives us an example of the civilized life proper to man that transcends necessity. As a mark of true citizenship it belongs to man’s public life, his life in the world at large beyond the confines of the home, which is man’s private life. Friendship springs from no ties or uses, but from the common nature of man as man in the noblest sense.

It perhaps seems curious that friendship should be regarded as part of man’s public life. But it may be, as C S Lewis suggests, that modern man has forgotten the nature of friendship. But for Plato it is perfectly clear why it belongs to the public realm, because in friendship the defining feature of human nature is most manifest and most abundantly flourishes: man as the being of language. Aristotle likewise defines man as the speaking being, above being a rational or social species. It is through speech that man reveals himself to the world and participates in the world. Speech, or language, connects the inner life of the soul with the world at large, situating man within the cosmos. Speech articulates man’s reflection upon the truth of things, and so discourse upon the truth of things is the most natural occupation of man as man. It is precisely for this reason that Plato regards philosophy as the highest occupation of man, and the calling to philosophical reflection proper to his nature. Poetry likewise arises from this reflection on the truth of things and in affirming what is praiseworthy.

Yet, no matter how many ways Plato asserts that the virtuous and the philosophical life is the best and most human life, there remains a huge difficulty in establishing it, not only for the individual but even more so for a society. One might see all of Plato’s dialogues as ways of confronting this great difficulty. Each dialogue attempts to find a way of passing over from one kind of understanding to another. And this is precisely what Plato does in his dialogues about politics and law or justice. In each instance there is a ‘common sense’ given solution to questions which have to be overturned in order to pass over to a new understanding. Each dialogues presents us with a ‘threshold’ into a transformation of understanding. In terms of how a city state should be established that will endure, the Laws demands that human concern be lifted from the mere meeting of necessity – of concern for wealth and property and comfort and security – to the life of virtue and philosophical reflection. Or, in other words, from temporal things to eternal things. It is because extremes of wealth and poverty prevent or obstruct the cultivation of the virtuous and philosophical life that they are harmful.

This demand to pass over the threshold from temporal to eternal things springs from human nature itself. For Plato man is the mortal being who is open to the vision of the eternal. Unique among creatures, his faculties are open to everything that is. Thus Aristotle understands the mind as oriented towards the truth of things. It need not go there, but nevertheless it is by nature open and tends in that direction, and so is potentially the knowledge of all things. Although an individual need not go there, for Aristotle a man fails himself by not going there, or not aspiring to go there. Likewise with a society in Plato’s view. If it does not aspire to the highest it will inevitably adopt some lesser aim and eventually decline through division within itself.

One very obvious way in which this threshold situation of man may be seen is where the different parts of human nature are in conflict with one another. In the Laws Plato portrays man as at war within himself between the three elements of reason, desire and spiritedness. Therefore the first aim of education is to establish peace and friendship within the individual between these aspects. It is only then that he becomes an ‘individual’, or ‘undivided’. This is accomplished primarily through the cultivation of the virtues of courage and prudence, which for Plato is the purpose of education. The cardinal virtues are, in Greek philosophy, the ordering actions of the soul. They are not moral codes or rules, but capacities or skills, like musicianship or oratory. Only the virtuous person has rule over himself. The virtues bring concord between the different aspects of human nature, and the attainment of this concord is possible only through deliberate cultivation and skill. It is the same with the city state. A society ruled by the endless stream of desires for pleasures or possessions is essentially unstable and at variance with itself, or the individual is at variance with the state. The sum of conflicting self-interests does not add up to a common concord as Adam Smith proposes, or the happiness of the greatest number as Bentham proposes.

This concord of the soul, or the life of the individual, may then reach out to the apprehension of the concord of the cosmos, of the heavens, or of the gods. Or it may happen in reverse. The apprehension of cosmic concord, or the order of the heavens, or of the justice of the gods brings about concord of the soul, as Plato suggests in the Timaeus. Here is the greatest threshold of all, where mortal human nature conforms itself to the eternal order of the heavens and dwells, as it were, in the realm of the gods. It is in this sense that the Stoics, much later, understood the cosmos as the ‘city of man and the gods’. The proper dwelling place of mortal man is in the whole of nature or the universe. In this way of dwelling he transcends not only necessity but also the limit of his mortality. He becomes the mortal who abides with the immortals.

Here the frailty or weakness of the human species is balanced by its relation to the great order of the universe. Although frail and defenceless compared to many other species, and without a natural environment such as other species have which sustains and protects them, the human being alone builds a dwelling from the gifts of nature which is at once fabricated and yet natural, and his dwelling places man within the cosmos as a whole. Man builds his home consciously under the stars and the sanctity of the gods.

For man to situate himself thus within nature, through building his dwelling place under the stars and before the gods, is to pass the first threshold that makes man human. As has often been noted by the philosophers, through building his dwelling out of his thought and craft, man adopts the ‘world’ as his home, as distinct from the other species who dwell only in an environment. Building in this sense does not treat nature as a mere resource. Rather man adapts himself to nature and cultivates it. We recall that in Genesis man is set in Eden to tend the garden, not master or subdue it.

The making of the human dwelling place has two aspects: setting on land and laws. Thus when Plato considers the building of Magnesia in the Laws, he addresses the question of location and lawmaking simultaneously. The city state thus has two kinds of boundaries, one in stone and one in speech. The physical setting aims to secure physical benefits and protection, while the law aims to secure the harmony of the community and the soul. For Plato the architect and the lawmaker are both ‘craftsman’, builders of the city, and both set the city under the heavens and under the gods. The city forms itself around two centres, the temple and the agora – the temple where the gods are honoured, and the agora where speech is honoured. For Plato it is in these two centres that the way of life most proper to man takes place. The city exists in order that the gods be praised and honoured and that true speech may manifest or articulate enquiry into the truth of things. It is in order that the citizen might pass over the threshold of necessity that the temple and the agora are founded and the laws are instituted. The city state has a purpose beyond its material benefits or utility, yet this purpose can never be assured, either by the architect or the lawmaker. It can arise only when the citizens desire and strive for what is good, true or beautiful for its own sake.

Paradoxically, for Plato and Aristotle man is free to be free only if he elects to be free. His freedom is not a given, and is even less is it a right in the modern sense. This is because his freedom lies not in arbitrary acts of will or self-determination, but in the love of the good, the true and the beautiful – in the ‘divine’ attributes of the eternal. To put that another way, it belongs to man to contemplate the eternal wisdom manifest in the order of the universe, and this is possible only so far as man brings about order in his own soul and actions. Man is, as it were, open to the truth of things only so far as his being is harmonious and his actions just and prudent. Man attains his full stature through transcending himself and becoming a mirror in which the truth of things is reflected and brought into speech. From this all the arts arise and have their proper place.

