Vol. IX, Sept. 1998

Episteme ep路 i. stc. me

\epa'j'ste 'me \ n. [Cft. episteme}: lmowledge; speciE: intellectllally certaiIl knowledge

STATEMENT OF PuRPOSE:

Darin McGinnis

Assistant Editors Angelica Lemke Veronica Wilson

Editorial Board Benjamin Herrington Jamie Kijowski Philip Miller Michael Plowglan Leah Rowland Matthew Trumble Matthew West Nathan Wills

Faculty Advisor Barbanl Fultner

Epi5teme is

published under the auspices of the Denison University De足 partment of Philosophy.

Epi5teme aims to

recognize and encourage excellence in under . . graduate philosophy by providing both stu.. . dents and faculty with some of the best examples of work currently being done in undergraduate philosophy programs across North America. Episteme is designed to oEfer undergraduates their [irst opportunity to pub~ lish philosophical worl". It is our hope that Epi5tcmc will help to stimulate philosophical dialogue and inquiry among students and faculty al colleges and universities.

Episteme is published annually by a starf o[ undergradllate philosophy majors and minors al Denison University. Please direct aU inqllir~ Les to "The Editors/ Epistcmc," Dept. o[ Phi.. . losophy. Denison University, Granville, Ohio 43023. E-mail: cpisle11lc@c!enison.cdu

Epioteme will consider papers wrillen by undergraduate students in any area or philo50~ phy. Submissions should not exceed 4.000 words. Papers are evaluated according to the following cri.teria: quality o[ research, depth of philosophical inquiry, creativity. original in~ sight and clarity. Please provide three double spaced copies of each submissi.on and a one page biography including college or university name, major, year, address and phone number, as well as a 3.5" disk in Microso[l Word [ormal. Deadline Eor submissions [or Volume X is February 1, 1999.

EPISTEME

A Journal of Undergraduate Philosophy Volllme IX

Septemher 1998

Contents AGAINST TENSE ..............................................................................................

1

Craig P. Bourne; Pembroke College, Cambridge University

Is

A SUBJECTIVE THEORY OF MORAL lANGUAGE POSSIBLE? ................,......

14

Ali R. Shahrukhi; Reading University

SPELUNKING WITH SOCRATES: A STUDY OF SOCRATIC PEDAGOGY IN PLATO'S REPU/JLIC ........................................................................................ 26

Victor Isaac Boutl'os; Baylor Ulliversitg

tOST IN TIlE HORIZON: IRIGARA Y'S HEiDEGGER ..........................................

41

Joanne Molina; Ameriwll Unitler5itg

THE BUDDHIST PROBLEM OF EMPTINESS ...................................................... 57

Ian Varley; Slddmore CoUc..I{e

The editors express sincere appreciation to the Denison University Researcll Foundation, the Denison Office of Admissions, the Denison 11onor5 Program, Pat Davis and Fllculty Advisor Barbara Fultner [or lheir assistancc in making the puhlication or this journal possible.

We also extend special gratitude to the Philosophy Department faculty: Barhara Fuitner, David Goldhlatt, Tony Lissb, Jonathan Maskit, Mark Molter, Ronald E. Santoni and Steven Vogel [or their C0l1stant enthusiasm, support and creative input.

Is A

SUBJECTNE THEORY OF MORAL LANGUAGE

POSSIBLE?

Ali R Shahrukhi

Reading University

The contents of an individual's consciousness may be divided, after Hume, into two distinct categories: Beliefs about the way things are and desires about how he would like them to be. On this view, only beliefs can be true or false, while only desires can motivate action. A belief is impotent withou t a desire but a desire is blind without a belief. Lan­ guage may therefore be similarly divided into factual asser­ tions and evaluative prescriptions, whichinclude moral judge­ ments.

If I adopt anintrospectionist methodology then myclaims to factual knowledge will encounter the problem of scepti­ cism: First, whether the supposed referents of my descrip­ tions, actually exist independently of my perceptions. And second, if they do exist, how accurately my descriptions or perceptions map onto them. That is, a gap is opened between my claims to factual knowledge and the truth of those claims.

Wittgenstein argues in his Private Language Argument that the failure of these attempts to ward off scepticism derives from the methodology they assume. If the solitary introspectionist is left as the sole interpreter of his conscious­ ness he will never be able to distinguish something's being the case from it seeming to be the case. The application of a conceptually meaningful language must be governed ac­ cording to generally accepted rules; and successful rule following necessitates at least one other conscious individual.

A meaningful language must be public. This provides a possibility of disagreement which ensures that a concept delineates some particular thing. If this is correct then the sceptic seems to defeat himself since he must presuppose that the questions he poses are themselves meaningful. Claims to Shahrukhi is asecond-year honors philosophy student at Reading University. His other interests include moral psychology and existentialism.

EPISTEME - VOLUME IX - SEPTEMBER 1998

Is A SUBJECTIVE THEORY OF MORAL LANGUAGE POSSIBLE? factual knowledge can therefore be reasonably supposed to avoid complete referential failure and the precision of their mapping onto this independent reality becomes a matter of correctly following the applicatory rules which govern the concepts involved.