Yet in order to receive and to be witness to the order and truth of things, he must himself manifest his own being through speech and virtuous action before his fellow citizens (see Arendt, The Human Condition (1998) p. 199). It is through making himself visible and admirable to men that the ancient virtues of glory and fame have their origin. We still see glimpses of this view of citizenship in Shakespeare’s Greek and Roman plays, where immortal fame is the highest achievement, and its contrary, shame and loss of reputation the greatest tragedy.

A distinguishing feature of the life that is proper to man is that it consists of acts that are meaningful in themselves, and which have no end beyond themselves. Thus Aristotle asks, what is the work proper to man as man (Nicomachean Ethics 1097b). He observes that there are different works that belong to different individuals, such as carpentry or leather working, yet he wonders what is the work that belongs to the human being as such. It seems that this is the work of reason and virtue, the life of the soul. But more than this, for man there is a choice between doing action, and doing action well. For example, it is the work of the harpist to play the harp, but of the serious harpist to play well and beautifully. This distinguishes the life proper to man, to live well and beautifully, so that the work done and the manner in which it is done are both final ends in themselves. So again we find a threshold that human living must pass over for it to become properly human, and to transcend any utilitarian usefulness.

If the life of the soul is the proper life of man, as Plato and Aristotle both agree, how then does this place human life within nature as a whole? How does this place the polis within nature as a whole?

For Plato this question can be answered only if the nature and origin of the gods is understood correctly. In Book X of the Laws the Athenian stranger argues that man goes astray most dangerously, not through disbelief in the gods or atheism, but in the belief that the gods and the divine intelligence in things come into being after the bodily or physical existence of things. In other words, the opinion that the physical elements are the causes of the cosmos. On the contrary, Plato argues that the nature of the universe is perceived rightly only when ‘soul’ or ‘divinity’ or ‘intelligence’ are seen to be the cause and origin of the cosmos, and that the cosmic order remains governed by intelligence or soul.

The same is said of the human being: the soul exists prior to the body as its cause and ruler. Without seeing in this way, man can neither know the universe nor himself as they really are. But once the highest is seen to exist prior to the lowest, or the rational prior to the irrational, then the realm from which good laws may be apprehended which will bring human life into harmony with nature may be recognised and articulated. This is where the lawmaker draws his art from. And this is why the polis, or a society, is founded first in law, in speech, in intelligence, in reason, prior to being built from stone.

 

Mind and Reality

An Exploration of the Philosophy of Nagarjuna

 

Joseph Milne

May I begin by saying that I feel greatly honoured to be invited to speak here at the Nehru Centre because I have a deep love of Indian culture and wisdom, and I stand before it all with great reverence. But also I feel greatly honoured to be invited to speak in this series of talks on Buddhism as a non-Buddhist, and I do so with some trepidation. I am aware that it is a general rule of the Temenos Academy to invite speakers from inside their traditions, so I do hope that what I shall say in this talk will be worthy of breaking this general rule.

By way of justification, at least on my part, I should say that I love the Eastern religions as much as the Western and through my studies of them all I feel I have learned things which one alone would not have taught me. My interest in Nagarjuna in particular stems from my interest in the world religions and in certain fundamental and universal concerns of philosophy and theology: namely the question of the meaning of Being and the question of the meaning of Knowledge – what are technically called ontology and epistemology in Western thought. These two concerns converge in the thought of Nagarjuna.

As a non-Buddhist, as a non-Indian, and as a kind of outsider, simply as a member of the extended human family in all its diversity, I would therefore like to approach my discussion of Nagarjuna in the spirit of enquiry, as a person engaged in the questions that our human situation gives rise to. This enquiry is centred on the question: What is the relation of thought and reality? This is a huge question. It is indeed one of the great questions of philosophy in all traditions, wherever philosophy is still honestly pursued. Can thought touch reality? Can reality touch thought? Is all thought, in the end, nothing more than an overlay or projection upon reality? Would we be wiser to fall silent and simply hearken to reality? Or are we called by reality to think? Is there a mode of thought which leads us towards reality, towards truth itself, even though truth itself is ever-free and stands solely by itself and in itself? And are there modes of thought which lead us away from reality and truth and into illusion. How is truth to be distinguished from illusion? Why is there a problem of reality and illusion? Why do we not simply light upon reality without effort? After all, nothing else can be disclosing itself to us but reality itself, so why is there any problem of the relation of reality to thought?

Well, there certainly is a problem, and there seems no escape from facing this problem. As human beings, simply because we are human beings, we think. We cannot help but conceive reality. The root of the word man means mind. The human being is the thinking being, and the human being is the being who must understand the nature of thought. This has always been one of the central concerns of philosophy, and the great philosophers have found that thought is grounded in reality, although finding that ground is very difficult. It involves finding the ground of thought and the ground of reality at the same time, and then both reality and thought are known entirely differently. Thought ceases to be mere imposition upon reality, and reality ceases to be distinct from the knower of reality. This convergence of thought and reality is a common factor of the greatest Eastern and Western philosophy, even though they may be articulated very differently. If we study these philosophers in the spirit of enquiry, we see they point our gaze to a region that cannot be seen or grasped without a total transformation of thought. We cannot bring faulty or deluded thought to the gates of truth. But neither can we transform thought without understanding its nature. On the contrary, the process of understanding thought is itself the means of transforming it. This is a common factor between such great philosophers as Heraclitus, Plato, Shankara or Nagarjuna, different as they may be in a thousand other respects. Thought proceeds to reality through a transformation of thought itself through thought coming to a knowledge of its ground. The nature of the known, the knower and knowing have all to be known in a single act. That is the aim of the highest philosophy and of the highest mysticism. We may go further and say it is the aim of mind or intelligence itself. The mind has no resting place other than truth itself. How could it have a different resting place? What else could satisfy thought and intelligence than truth itself – not a concept of truth, but truth itself?

Not a concept of truth, but truth itself. Here lie all the difficulties of thought. Not a doctrine of truth, but truth itself. Not a belief, but truth itself. Not a theory, but truth itself. Not an interpretation, but truth itself. Not an ideology, but truth itself. Not a system, but truth itself. Truth itself, free of any distortions imposed by thought. Truth itself, so the greatest thinkers tell us, cannot be replicated by thought at a distance from itself. It cannot be taken out of its ground in itself. How, then, can thought possibly come to it?

Is that enough questions? These are profoundly interesting questions, are they not? They make us pause. So, how does Nagarjuna approach these questions? Let me first just say that Nagarjuna is probably the greatest Buddhist philosopher, if we can say such a thing in a Buddhist context. He was born in South India probably in the early second century AD. There are many legends about him, but I will not go into those here – save to remark that these legends attest to his greatness. At an early age he entered the Buddhist Order. The works attributed to him are now known to us only through Tibetan translations. Various good English translations are available of these works. They are very terse and difficult – so be warned before you embark on reading them, particularly if you have little familiarity with Buddhism.

Nagarjuna’s starting point is very simple. It is this: the unreflective mind attributes ultimacy to that which is not ultimate. That is to say, the unreflective mind takes as absolutely true that which is not absolute, and in doing this it misconceives the nature of everything. In this act of attributing ultimacy to what is not ultimate, the mind “clings” to an aspect of reality, a part of reality, which is not as it seems. This false “clinging” is a central notion of Buddhism. It is a very profound insight into the mind or human nature. The mind lights on something and says to itself “That is the real. I hold to that.” In saying “I hold to that” the mind enslaves itself to something that is not firm and dependable, and so begins the great cycle of suffering or dukha.

Well, that is straightforward and familiar enough, is it not? It is the tragic side of the human story. The mind allies itself to something as ultimate that is not ultimate and hopes or believes it will bring permanent happiness, but it does not. On the contrary, it brings distress and suffering. It is simple enough and we can all think of many examples. But two questions need to be asked of this. First, why is there this tendency of the mind to attribute ultimacy to that which is not ultimate, and second, what is the basic structure of this kind of mistaken thinking? The first of these questions I shall return to later. It is a very important question and requires careful philosophic examination. The second question – what is the basic structure of this type of mistaken thinking? – will lead us in the direction of an answer, so we shall see what Nagarjuna says about this first.

This brings us to a major part of Nagarjuna’s philosophy, to what are called the four extremes or kotis. The four extremes are what Nagarjuna regards as the four characteristic ways in which the mind posits absolutes which are not truly absolute. There are several ways in which these extremes may be briefly formulated, and they come as options between different extremes or absolutes. For example, take the concept of existence. If existence is taken as ultimate it raises the question of non-existence. The notion of non-existence raises the question as to whether the ultimate is both existence and non-existence together, or whether the ultimate is neither existence nor non-existence. Thus we have four koti or extremes: existence, non-existence, both existence and non-existence, and neither existence nor non-existence. According to Nagarjuna all these views are wrong. This is because the Middle Way says reality is not to be reduced to any of these extremes but is a mixture of them all. They are all true at once, but none of them is true exclusively. But to see this requires a totally different order of thinking or understanding which transcends the dichotomies involved in the four extremes but which also negates nothing of the partial truth of them all. All the extreme views are either dualistic, or false unities, or false negations.

To illustrate this we make take this great city of London. Clearly it exists, yet also just as clearly it has come into existence and will one day go out of existence. So which of these two is true of London? Which is permanent or ultimate, its present existence, its previous or future non-existence? We surely cannot say that because it came into existence and will go out of existence that it is really non-existent, can we? We would not be here if it was non-existent. It exists now. But what is the non-existence of London? Does not the concept of the non-existence of London depend on the concept of the existence of London? We have to remember that the concept of the non-existence of something refers to the something that is said to be non-existent, so the concept of non-existence does not stand alone. Thus the two concepts of existence and non-existence belong with each other, and for the unreflective mind they simply remain in conflict with each other. So one person will go for existence as the real or ultimate, and another will go for non-existence as real or ultimate. But they are both wrong, according to Nagarjuna. So is London both existent and non-existent at once? That too is plainly absurd and an extreme. Superficially it may appear to resolve the dichotomy between existence and non-existence, but it remains only a theoretical concept and is not actually known. It is a false resolution of the duality of existence and non-existence. So what alternative is left? The remaining alternative is to conceive it as neither existent nor non-existent. This move attempts to overcome the dichotomy between existence and non-existence by negating both. It is the sister to the concept that it is both at once. This is the fourth extreme, or what is called nihilism. Nihilism refuses to account for existence and for non-existence. It does not answer the question but buries it out of sight.

Now, why is there such a problem in deciding if London exists, non-exists, exists and non-exists, or neither exists nor non-exists? Many modern Western analytic philosophers will say this is just a semantic problem, a mere play with words. But that reply is in fact the fourth extreme! It is to align oneself with one of the false answers. Another might say that, since truth is just a relative thing it is equally true to say that London both exists and non-exists for those for whom it seems so. But this is to adopt the position of the third koti or extreme. Modern relativism is one of the extremes, as old as ignorance itself. Just another extreme copout which does not address the question fully. To say that truth is relative is an absolute is extremist position, just like the others. Notice that, although the mind gets pulled between these various answers, as if it were obliged to settle for one or another of them, none of them can actually bring thought into contact with reality itself, but rather they lead it away into abstractions, into theories which the mind wishes to test. But what is it that can test a theory of truth? What measures truth?

So why this difficulty? Nagarjuna’s answer is simple. Existence and non-existence are not ultimate. The problem arises through attributing ultimacy to any of the combinations or relations of existence or non-existence, or ultimacy to their negation. Existence and non-existence both come and go. They are there, plainly, yet they are not ultimate. To put this in Nagarjuna’s words, they co-originate. That is to say, that which is and that which is not belong together and engender each other simultaneously. They are not actually mutually exclusive, just as waking and sleeping are not mutually exclusive, or day and night, or left and right. They arise in relation to one another.

Nevertheless this does not answer the question as to how the notion of ultimacy arises in thought. Nagarjuna is not saying there is no ultimate, and neither is Buddhism as a whole saying that. Buddhism most certainly does not deny an ultimate, and neither is Nagarjuna doing so. All he is saying is that we attribute ultimacy to things that are not ultimate. But there is that to which ultimacy truly belongs. To say there is no ultimate is just a further extreme position. The unreflective mind simply fails to distinguish between the relative and the absolute, or between the conditioned and the unconditioned. In the mundane realm of things, everything stands in relation to everything else. This means that the existent among observable things stands in relation to the non-existent and visa versa. They arise together. There could be no becoming if this were not so. For example, a child grows into an adult by ceasing to be a child. Being a child and an adult are both part of being human. But the human being could not pass through these stages without the whole of the rest of the world also coming into being and constantly changing and transforming. And the world could not come into being without the universe coming into being. So everything is interdependent and related. The mistake lies in taking some aspect of all this as ultimate or absolute.

This may be seen better from another angle. If we take the solitary being of the self as ultimate, then there arises other than self. If I take “I” as ultimate, then your self becomes other than my self. Linguistically we get “I” and “Thou”, “me” and “you”. I cannot use the word “I” in reference to you, and you cannot use “I” in reference to me. To whom then does the word “I” truly belong? In the realm of the conditioned we have to accept the difference, as language itself compels us to do. But which is ultimate: “I” or “Thou”? One answer is to say both. Another is to say neither. Another is to say neither – nor, meaning they are neither non-ultimate nor ultimate at the same time. But all these answers are extremes and therefore wrong according to Nagarjuna. Why? Because selfhood is being misconceived in all cases. This is the meaning of the Anatma-vada or no-self doctrine. The Anatma-vada or no-self doctrine says that to attribute independent selfhood to any being is to attribute self-origination to that being. Plainly, no being could exist without the rest of the universe. Plainly no being brings itself into being as a self-enclosed entity. If that were so every being would live in its own independent world, or live alone in no world at all. It implies an infinite number of originations, one for every being.