A similar analysis can be carried out on moral language.

It maybe either public or private. If moral language is viewed introspectively then it seems that two sceptical questions can again be asked: First whether good and bad actually exist independently of the introspectionist's feelings and, second, if they do, how well these evaluations correspond to that objective realm.

However, the moral introspectionist is aware, after Wittgenstein, that the adoption of his position has a certain consequence: It forces him to deny the existence of objective moral facts, that is, generally accepted rules of application.

What I have called moral introspection therefore amounts to ethical subjectivism: the view that moral interlocutors are solely concerned with their private feelings. Here, moral judgements, unlike factual ones, simply represent linguistic expressions of an underlying sentiment. They cannot, and therefore do not, relate to any objective realm in the same way that the propositions of factual language do. In other words, the theory is necessarily anti~realist.

Moral realism, on the other hand, views moral language as being public. It asserts that moral language is meaningful in the same sense as factual language. The application of moral concepts being governed, either actually or poten足 tially, by generally accepted rules which are learned within the language-using community. The aim of this essay is to examine whether or not a truly subjective theory of moral language is possible.

In assessing the moral worth of any agent it seems that two distinct factors have to be considered: His moral opin足 ions and his actions. I lnight agree with someone that I believe it is wrong to cause others to passively inhale ciga足 rette smoke but nevertheless be responsible for occasioning precisely that state of affairs only five minutes later. I lnight remark that "I know it's wrong, but I really feel like a

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cigarette./I Thus, moral theories try to explain how discus­ sion is related to practice.

Moral discussion is concerned with reasons for acting one way or another. In the above case there are two possible reasons for action. First, my belief that having a cigarette would be wrong and, second, my strong desire to have a cigarette five minutes later. Both the subjectivist and realist admit that the moral reasons supplied by an agent imply that he has a motivation to act accordingly and are aware that the Humean picture indicates that only desires can motivate.

The subjectivist claims that this demonstrates that appar­ ent moral beliefs employed in discussion are actually expres­ sions of desires. But it will still remain for him to provide a plausible account of a moral discussion, given that we do feel we are talking about something. The realist asserts that the judgements employed in discussion are beliefs which can be true or false, that is, there are or could be, generally accepted rules which govern their application. But, if he is to link discussion to practice, he must show how such beliefs are able to motivate.

Ihave already dismissed ethical subjectivism in its simple form: The idea that moral judgements report one's attitude towards an issue. Here, a statement such as "stealing is wrong" is equivalent to "I do not approve of stealing". As long as I am sincerely reporting my feelings I cannot be wrong. For example I may, on reflection, conclude that stealing is, in fact, morally permissible. But, logically, mytwo conflicting evaluations cannot both be right. Second, moral disagreements do exist. But, by claiming that being correct is a matter of sincerely reporting one's feelings, simple subjec­ tivism has the absurd consequence of admitting that both speakers are correct.

Expressivist theories, such as emotivism, are more prom­ ising. Instead of asserting that moral judgements report one's attitude, emotivism claims that they are performative expressions of desires which are designed to influence the behaviour and attitudes ofothere. Saying stealing is wrong" is the same as saying "boo to stealing!". Since these expres­ II

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THEORY OF MORAL LANGUAGE POSSIBLE?

sions can be neither true nor false the objections to simple subjectivism are avoided.

But emotivism must also provide a satisfactory account of moral discussion. The emotivist seems to be committed to saying that moral reasons are those statements which are considered the most likely to influence the behaviour and attitudes of others. For example, I might convince you that voluntary euthanasia is right, on purely psychological grounds, by revealing that your favourite pop star endorses it.

Because emotivism does not seem to require that the reasons employed in discussion are relevant to the issue ithas generally been rejected. In order to maintain a subjectivist stance, some have stipulated that only those desires which are expressed subsequent to a thorough deliberation can be counted as moral reasons. Such a process is deemed likely to shape the agent's feelings by bringing to light relevant facts and possible consequences which had not previously been considered.

But it is possible, and perhaps probable, that strong differences of opinion would still remain. A further modifi足 cation attempts to overcome this. The final version of subjec足 tivism states that a moral opinion is correct only if one also considers that it would also be sustained by someone who was completely reasonable and impartial.

I will now examine how realists may attempt to make sense of moral practice. Smith provides the following ex足 ample. You are bathing a screaming baby and are motivated to drown him which, on the Humean view, suggests that you have a reason to do so which is beyond rational criticism. But this is counter-intuitive.

According to Smith, common sense indicates that "the desire is not worth satisfying" because you believe that you would not be motivated to drown the baby if you were cool calm and collected". Thus he concludes that moral beliefs are not based on our actual motivations but on" the independent rational ideal" of those desires which we would have under ideal conditions of reflection. It is beliefs about these desires which provide reasons for action. For the belief about what 1/

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I would desire under ideal conditions, about what I have a reason to desire, provides a motivation not to drown the baby. Therefore I am not beyond rational criticism if I do so.