To put that another way. We see in modern science the search for the fundamental particle, the bit that stands alone and brings itself into being. This is atomism, the theory that there is some primary bit or particle that is prior to all the diversity of the universe of matter. From the Buddhist position this is the false assumption that there is one bit of matter that stands apart from the rest of matter, while in fact all matter comes forth together as a continuum in process. It is like mistaking an ingredient of a cake for its cause – while in fact the cause of the cake lies with the baker and the person who will eat the cake. If the cake has no independent existence from the baker and the final eater of the cake, how can it be considered that one of its ingredients is ultimate or primary? So likewise with every being. Each comes into being as part of the totality of the conditioned realm. This does not negate the integrity of each being, and it does not mean that nobody has selfhood, but it does mean that any notion of selfhood that regards the being as self-causing and independent from the rest of conditioned reality must be false. In short, ultimacy should not be attributed to anything that is just a part or element, or which is in process of change, or which comes into being or goes out of being.

The difficulty in all this is that the unreflective mind does not realise the implications of attributing ultimacy to the conditioned. That which is ultimate stands eternally by itself in relation to nothing else. The ultimate is non-relative. The ultimate has no opposite, and so the ultimate can never be one of a pair of things or the fusion of a pair of things. In Buddhist terms the ultimate does not belong to the realm of being or of non-being or of becoming. It does not stand in contrast to anything. That would make it relative. So how could these attributions belong to any entity or non-entity in the conditioned world? There is the realm of the relative and the realm of the non-relative. These have to be clearly distinguished. The problem Nagarjuna is addressing is the confusion of the two. So long as they are confused, then neither is understood properly. Ultimacy gets mixed up with the relative, and the relative gets mixed up with the ultimate.

Now – for the sake of our Western minds and for the sake of coming out of the hard considerations for a moment – I would suggest that what Nagarjuna is saying here is universally a problem of thinking. We are not merely discussing a Buddhist doctrine but principles that belong to proper thinking universally. What I have just said about maintaining a proper distinction between the ultimate and the relative applies equally in all genuine philosophical work and to all religions. Even though Buddhism is called by non-Buddhists a “non-theistic” religion, all that Nagarjuna says about the distinction between the ultimate and the relative applies to the Christian distinction between God and the creation. This is not a matter of attempting to reconcile Buddhism with Christianity – an enterprise which I regard as wholly pointless because it reduces both to mere doctrines or systems – but simply because as thinking beings we need to distinguish the ultimate from the non-ultimate, the relative from the non-relative, the absolute from the non-absolute. We belong to this problematic no matter whether we are Buddhists or Christians, or if we go by no named religion at all.

So I just want to point out that unreflective notions of God in our culture import relative ideas and impose them upon God. For example, God is often regarded as an entity or a being among beings. Or God is thought of as intervening in the created order. There is, if I may just make this observation, a lack of theological consideration of the transcendence of God in Christianity at the present time. And this is because the meaning of ultimacy is no longer generally considered, and because of this a confused relativism prevails almost everywhere, perhaps even to the point where relativism is regarded as ultimate or absolute, even though such a notion is rationally incoherent. This leads to confusion in every walk of life. Everyone wants their own private truth, and yet they want everyone else to subscribe to their private truth – which obviously is impossible, not to say absurd. But the root is the failure to consider the ultimate in proper terms, as completely discontinuous with the relative. Truth is not democratic, it is the measure of all things, the measure of every notion, yet not itself a notion.

My point here is that metaphysical confusion, such as prevails in most modern Western thought, leads to confusion of though in every realm. Metaphysics is not an optional extra in a culture. On the contrary, all thought and perception is grounded in metaphysics in the very obvious sense of what we take to be real or unreal, eternally true or temporally conditioned. It makes no difference whether we call ourselves believers, agnostics or atheists, this metaphysical distinction between real an unreal remains the ground of our thinking simply because it is the ground of mind, intelligence and consciousness themselves. Wittingly or unwittingly every human being attributes ultimacy to something or other – even to suppose there is no such thing as ultimacy is to do so.

This brings us to a matter that I believe needs to be cleared up in much that is commonly said of Buddhism. I said a moment ago that Buddhism is a non-theistic religion, and I suggested this was a meaningless distinction. It is obvious that Buddhism does not speak in terms of a theistic symbolism. But it is also obvious that those religions that do speak in theistic symbolism are quite aware that they speak symbolically. It is understood in the highest Christian theology, for example, that the appellation “God” is just an appellation and that all the theological attributes given to God do not capture God, because God is ineffable, wholly beyond that grasp of representative thought. Exactly the same holds for the Buddhist appellation Sunyata – “unconditioned”, “void”, “emptiness”. It is no different to make Sunyata an entity among entities as it is to make God an entity among entities. The two words “God” and “Sunyata” belong to two modes of discourse, the symbolic and the metaphysical. This distinction between symbolic and metaphysical discourse is a vast subject that merits much reflection in its own right, but we cannot pursue that now. All I wish to point out is that these two modes of thought should not be reduced to literal differences between religions and taken as a basis for doctrinal differences. Nor should they be reduced to mere psychological or cultural distinctions, a reduction I find quite abhorant. On the contrary, both discourses direct the mind to the same, to the ultimate, the non-relative, to that which is prior to temporal reality, prior to mind and thought, prior to being, becoming and non-being, prior to the seeds, essences or archetypes of existent things – prior in the sense of eternally real or absolute, prior in the sense of there in advance of everything, prior in the sense of that which everything stands forth from and is distinguishable from, the indistinguishable which makes distinction possible.

I am quite aware that Buddhist literature rarely states this explicitly. Its orientation is the practical overcoming of the clinging that arises through attributing ultimacy to that which is relative. But the question naturally arises – or so it seems to me – How does it come about that the mind attributes ultimacy at all? Or, in more directly Buddhist terms, How does it happen that the mind attributes the unconditioned to the conditioned? Why is there any notion of the ultimate at all?

The answer is that if there were only the relative and contingent, there could be no conception of the non-relative and non-contingent. Indeed there could be no conception of the relative or contingent either. That is to say, the conditioned is itself only conceivable and discernable by virtue of an inate prior knowledge of the unconditioned, because the conditioned stands out from the silent background, so to speak, of the unconditioned. Let me make this as clear as possible: Mind looks out from the unconditioned. The unconditioned is the vantage-point of mind or consciousness. That is why the unconditioned cannot be an object of perception or conception, just as the ear cannot hear the ear, or the eye perceive the eye. The rule is that whatever may be an object of perception belongs to the realm of the conditioned, and this includes all the contents and motions of the mind itself that are observable as objects. In short, the conditoned includes all that may be experienced, for experience means to go out, to savour difference and diversity, to attend to that which stands away from the seat of unconditioned Reality.

This is a very important matter to consider. Where does mind think and conceive from? Modern Western thought on this matter is almost non-existent. Thought is given over to inference from perception or from theory, but the ground of knowing itself is no longer considered in most modern philosophy. This is fine for the natural sciences, but it cannot deal with the question of the ground of mind itself, that is to say, metaphysical questions. From whence does mind gaze upon the things of sense? From whence does its gaze arise? Modern psychology is no help here either because it attempts to study only the contents of the mind as objects in the same way as the sciences do, as objects of sense. Thus it is preoccupied with images and personal history. It does not enquire into the nature of mind as such, or into the nature of knowing or epistemology. Indeed there is no psychology of Intellect which is the organ of knowledge. So where is the seat or ground of mind as such? From whence does it direct its gaze upon things, including the contents of the mind?

The answer is that mind gazes from the unconditioned itself, from truth itself. To put that more strongly, truth or reality bring mind into being. This is the metaphysical answer to this question. It is a straightforward fact, so to speak, which Nagarjuna takes for granted when he discusses in such detail the errors that arise in confusing the ultimate with the relative. He does not ask the foolish question “Is there such a thing as truth or reality absolute?” He asks, How can the mind be rescued from ignorance, from the confusion of the conditioned with the unconditioned? And his answer, which is utterly Buddhist, is to direct the intelligence to seeing the logical absurdity of the extreme views which confuse the conditioned and relative with the unconditioned and non-relative. The unconditioned and non-relative are taken as given. They are taken as given by Nagarjuna and they are taken as given by the ignorant. The difference lies in how they are understood in either case.

Its strikes our modern Western mind as curious that the seat of the gaze of the mind is from the unconditioned itself, from the ultimate itself, and that it is knowledge that looks outward to the objects of sense, to the conditioned. Since the Enlightenment our Western culture has become accustomed to supposing that all that may be known can be known only as objects, as external entities, sense-perceptions from which “knowledge” may be inferred empirically. We have become accustomed to supposing that knowledge is abstracted from perceptions, and that all such knowledge is subject to continuous revision. But prior to the Enlightenment the great philosophers and theologians understood the knowing act of the mind quite differently. They understood that it was knowledge that formed mind and brought mind into being, and that the Intellectual world and the Soul exist prior to the objects of sense, as their cause. Thus the essences of things are in mind, universal mind, not in the materiality of objects, and essence knows essence without mediation. Non-essence cannot know essence. This means that essence cannot be inferred from empirical investigation of objects. This is a very important principle which is found in every high philosophical tradition or religion. It is the essence of mind that knows the essence of things. Thus Plato, for example, says that before its descent into the body – into the material world – the soul knew the essences of all things directly without mediation, not as entities outside itself but through union with them. Likewise Parmenides says that thought and being are the same, and at the close of the Middle Ages Aquinas says that the first thought of the mind is Being. Union is the essential meaning of our word “knowledge” or the Greek “gnosis”.

Because such knowledge is of the nature of mind itself, the ground of all thought, it cannot be thought as mediated knowledge, as an object of knowledge distinct from the mind, such as psychological and material objects can be. Mind is knowledge present to itself as itself. It is knowledge that forms the mind, not mind that grasps knowledge. This is the highest level of the mind, of course. It was the realm of knowledge proper to the intellect, which knows from unity, as distinct from the reason, which infers from the senses and experiences. It is what Aquinas called Angelic Mind, or what Meister Eckhart calls the uncreated apex of the soul. It is mind participating in God’s knowledge, and thus it is where being and knowing are identical. In Buddhist terms, it is Sunyata knowing Sunyata.

This understanding of mind was lost in the Enlightenment, and so the thought of the previous ages, from the Presocratics to the Renaissance, has become largely unintelligible to us. But it can become intelligible to us again once we understand that the natural order of the universe and of being has been turned upside-down in modern Western thinking. That is to say, that Being, Truth, Reality, Essence and Knowledge are first in the order of things, not last, and that they are immediately present to themselves, not mediated, and that mind is the immediate reflection of these upon themselves as distinct from their identity in the mind of God. In God Being, Truth and Knowledge are at rest, while in mind they are creative and in motion.

In Buddhist thought – as in Eastern thought generally – the natural order has not been turned upside-down, and so we find it taken for granted that the subtlest and most ineffable comes first in the order of things, not last, and certainly not as an arbitrary extra. Therefore the thinking moves in quite a different way, and so the problem that Nagarjuna deals with is that of mixing the unmediated knowing of the ultimate with the mediated knowing of the conditioned. It is a problem of mixing absolute knowledge with inferred knowledge. This is essentially the same problem that Plato deals with in speaking of distinguishing Reality from appearances.

What, then, are the implications of all this when considering the relation of Reality to thought. Is Reality – reality in the true sense of that which is eternal, absolute and ultimate – beyond the scope and power of thought? Is Nagarjuna pointing us beyond all thought? Is he, through showing the errors of mixing the unconditioned with the conditioned, negating all thought? The answer to this question depends on what we understand thought to be. If by thought we mean only inference from objects of sense, then the answer is yes. If by thought we mean holding concepts distinct from Reality itself, then the answer is yes again.

However, that answer is not sufficient and is too simplistic. There is a mode of thought beyond and prior to inferential and conceptual thought. This higher mode of thought is the knowing that belongs to Reality as such, a mode of thought in which Reality is present to itself with conception un-separate from itself. If we might put it this way, Reality thinks its presence, or, Reality knows itself. This is the originary knowing that brings mind into being, mind in the universal sense, and it is also the ground of every particular mind, the ground in which mind can reflect upon itself and upon everything else, both the unconditioned and the conditioned, the non-relative and the relative. This is thought in the true sense, the thought prior to and underlying all inferential or discursive thinking. It is the thought that belongs to Intellect as it was understood in the Middle Ages in the West, or thought that was once called contemplation or speculation. To contemplate or to speculate is to come to know from things themselves, to apprehend what reality of itself discloses of itself to itself. In the Christian tradition this is sometimes called “participating in God’s knowledge of all things.” In that knowledge everything is present to God without any distinction or division. In Buddhism this is Sunyata. Liberated from the confusion of the ultimate with the non-ultimate, which is the root of clinging, the mind is free to be informed directly by the knowledge that resides in all things – not in order to “have” or “get” knowledge of things, but rather to be impressed or stamped with the knowledge that speaks things themselves into being. The word “informed” means to be “formed by”. In other words, true thought is the thought which comes out of reality itself as reality itself. It is this thought which occurs in the liberated or non-clinging mind, and so mind is not separate from Reality, but Reality beholding itself, or knowledge in knowledge of itself.

This may well sound strange in the context of modern Western thinking, where epistemology has become wholly preoccupied with the problems of empirical inference, as we have already observed. But consider this: do we really believe that Reality is unknown to itself? Do we really think that Truth does not know Truth, or that the ineffable is oblivious of itself? Is Reality to be relegated to unconscious oblivion? I think these question show the absurdity of such notions by themselves. It is therefore the responsibility of our intelligence to conform itself to the intelligence of Reality itself. That, I suggest, is the point of Nagarjuna’s pulling apart of all erroneous thinking. He intends to leave the mind free to participate in the unconditioned reality of Reality itself.