One problem remains. Would beliefs about desires un­ der ideal conditions converge for different agents in the same physical circumstances? Smith asserts, contrary to the claims of many, that the nature of moral discussion indicates that such a convergence would occur.

Returning to the example which initiated this discussion: The subjectivist will say that my statement "I know it's wrong to smoke in public" did not really purport to state a moral fact. It was nothing more than a verbal gesture motivated by one of two factors: First, it was not a representation of my feelings towards smoking but a representation of my stron­ ger desire to appease my non-smoking friend. Second, it was a representation of my desire to stop smoking in public, subsequent to an impartial deliberation, whose intentionwas to motivate others and, perhaps, myself into according with it. If this latter possibility is accepted then my subsequent action was simply a result of a stronger desire to have a cigarette. And, since this stronger desire was not the result of an impartial and rational consideration, I acted wrongly.

The moral realist, on the other hand, will say that my statement was indeed a claim to moral knowledge. He may say that being cool, calm and collected" my statement that "I know it's wrong to smoke in public" did claim to state a moral fact. Five minutes later and still aware of my belief that if I was "cool, calm and collected" I would not desire a cigarette, but now craving nicotine, I failed to desire what I believed I ought to and, as such, acted wrongly.

Both these theories, in their final formulations, appear to be fundamentally similar in proposing that desires may be shaped by reason and, as a consequence, are likely to con­ verge among different agents giving rise to genuinely moral desires. Significantly, both theories assume thatthephenom­ enon of rational moral discussion indicates an implicit pre­ sumption by all of the possibility of such a converge. As a result, both attempt to remove strong and potentially /I

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distortive personal feelings by positing considerations such as impartial deliberation and beliefs about one's views in better circumstances.

It is unclear why the subjectivist who was initially iden­ tified as a moral introspectionist identifies moral reasons as being impartial. His methodology, if he is to remain a true introspectionist, does not permit him to presuppose the existence of other moral agents, just as the Cartesian cannot presuppose the existence of an external world. But if the subjectivist is not entitled to draw into his considerations the approval of an imaginary ideal moral agent then he is forced to remain at the stage where the desires between moral interlocutors will simply continue to conflict. Of course, Smith's proposal, that the beliefs about what sort of desires we ought to have will converge, is necessitated by his realism, even if it is unfounded.

Thus, both these theories propose that moral discussion converges toward a set of specifically moral desires and in this sense they are both objective. To the realist the relevant desire is thatwhich we would all have under ideal conditions of reflection. To the subjectivist, it is the desire which would be rationally and impartially approved of. I will now exam­ ine why the subjectivist has collapsed into objectivism and whether or not this can be avoided.

The subjectivist identifies two aspects of morality: Ac­ tions and discussions, while also recognising that something must initiate and then sustain the latter. He proposes that moral discussion is initiated by a clash of desires, of which spoken reasons are performative expressions. But now he must explain how the conversation is sustained. He rejects the idea that reasons are simply those statements which will most effectively alter the psychological state of his opponent, and that this is the goal which sustains the conversation. He claims that, empirically, a moral reason appears to be more than this: It is the expression of a desire which remains after a rational and impartial deliberation of facts and possible outcomes. But by introducing rational deliberation and impartiality he suggests that desires will converge, and thereby converts his theory into an objective one. Presum­

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ably, the moral conversation is sustained by this process of convergence.

The subjectivist is correct in denying the emotivist's assertion that any fact which has the desired psychological effect can be counted as a moral reason. Moral discussions do have a distinctive language, often based around consider­ ations of impartiality. But the subjectivist seems to be relying on the premise that expressions directly represent the under­ lying desire: For example, that the use of a concept such as impartiality indicates an actual desire to be impartial.

But this premise seems incorrect. Whenamanuallabourer says that it is unfair for a company director to earn his yearly wage in a month, is it to be supposed that his statement is not at all the expression of an egoistic desire? Similarly, when such a director replies that, since his company generates wealth for the whole community and he is only motivated to work extremely hard when paid a competitive salary, his pay canbe impartially justified through its maximisation of over­ all utility.

While the language here is centered around impartiality there does not appear to be a convergence of desires, but merely two parallel expressions of egocentricity. The cause seems to be the inherent vagueness and redefinability of moral concepts. Impartiality, for example,. does not relate only to material goods, but also to interests, preferences, needs and aggregate utility.

So a desire which produces an expression of impartiality might actually be wholly egoistic. This suggests a distinction between the desire a moral judgement seems to express and the desire which it actually expresses. This subjective thesis (5) would thus claim that rational deliberation and attempted impartiality do not shape one's desires, rather one's desires shape how facts and concepts must be employed in order tha t those desires are fulfilled. And therefore, moral reasons are a sub-set of intentionally psychologically effective state­ ments, namely those which can be used to satisfy desires in terms of the culturally favoured moral concepts.