 

Joseph Milne 2001

 

Law and the Harmonious City

Joseph Milne

 

A distinguishing feature of ancient myth is the sense of a divinely ordered cosmos. Unlike our modern mechanistic conception of the universe, for the ancients the whole world was a living being, peopled with divinities who watched over all the works of nature, and also over the life and deeds of mankind. And if anyone acted in a way that offended the divinities or the natural harmony of nature, retribution would fall upon them. Man is intended to live in accord with the laws of nature, and insofar as he does so the human race flourishes and is happy. One can see these themes in ancient myths and folk tales from all parts of the world. They are present in the epics of Homer, the Greek tragedies, the heroic Norse sagas, the myths and legends of the American Indians, as well as in ancient sacred Creation stories.

And still, for children, and for the storyteller, ‘nature’ is a living being with strange and magical powers. There is no good story without a world full of mysterious powers. The stars, the rivers and the forests are all living beings who watch over human events. Nothing in nature is unseen and without witness. This is the way the imagination apprehends the world, even in our own age where such things are supposed to belong to the previous ages of superstition.

But it is not only imagination that apprehends the world in this way. Our human reason also apprehends an order to the world, and somehow grasps it as a single whole – as a ‘cosmos’ and not mere random entities and events. Reason sees justice in nature, as well as a purposeful order between all living things. Modern ecology is built on this primary rational intuition of order throughout the natural world. It is one branch of science that seeks to escape from the mechanistic vision of the seventeenth century that has limited our understanding of nature’s wisdom and intelligence for so long. Yet it remains difficult now to see nature as itself rational and intelligent because we have banished intelligence from nature. Nevertheless, seeing nature as rational and intelligent was always how she was seen until our age. Insofar as we still acknowledge order in nature, we have limited its ‘lawfulness’ to a mechanistic or mathematical level. Even the ecologists try to do this, perhaps against their better instinct, in order to stay scientifically legitimate.

We find in the ancient world various words for the great order the universe. In ancient Egypt Maat ruled the entire universe with providential wisdom and justice, and this extended down to the order of society and even to the smallest human deed. Whatever one did, it was to be guided and enlightened with Maat. While Maat is the Goddess and symbol for cosmic order, for truth, for harmony and moral conduct, she is in essence the symbol for Egyptian civilisation itself. She is incarnate in the Pharaoh and through him immediately present everywhere and in each citizen. Citizenship is experienced as living in harmony with truth, duty and justice.

In the ancient Hindu writings the great order and harmony of the universe is represented by the word Ṛta. It is Ṛta that governs cosmic order and the lawful unfolding of things divine and human. In China the equivalent word is Tao of the Dao which keeps the heavens and the earth in balance and harmony. In ancient Persian it is Arta. In classical Greece it the words Nomos and Harmonia. Nomos is Greek for ‘law’, while Harmonia is the just proportion of all things. For the Romans it is Lex or Right, signifying the just law governing the whole universe as well as human affairs. Each of these words signify an intelligence inherent in the universe, guiding everything to its appointed end. They are not powers outside nature, imposed on things from outside. On the contrary, they are the most intimately present realities shining everywhere out of their essences. The law is at once universal, yet it also belongs to the nature of each particular thing, relating each to the order of the whole.

As the Greek philosophers began to explore nature in a more abstract or rational way, they found that what was expressed in myth and primordial symbols could be seen in more direct ways. For example, in early medicine the order of the body was still connected with the cosmic order. The word physis – the Greek word for nature – referred to the ‘coming to birth’ of things and their growth into completion. So the word physis meant ‘essence’ and ‘coming to be’, and our own word ‘nature’, from the Latin ‘natura’ once meant the same. This ‘coming to be’ of things brought them to their maturity and their proper place within the greater order. Thus everything in nature seeks to come to full maturity. Even the Sophists who opposed physis with nomos or law, understood nature as prescriptive, as indicating what we ought to do, as we see in Plato’s Gorgias.[1]

This principle of everything seeking its maturity or completion is crucial for understanding Greek thought and philosophy. The technical name for this principle is the telos of things, and it is also called the ‘final cause’ of each thing. For example, dwelling is the final cause of building a house, or cutting is the final cause of a knife. The final cause is really the end for which things come to be, and therefore the reason they come to be. It is through knowing the final cause of things that we really know their nature. Aristotle says that we know human nature from the fully grown and mature human being, which includes the person living a virtuous life. We cannot know the nature of something when it is incomplete.

With the birth of modern science this telos of things was swept aside, and teleology relegated to a superstition of the past. But early modern science was not concerned with the proper ends of things but with gaining mastery over them, of subjecting nature to human will. This break with the teleological understanding of nature wiped out a way of enquiring not only into the natural ends of things, but also investigation into the right use of things. Here is an example. According to Plato and Aristotle the right use of a house is dwelling, or the right use of a shoe is wearing it on one’s foot. But these things get put to a wrong use when used for money-making, for selling at a profit. In other words, the commercialising of things is putting them to wrong uses and replacing their proper end with a false or unjust end. The classic example is usury which is still illegal in some systems of law.

According to Plato and Aristotle, nature of herself provides exactly the right amount of things for man to live on. For example, the right amount of food from the land. But if the farmer seeks to make a profit rather than supply for his city, then the balance of nature will be upset and some will have more than they need while others will have insufficient. In other words, the wrong use of nature produces both poverty and excessive riches, and these in turn divide a society against itself. The art of the right use of things was what was meant by the Greek word oikonomia, the origin of our word ‘economy’. It was the art of knowing the just relation between ends and means. The proper ends and means of things kept them in harmony with nature as a whole. Thus the ‘wrong use’ of anything involves breaking away from the order of nature as a whole. It is significant that only the Catholic Church still teaches the principle of the right use of things in its social teaching on economics. Modern economics ignores it, or at best will mention it as only an ancient theory.

These ideas about ‘nature’ and about ‘telos’ have universal application. They are keys to understanding the question of natural law and the natural order of a society. For Plato and Aristotle, the city or polis are the natural habitat of the human species. As the social and political species, every community naturally tends towards a self-sufficient city. The constitutions may vary, but the telos is towards a balanced self-sufficiency where each citizen has a clearly defined role or vocation. This idea re-emerges in the twelfth century in John of Salisbury who likens human society to a living organism with its different organs and limbs. Every individual, from the farmer to the scholar to the Prince has a ‘status’ of honour within the whole, where each has reciprocal duties. The craftsmen formed guilds to assure their communal welfare and prevent illegal practices. For a brief moment such cities came into being in France but where eventually overwhelmed by the rise of commerce and trade for money instead of for goods. The demise of the organic city is the beginning of the modern marketised society.

If a society has a natural order, and its natural order forms a part of wider nature and of the universe, then it must also have a natural hierarchy. The proper meaning of ‘hierarchy’ is that mind or divine intelligence descends through the structure of things. The word ‘hierarchy’ literally means ‘divine principle’. It is a further part of the telos of things, guided by the most universal principle of ‘mind’ or ‘soul’ permeating all things. This natural hierarchical order of things is laid out very clearly many times in Thomas Aquinas. For example in his Summa Contra Gentiles he says:

  • …it is evident that all parts are ordered to the perfection of the whole, since a whole does not exist for the sake of its parts, but, rather, the parts are for the whole. Now, intellectual natures have a closer relationship to a whole than do other natures; indeed, each intellectual substance is, in a way, all things. For it may comprehend the entirety of being through its intellect; on the other hand, every other substance has only a particular share in being. Therefore, other substances may fittingly be providentially cared for by God for the sake of intellectual substances. (SCG 3 Chapter 112: 5)

As always with Aquinas, he is at once very clear but very compact. So it is worth drawing out what he says here. The first part – that everything is ordered to the perfection of the whole – we have already covered. We can see this simply in the organs of human anatomy. But when Aquinas says that “intellectual natures have a closer relationship to a whole than do other natures” we have to pause a moment. What he means here is that ‘mind’ is more universal than other substances, and so mind embraces everything, can take in the whole. The universe is already embraced and held in being by the mind of God. But the human mind, being made in the image of God, can ‘comprehend’ the universe and ‘participate’ in the divine intelligence embracing and sustaining it. That is to say, the truly universal principle of the universe is ‘mind’, and that all things exist by virtue of God knowing them into being. It also means that ‘intellectual substance’ is itself the most unified substance in itself. It is the rational principle of unity in all things. By contrast, every other substances, such as matter or the elements, have a ‘particular share in being’ and therefore providentially serve ‘intellectual substances’ or mind.

This means, of course, that in the order of nature the lower species serve the higher species. We can clearly observe this in nature. The bee pollinates the fruit tree in gathering its honey, the fruit tree nourishes the birds and a host of other creatures, including the human species. The human species returns to the earth the chore and seed from the fruit. Thus nature forms a virtuous circle. That is the natural hierarchy of nature clearly manifest to observation. Yet human society has a higher function. Its place is to manifest the understanding of the great order of things through living in accord with the law than runs through the whole. That means to live virtuously and, ultimately, to contemplate the Divine Goodness itself that has brought all beings into being and to which they naturally aspire to return through their part in the harmony of the universe. Thus the ‘contemplative’ life is the completion of the ‘practical’ life. The contemplative and the active mutually support and sustain each other. They are not merely ‘alternative life styles’ as we say in modern parlance!

From this it follows that each individual citizen has a part to play within the whole, and through making their contribution they bring benefit to all and at the same time fulfil their own nature. It is only through this participation in society that each individual may fulfil their natural talents or vocations. There is nowhere else to fulfil them. It is obvious that if each individual were to live only for themselves they would neither receive any benefit from, nor contribute any benefit to society. In this way we see that society has an underlying fundamental lawful order, and the more closely it holds to that underlying order, the better it will attain its end. Through caring for the whole, each individual is cared for and fulfilled. In that sense, each individual is also an end in themselves. Serving the whole does not mean being subsumed to the whole.

We find this fundamental principle of participation in the whole expressed in Plato’s reflections of the proper ends that the lawmaker must bear in mind. For example, in the Republic when it is suggested that the law should enable one class to live better than others, Socrates says:

“You have again forgotten, my friend, that the law does not ask itself how some one class in a state is to live extraordinarily well. On the contrary, it tries to bring about this result in the entire state; for which purpose it links the citizens together by persuasion and by constraint, makes them share with one another the benefit which each individual can contribute to the common weal, and does actually create men of this exalted character in the state, not with the intention of letting them go each on his own way, but with the intention of turning them to account in its plans for the consolidation of the state.” (Sourcebook of Ancient Philosophy, edited by Charles M. Bakewell) Plato’s Republic, Book VII. p. 519e)

Notice the expression “law does not ask itself”. Plato speaks from the essence of law as such and the ends it naturally secures. It is from an understanding of the essence of law and its ends that any good lawmaking can proceed. Laws that spring from the essence of law will not only assure the good of all, they will also “create men of exalted character”, which is to say it will create just citizens, citizens who love justice and delight in acting justly. Citizens who thus live justly will create a city of friendship. For Plato and Aristotle ‘friendship’ is the true end or fruit of law and justice. A city founded in friendship will aim at the higher arts of music and poetry and philosophy, and will be friends with the gods.

Lawmaking must be guided by seeking perfect justice, while bad law is law that favours one part of the city to the disadvantage of another. Lawmaking ought to be guided by divine intelligence rather than by human desire. Aristotle is very clear on this point, saying:

  • He therefore that recommends that the law shall govern seems to recommend that God and reason alone shall govern, but he that would have man govern adds a wild animal also; for appetite is like a wild animal, and also passion warps the rule even of the best men. Therefore the law is wisdom without desire. (Aristotle Politics 11. 3 – 4)

A just society is therefore governed by law and not by human passion. Law itself is the natural ruler, not man. But this requires an understanding of law as ‘reason’. When Plato and Aristotle speak of reason they have two kinds of reason in mind: theoretical reason and practical reason. These two aspect of reason have been lost in modern notions of reason. The theoretical reason is grounded in a knowledge of universals, or universal principles. For example it knows ‘being’ as a universal in which all beings participate. The theoretical reason therefore goes to the ‘truth’ of things. The practical reason, on the other hand, is grounded in the principles of action, or knowledge of right action. These principles come to light when specific proper actions are called for, so that, for example, justice can be applied to a specific situation. The practical reason therefore goes to the ‘good’ of things. It is the practical reason that knows the natural law. The natural law is known in the immediate demand to act, showing what ought to be done and what is not to be done. Cicero often writes of the practical reason in this sense, for example he says:

  • Law (lex) is the highest reason implanted in nature, which commands what is to be done and forbids the opposite. When this same reason has been strengthened and brought to completion in the human mind, it is law (lex), and so [the Stoics] they suppose that law is intelligence whose force (vis) it is to command right action and forbid wrongdoing … It is a force of nature; it is the mind and reason of the wise man; it is the rule (regula) for justice and injustice. (Cicero De Legibus, On the Laws 1.18–19)

When Cicero says ‘law is the highest reason implanted in nature’ he means that Nature Herself is imbued with reason and intelligence. The human intelligence shares in this same reason, and when it is perfected in the human mind, it is then the law in human reason. Acting from that law in human reason corresponds with the universal reason of nature, and so right action becomes action according to nature. This is what justice amounts to, acting in harmony with the intelligence of nature.