5 concludes that, if the possibility of using moral lan­ .guage exists, that is of consciously saying to one's self "I can

Is A SUBJECfIVE THEORY OF MORAL LANGUAGE POSSIBLE? satisfy egoistic desires by making them appear altruistic" then the use of moral language itself becomes morally ques足 tionable. If this happens then moral discussion becomes synonymouswith moral practice andis not further analysable, since every analysis imports a morally questionable motive.

Given that this exactly what moral theorists attempt to do it follows from S that they are not talking about moral discussion but partaking in it or, more accurately, simply continuing to act. They may therefore be asked whether their theories are themselves the result of morally questionable desires: One might wonder, for example, whether some realists propose moral theories which marginalise the so足 called mentally ill because of a dislike for such persons.

The objectivist might reply that while the rules governing moral concepts are not presently dear the dialectical process of moral discussion will eventually converge upon the truth about which desires are good. But if S is true how is such a convergence possible when the employment of opinions which are to facilitate this process are themselves amenable to moral criticism? Surely the morality of applying moral language must first be established, by a similar dialectic. But, of course, a vicious regress would ensue.

While S is superficially attractive it would not actually be possible, on the subjectivist view, to consciously mask an egoistic desire as an impartial one. This is because S relies on the false premise that the individual has his own meaningful concept of altruism and egoism, while others are unable to access his real desires. Take the following two sentences: A: I gave to charity from an egoistic desire to relieve my con足 science and B: I gave to charity from an altruistic desire to help others. If a private rule governed language is impos足 sible then the subjectivist must admit that I will be unable to tell A from seeming to be A. Thus, I cannot meaningfully employ the terms egoism and altruism. If I apply them it is simply as if I am saying to myself "don't bother giving to charity" or well done for giving to charity" in order to shape my future desires. And if "I" is replaced with "John" then I still cannot tell A from seeming to be A and, again the terms refer to nothing. If I af:jsume A is the case them I am sayin~ II

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IIThumbs down about John giving to charity" and if I assume B, "Well done to John for giving to charity". Again, I am attempting to alter the attitudes that people take regarding his action and therefore, indirectly, the chances of him, or someone else, repeating it. This applies equally to other moral interlocutors. The origin of an individual's evaluation of their own or another's desires will be discussed shortly.

Thus these attributions are primarily aimed at the action, not the agent. It should also be noted that they do not purport to describe something inherent in the action itself because, in the absence of applicatory rules, seeming to be amount to being. Rather they intend to either commend or disparage that type of action in order to encourage or discourage its performance. It is likely, from an evolutionary perspective, that we have developed a particular psychological sensi tivi ty to moral praise or blame, perhaps due to an association with physical reward or punishment. Thus moral language may have evolved as a specialised behaviour regulating mecha足 nism. If the expressions of desires by moral interlocutors do have this attitude influencing role then the emotivist may propose a deterministic model of moral discussion.

The perceived moral worth of a certain action within a community, and therefore the likelihood of it being per足 formed, becomes the aggregate of individual expressions for and against it. Behaviours will tend towards the prescribed direction with a speed roughly proportionate to the imbal足 ance of opinion. The origin of each individual's evaluation of personal or public actions becomes a net result of opinions expressed by friends, parents, the media etc. This is more plausible when it is coupled with the overwhelming desire that each individual has to be part of the community and to enjoy the obvious personal benefits which that brings. In addition, biological and social factors, such as genetic simi足 larity or social relationship, may determine the extent to which moral assertions impact upon individual evaluations of given desires. The development of an individual's own desires will be influenced by factors such as material wealth and physical predisposition. An individual will tend to perform those actions which he desires and perceives as most

Is A SUBJEcrIVE THEORY OF MORAL LANGUAGE POSSIBLE?

worthwhile.

Thus, moral discussion governs a self-regulating system of behaviours to maintain the community's stability or some other unknown factor. Each discussion is an exchange of expressions of desire, on a local level, designed to psycho­ logically determine the behaviours which will be most useful in that respect. Despite appearances, this model remains essentially subjective.

First, each moral assertion is still the expression of an individual desire even though that desire is largely the result of factors external to him. Second, and more importantly, the factors impinging on the community, for example the pros­ perity and health of its individuals, are dynamic and some­ times extreme. Thus there will never be a particular set of actions which will consistently maintain the stability of the community and which will, therefore, be consistently pro­ moted or discouraged. That is the application ofmoral concepts will never be governed by generally accepted rules. In addition, the effect of different impinging factors will be likely to vary among different individuals according to their physical dif­ ferences and within the same individual at different times.

These dynamics should be compared with factual language whose rules, while not static, change very slowly. However, the publicity of moral language may vary from being almost wholly rule governed, for example in a religious climate, to almost the opposite extreme.

Every culture has prevalent pairs of moral polar oppo­ sites for describing actions. Ours is dominated by altruism and egoism. In addition to these descriptive terms are pairs of consequential terms which purport to describe the state of affairs which an action produces. These include maximum utility-minimum utility, equality-inequality and fairness­ unfairness. With both sets of terms, it is the first member of each pair which is deemed morally preferable and whose attribution to an action is intended to promote it.