Notice a connection here with what Aquinas said: that intellectual substances are universal and that in a certain sense the human mind is all things, at least insofar as it has the capacity to receive into itself the intelligence and reason guiding the universe. We find this same understanding expressed is a different way in the third century by the biographer Diogenes Laertius who says:

  • For our individual natures are all parts of universal nature; on which account the chief good is to live in a manner corresponding to nature, and that means corresponding to one’s own nature and to universal nature; doing none of those things which the common law of mankind is in the habit of forbidding, and that common law is identical with that right reason which pervades everything, being the same with Jupiter, who is the regulator and chief manager of all existing things. (From Diogenes Laertius, Yonge’s translation, p. 290. Sourcebook of Ancient Philosophy, p. 274)

That ‘reason’ is a principle shared in all rational beings in common with nature is beautifully expressed in the Meditations of Marcus Aurelius.

The intellectual part is the same to all rationals, and therefore that reason also, whence we are called rational, is common to all. If so, then that commanding power, which shows what should be done or not done, is common. If so, we have all a common law. If so, we are all fellow-citizens: and if so, we have a common city. The universe, then, must be that city; for of what other common city are all men citizens? (Marcus Aurelius, Meditations, translated by Francis Hutcheson, Liberty Fund)

The idea that we are all ‘citizens of the universe’ is a distinguishing mark of the Stoic philosophy. Each individual is in a sense a ‘little city’, and the built city each dwells in bears a likeness to the ‘cosmic city’ that all mankind inhabits. What unites the three cities is the one law common to all. But the sense of living in the cosmos, what is called the ‘cosmic sense’, belongs to the human sense of existence as such and may be traced back to the earliest religious and mythic records of human thought, as we observed earlier. Yet with the rise of philosophical reflection the original ‘symbolic’ or ‘poet’ sense of existence shows itself to belong also to the rational sense. This appears most evidently in the sense of the ‘lawfulness’ of things, the fundamental intuition that reality is coherent.

The sense of belonging to the cosmos calls into being the highest human faculties. From this follows a natural hierarchy of things to be most honoured. For Plato the ‘soul’ of man is to be honoured first, bodily health and grace second, and material wealth third. This threefold hierarchy belongs to the individual citizen as well as to the structure of the city or polis. Thus statesmanship consists first in tending the soul, second in the health of the body, and third in the right use of wealth. A city loses its unity and harmony if this hierarchy is changed, especially if it is inverted and wealth becomes more honoured than bodily health or the harmony of the soul. Plato says clearly in the Laws:

  • The noblest and best thing of all for every city is that the truth be told about wealth, namely, that it is for the sake of the body, and the body is for the sake of the soul. (Plato Laws 870b)

Here we see how wealth has a natural telos or proper end in nurturing the body, while the body has a proper end in serving the soul. The soul is the proper ruler of the body and wealth, and this is the same with the soul of the individual and the soul of the city. When this natural order of honours is established, then the soul is open to the order of the cosmos and the realm of the gods. When this natural order is maintained, the city shapes itself accordingly, with the temple in the centre, the civic life surrounding it, and the cultivation of the land forming the outer circle. We see this natural form in the medieval cathedral cities. It is a form that unfolds spontaneously if the life of the soul and the divine order is placed first in honour. It is exactly what Aquinas means when he says “intellectual natures have a closer relationship to a whole than do other natures”. The soul has an affinity with the cosmic order, the intelligence of the universe personified in the powers of the gods and the providential goodness that guides everything to its appointed perfection.

Although this lawful order of things is natural and spontaneous, nevertheless it belongs to man to respond to it and to enquire into it. Unlike the other creatures, man has an innate sense of duty to educate and develop himself. The seed of this sense of duty is the inborne love of truth and goodness. There is a beautiful passage in Cicero’s De Finibus which describes the progressive development that follows from this sense of duty in the soul:

  • The primary duty is that the creature should maintain itself in its natural constitution; next, that it should cleave to all that is in harmony with nature and spurn all that is not; and when once this principle of choice and rejection has been arrived at, the next stage is choice, conditioned by inchoate duty; next such a choice is exercised continuously; finally, it is rendered unwavering and in thorough agreement with nature; and at that stage the conception of what good really is begins to dawn within us and be understood. Man’s earliest attraction is to those things which are conformable to nature, but as soon as he has laid hold of general ideas or notions and has seen the regular order and harmony of conduct, he then values that harmony far higher than all the objects for which he felt the earliest affection and he is led to the reasoned conclusion that herein consists the supreme human good. In this harmony consists the good, which is the standard of action; from which it follows that all moral action, nay morality itself, which alone is good, though of later origin in time, has the inherent value and worth to make it the sole object of choice, for none of the objects to which earlier impulses are directed is choiceworthy in and of itself. (De Finibus, III, 20-21)

Let me draw to a close with some brief thoughts on the virtues. When Cicero says ‘morality itself, which alone is good’, he means the virtues, not our modern idea of moral ‘values’. Plato and Aristotle likewise say that the virtuous life is the one good that alone is an end in itself, even though it must be cultivated. The four cardinal virtues of Prudence, Justice, Courage and Temperance are for the ancients the ground of ethics. Each of these virtues is a skill practiced in following the natural law.

Prudence, the Greek virtue of phronesis, is really the virtue of right discernment, of seeing without illusion, with good judgement. It is a part of the practical reason we spoke of earlier. It discerns what ought to be done. A good translation of the Greek phronesis is ‘practical wisdom’, as distinct from ‘theoretical reason’.

Justice is the power to act in harmony with the true or natural order of nature. It is at once a kind of outward action and an inner condition of the soul. The just soul is a soul in harmony with itself.

Courage is part of what Plato calls the ‘spirited’ aspect of the soul, the part roused to take action in defence or in opposition. It must be guided by prudence and justice, the rational part of the soul, otherwise it becomes either rash or cowardly.

Lastly Temperance is the virtue of self-knowledge and self-command. In Greek it is Sophrosyne. This virtue is prized by Plato above all other virtues. For a man may be just, prudent and courageous yet lack self-governance. Temperance is the condition and skill of the soul with self-knowledge in command of itself and therefore immune to all the vices. Sophrosyne is distinguished from the other virtues in that it runs through the rational, the spirited and the appetitive parts of the soul. Later philosophers tended to associate it only with the appetitive part, and so its original meaning was last. According the Plato, only the temperate man is fit to be a statesman or a ruler of a city. Likewise, a city where the virtue of sophrosyne is established in its citizens will live in justice, peace and friendship with itself, and also with its neighbours. Sophrosyne is the natural law fully embodied in citizenship.

It is clear from all we have said that the ancient understanding of natural law has been lost in our age along with the primordial ‘cosmic sense’ in which the universe is experienced as intelligent and divinely ordered. Owing to this loss, the ancient virtues have also lost their ground since they are the actions of the practical reason that bring human life into accord with the cosmic order. Thus only a virtuous people living in harmony with the cosmic harmony can create a ‘natural society’ and so flourish as nature originally intends.

 

[1] See G. B. Kerferd, The Sophist Movement (Cambridge University Press, 1981) p. 112.