The nature of moral language is such that an environmen­ tal factor necessitating the promotion of previously discour­ aged actions does not necessitate an immediate change in vocabulary. Moral concepts are peculiar in that they lend

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themselves well to the prescription of contrary behaviours.

In a sense they seem to contain their opposites. For example, the ideal of equality dictates that people are treated equally.

But this means nothing by itself It might imply that as a doctor I administer the same amount of pain killer to all patients. But the principle of diminishing marginal utility seems to indicate that I administer it in a way which will result in the greatest reduction of aggregate pain. And this implies that, while interests are to be treated equally, indi­ viduals are not. By being impartial in one sense I may be partial in another and vice-versa. Thus a morality which favours impartiality might come to emphasise need, and this mayor may not supersede impartiality as the central tenet of moral discussion. Indeed impartiality may become a deroga­ tory term if the actions which were once beneficial become the cause of harm in the community. In this way moral vocabulary evolves and diversifies but the nature of the terms is always such that they may refer to very different actions, according to the qualifications which are continually being appended to them.

The deterministic emotivism that I have suggested here still remains subjective in many respects. Perhaps most importantly it does not assign to moral discussion a static set of criteria which govern the type of desire converged to­ wards. Nevertheless, the fact that individual evaluations of desires are largely determined by the expressions of others does seem to base the model on impartiality. However, there will be many situations where the greatest benefit to the community will be produced if a small number of individu­ als, perhaps doctors, are treated preferentially. Furthermore, individuals may be impartial in this sense in order to benefit personally from belonging to the community. Perhaps it is not incompatible with any impartially grounded theory, whether nominally subjective or objective, to say that all moral discussion is fundamentally the expression of an ego­ centric and biological desire not to be marginalised from society.

The adoption of an emotivist stance is supported by Festinger's theory of Cognitive Dissonance (1957) which has

Is A SUBJECTIVE THEORY OF MORAL LANGUAGE POSSIBLE?

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continued to receive strong empirical support. This suggests that an agent's beliefs about his past actions and his attitudes are engaged in a dynamic equilibrium which minimises the dissonance arising from the inconsistencies between those cognitions. Neither assumes any long term priority in this process. If, as this suggests, attitude and action are indistin足 guishable kinds then, given that desires motivate action, it must also be admitted that they motivate moral opinion.

The Humean thesis needs to be supplanted by a holistic appreciation of the essential similarity between both moral assertions and actions and, if Smith is right, moral beliefs and desires. This would unite desires, moral beliefs, and actions as the same kind of happenings. If moral discussion is to be likened more to physical behaviour than factual language, then moral philosophy might do well to view itself as an undistinguished part of human behaviour, rather than as a privileged and distanced meditation upon it.

WORKS CITED

Ayer, A.J. Language, Truth and Logic. New York: Dover

Publications, Inc., 1952.

Dancy, J. Moral Reasons. Oxford: Blackwell, 1993.

Eiser, R. & J. van der Plight. Attitudesand Decisions. London:

Routledge, 1988.

Singer, P., ed. A Companion to Ethics. Oxford: Blackwell, 1997.

SPELUNKING WITH SOCRATES: A STUDY OF SOCRATIC PEDAGOGY IN PLATo'S REPUBLIC

Victor Isaac Boutros

Baylor University

I. Introduction

Though Plato never wrote a dialogue that explicitly asks "What is education?" few argue that he is uninterested in the subject; after all, Plato, like Socrates, was a teacher.l In his magnum opus, the Republic, Plato deals with education repeat足 edly. The education of the guardian class and the allegory of the cave present two landmark pedagogical passages. Yet to catch a glimpse of Socratic pedagogy, we must first sift through the intricacies of dialogue. In addition to the com足 plexity inherent in dramatic context, it seems clear that Socrates' remarks are often steeped inirony.2 Thus, we stumble upon a problem: how should we read these passages on education? Does Plato mean for us to read them genuinely or ironically?

I will argue that Plato uses the dramatic context of the Republic to suggest that Socrates presents the education of the guardians ironically, while reserving the allegory of the cave for a glimpse of Socrates' genuine pedagogy. The first portion of this paper will analyze various dramatic elements that indicate Socrates' ironic intent with respect to the education of the guardians. The second portion will focus on the alle足 gory of the cave as Socrates' genuine conception of ideal paideia (or education).

II. Dramatic Context and the Introduction of Irony A. Conventional Irony Unfortunately, we cannot look at Plato's treatise on edu足 cation to learn about his educational theory because he does not write analytical treatises. Instead, Plato employs written dialogues to inspire philosophical insight in his students. In Boutros is a senior philosophy major at Baylor University.

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SPELUNKING WITH SOCRATES

light of Plato's dialogical style, the dramatic context intro­ duces new complexities to the project of figuring out Socratic pedagogy.

While many may find Plato's drama a refreshing alterna­ tive to the dry argumentation of a treatise, it is likely that Plato's purposes are not limited to reading ease. In fact, in many ways the use of drama makes reading Plato a great deal more complex. Plato certainly makes use of arguments, yet frames them in real life contexts. Thus, the reader must consider not only the nuances of argumentation, but also the characters' abilities and motives behind presenting the argu­ ment in a particular way. So the argument should not neces­ sarily be taken at face val ue; instead, such arguments must be read within the dramatic context. 3 The dramatic context furnishes readers with invaluable clues for interpreting the arguments presented and will provide the interpretative framework for this paper.

At the very least, the dramatic context of Plato's dia­ logues introduces the use of conventional irony. By conven­ tional irony I simply mean that the implicit truth pronounced within the work is different than what is explicitly said; there is a separation between whatis said and what is meant. Thus, the reader's approach in reading a dialogue differs signifi­ cantly from the approach required by a treatise or an exposi­ tion. Rather than simply comprehending the words and stringing together the explicit argument put forth in a trea­ tise, the reader of Plato's dialogues must move beyond the words and view the drama to ascertain Plato's genuine meaning. One way to determine whether something is ironic is to observe whether the events within the dialogue, that is, the drama, match up with what is said in the dialogue. If Socrates makes a comment about the way things are, do the events in the dialogue demonstrate the veracity of his propo­ sition? In short, does the drama match the argument?

Drew Hyland proposes several valuable heuristics for identifying irony within a Platonic dialogue. First, Hyland recommends determining the plausibility of what is said.

The less plausible the statement, the more likely it is ironic.

Second, does the potentially ironic statement fit with other

VICTOR ISAAC BOUTROS

statements in the dialogue? To the extent that the statement seems an anomaly or breaks the internal consistency of the dialogue, it is likely ironic. Third, is the statement consistent with the rest of Plato's dialogues. Is Socrates speaking in character? If Socrates says something that radically contra­ dicts the body of his philosophy as presented in the Platonic corpus, there is good reason to believe he is speaking ironi­ cally (Hyland 331-3). While these clues are notfoolproof, they do provide dues for effectively approaching Socratic irony.

B. Mimetic Irony Though conventional irony certainly plays a significant role in Socratic pedagogy, it is not the only type of irony . Socrates employs. Among the most popular of the tools in Socrates' repertoire is mimetic irony. Mitchell Miller de­ scribes the process of mimetic irony in this way:

In each case the philosopher holds back from giving explicit, authoritative criticism and instead puts the interlocutor on stage before himself. This reticence and indirectness preserves for the latter the possibil­ ity of self-confrontation, of coming by his own action to recognize his ignorance and his need for philoso­ phy. (Miller 4-5) Rather than using his position of authority to correct the misguided notions of a student, the teacher who uses mi­ metic irony takes on the student's mistaken views in hopes that the student will see the mistakes in his own thinking when observing it in his teacher. Thus, the student confronts the error of his ways while the teacher just serves as a mime.

But according to Miller, while Socrates' student is hopefully reaping the benefits of mimetic irony, Plato hopes that his students - the readers - will also use this opportunity for self-examina tion: In each case, however, the tacit challenge to the audi­ ence is basically the same; the hearer is invited to recognize himself, actually or potentially, in the fig­

SPELUNKING

wrrn SOCRATES

ure on stage. If the hearer can do so, then the elenchtic action of the dialogue will have an internal signifi­ cance for him; Socrates' examination of the interlocu­ tor will be, for the hearer, an opportunity for self­ examination. (Miller 5) Whether the student resides inside or outside of the dialogue, mimetic irony hinges on the belief that if the student realizes his own error (as opposed to the teacher explicitly pointing it out to him), then the new philosophic notion presented thereafter will have greater "iI).ternal significance."

III. Mimetic Irony in the Education of the Guardian Class The education of the guardian class may very well be the most explicit account of education in the Republic. So it makes sense to examine this account with an eye to Socratic peda­ gogy. However, prudence dictates that we proceed cau­ tiously; for as we have established, Plato's drama proves a indispensable tool when attempting to glean his genuine views.

The need for guardians arises in the fleshing out of the "feverish city" (Republic 372e). However, it is not altogether clear that the feverish city is what Socrates has in mind from the beginning. In fact, the entire constTuction of the feverish city arises out of an intelTuption from Glaucon: IIlyou seem to make these men have their feast without relishes'" (Repub­ lic 372c). It seems as though Glaucon approaches the philo­ sophical question of developing tl1e ideal city as a sort of fantasy. In this light, Socrates' construction seems to curi­ ously leave out the pleasures and luxuries that are desirable in an fantastic city. Wait a minute, thinks Glaucon, if we are going to fantasize about an ideal city, why not include the luxuries? Socrates' response is interesting. He does not re­ buke Glaucon for thinking so shallowly nor even gently redirect him toward the original conception of the ideal dty.

Instead, he asks, '''Well, how should it be, Glaucon?"' (Repub­ lic 372d). Perhaps, Sacra tes is interested in allowing Glaucon to reach his own conclusions rather than mindlessly swal­ lowing the conclusions of his mentor. If this is indeed the

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case, we can more clearly see the mimetic irony with which Socrates portrays the feverish city, or city of pigs; for it seems that mindless acceptance is just the sort of education that is encouraged in this paradigm. Socrates goes to great lengths to emphasize that censorship should be used generously to prohibit the possibility of dangerous conclusions by the guardians. Regardless, Socrates indulges Glaucon' s whim 足 but not without first admitting that this city of pigs is not at all what he had in mind: 'IIN ow, the true city is in my opinion the one we just described - a healthy city, as it were. But, if you want to, let's look at a feverish city, too' (Republic 372e).

But Socrates' ironic comments aboutthe city of pigs4 does not stop at its inception; the entire description of the city is rife with ironic and disparaging comments. Remarks like [t]his healthy one (city) isn't adequate any more, but must be gorged with a bulky mass of things, which are not in cities because of necessity ...1IJ typify Socrates' attitude toward the new endeavor (Republic 373b). Furthermore, we can be more confident about reading the feverish city ironically in light of Socrates' ascetic attitude toward pleasures of the body. For example, in Book VI of the Republic, Socrates states that a philosopher '''...would be concerned with the pleasure of the soul itself with respect to itself and would forsake those pleasures that come through the body - if he isn't a counter足 feit but a true philosopher'" (Republic 485d). In the Sympo足 sium, Socrates stands contemplatively for twenty-four hours disregarding the bodily desires for food or sleep (Symposium 220c-d). Again, in the Symposium, Socrates pertinaciously fends off the bodily desire to have sex with Alcibiades, who is among the most attractive in the land, despite Alcibiades attempts to seduce him (Symposium 217b-219a). Thus, it seems implausible that Socrates speaks genuinely here since the characteristics of the feverish city radically conflict with the asceticism portrayed in the rest of the Platonic corpus.

Thus, the education of the guardians in the feverish city must be read within its ironic framework Surely teachers like Plato and Socrates desire to provoke philosophical insight in their students. Therefore, one fundamental question that II

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mustbe addressed is whether the guardians are philosophers or not. Before we pursue this issue, an important distinction must be made. Socrates' development of the guardian class changes in content and arguably in purpose. By Book V, the guardians have donned a new nature and become philoso­ pher-kings. While this move is certainly interesting, I will not explore it fully. From this point on, any references to the guardian class will describe the pre-Book V variety. Though Socrates admits that the guardians will be "truly philo­ sophic," there is good reason to believe that he speaks ironi­ cally (Republic 376a}. After all, he repeatedly likens the guard­ ians' philosophic nature to that of a dog (Republic 375a, e; 376a). Even his argument is steeped in irony. Socrates says of a dog, "When it sees someone it doesn't know, it's angry, although it never had any bad experience with him.

And when it sees someone it knows, it greets him warmly, even if it never had a good experience with him." (Republic 376a) The guardians are similar to the dog [i]n that it (the dog and analogously the guardians) distinguishes friendly from hos­ tile looks by nothing other than by having learned the one and being ignorant of the other'" (Republic 376b). Socrates' depiction of the guardians' philosophic nature describes those who embrace anything that they know and are hostile towards w hat they do not know. Surely, this desprciption is of the fertile breeding-ground for just the sort of spoon­ feeding and censorship that Socrates goes on to develop in the construction of the city of pigs. Socrates intentionally censors some information from the guardians and the rest of the city hoping that in their "philosophic nature," their ignorance will cultivate hostility. For example, Socrates cen­ sors corrupting instances of poetry from the guardians' ears because they are '''...poetic and sweet for the many to hear, but the more poetic they are, the less should they be heard by boys and men who must be free and accustomed to fearing slavery more than deathl l l (Republic 387b). Socrates fears that ill

VlcrOR ISAAC BOUTROS

the lilting words of the poets may hinder a noble conception of death - a vital characteristic for the guardian class. Thus, poetry must be "rigidly censored and controlled." s Interest足 ingly, Socrates' approach precludes presenting the guardian class with all the evidence, trusting them to arrive at true conclusions. Instead, Socrates wants to prohibit the possibil足 ity of undesirable6 conclusions by censoring the evidence altogether. Thus, the nature of this "philosophic nature," is not philosophic at all; the guardians are not to think but rather to mindlessly accept the education presented and resent everything unknown. However, Socrates is renowned for his elenchus, his knack for dliving his interlocutors to aporia with the hope of newfound philosophical inSight. If this elenchtic process remains a genuine aspect of his peda足 gogy, it makes sense to label the education of the guardians an exercise in mimetic irony.

If indeed Socrates is employing mimetic irony as I have argued, then the education of the guardians does not assert educational ideals, but attempts to bring the interlocutor, in this case, Glaucon, to realize the mistakes of this paradigm.

Once the paradigm has been refuted (i.e. the interlocutor has moved to aporia), then the ideal paradigm for paideia can be voiced to new ears.

IV. The Allegory of the Cave as a Genuine Representation of Ideal Paideia A. Dramatic Context in the Allegory of the Cave If mimetic irony is the basis for viewing the education of the guardians in an aporietic schema, what is the justification for regarding the cave as a genuine representation of ideal paideia? Adding to the burden of the project is the fact that the allegory of the cave is an allegory. At least the education of the guardians speaks explicitly about education. The cave, on the other hand, is an extended analogyi thus, one must argue for interpreting the subject matter of the cave to be education - or so it seems. Werner Jaeger makes an important observa足 tion that lends credence to interpreting the cave as Socrates' genuine concept of paideia:

SPELUNKING WITH SOCRATES

... few pay any attention to the first sentence of the seventh book, which leads into the image of the cave.

There Plato actually states that it is anirnage ofpaideia: or, more exactly, that it represents the nature of man, and its relation to culture and "unculture," paideia and apaideusia.(Jaeger 294) With this observation firmly in place, it is safe to say that Socrates presents this analogy as if an image of our nature in its education and want of education..." (Republic 514a). This explicit admission removes any doubt about the subject of the cave. However, let me be perfectly clear about what this overt admission proves. This explicit preface merely estab足 lishes that Socrates wants Glaucon (and probably the rest of us) to hear the cave as an analogy for education. That we know the subject matter of Socrates' analogy tells us nothing of whether Socrates means the allegory to be genuine or ironic. To untangle this perplexity, we must look for more clues as we move through the material of the cave.

Socrates begins the analogy by telling a story of human prisoners who are perpetually shackled in an underground cave. The large mouth of the cave moves upward toward the light so that the entire width of the cave is exposed to light.

The prisoners are bound from childhood in such a manner that they cannot move their heads and are therefore forced to see only what is in front of them. With their backs to the mouth of the cave, they only see the shadows projected by the light onto the back walL Glaucon's response to the introduction of the analogy is important: I"It's a strange image ...and [strange] prisoners you're telling of' /I (Republic 515a). Note the contrast between Glaucon's response to the cave and his response to the education of the guardians. With respect to the cave, Glaucon is perplexed by the image from the very beginning. Thus, if Glaucon is going to ultimately embrace the allegory of the cave, he must first overcome his notion that the image seems so bizarre. In contrast, since Glaucon's request for luxury in the ideal state sparked the discussion of the education of the guardians, he naturally had an affinity for the idea. Remem足

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ber, when Socrates uses mimetic irony, he hopes that the student will progress from a misguided affinity for a mis足 taken notion to aporia. Once reduced to aporia, the interlocu足 tor can accept new philosophic insight. Though we see at least the initial stages of this progression in the education of the guardians, the allegory of the cave presents a different approach altogether. The fact that Glaucon does not readily see the analogy of the cave lends weight to the notion that Socrates means to be genuine here not only because the pattern does not follow that of mimetic irony, but also be足 cause the dramatic context portrays Glaucon as a real life example of the allegory. If the allegory of the cave is in fact meanttobe read as a paradigm fori deal paideia, then Glaucon' s response is particularly fitting. Reasoning by analogy, Socrates exposes Glaucon to the truth - the real world that is outside thecave and illumined by the sun. Just as the cave dweller who is compelled to see the real world finds it very strange at first and then gradually realizes the truth of the things he hears, so Glauconfinds Socrates' image very strange initially, then progressively begins to think the image is right.

B. The Progressive Nahtre of Education Socrates continues with the analogy supposing thatthese prisoners who spent their whole life in the cave would believe that the projected shadows of people walking outside the cave were not merely images of real things but the real things themselves: "' ...such men would hold that the truth is nothing other than the shadows of artificial things'" (Republic 515c). Since this existence is all they have known, the cave dwellers do not believe fhey are prisoners. But what if some足 one on the outside, a non-cave dweller, released a prisoner from his shackles and exposed him to the realities of life external?

"What do you suppose he'd say if someone were to tell him that before he saw silly nothings, while now, because he is somewhat nearer to what is and more turned toward beings, he sees more correctlYi and, in particular, showing him each of the things that pass

SPELUNKING WITH SOCRATES

by, were to compel the man to answer his questions about what they are? Don't you suppose he'd be at a loss and believe that what was seen before is truer than what is now shown?" (Republic 515dY The initial response of the cave dweller to the real world is disbelief. The power of conventionS still imprisons him as he moves outside of the cave. Even when his eyes are '"full of its (the light's) beam ...[he will still] be unable to see even one of things now said to be true ...at least not right away'" (Republic 515a). Here Socrates hits on a fundamental point of paideia.

Light-bulbs do not flash as one realizes the good in a moment of sudden epiphany. The nature of education is that it is progressive. That is, it is a gradual process: "Then I suppose he'd have to get accustomed, if he were going to see what's up above. At first he'd most easily make out the shadows, and after that the phan足 toms of the human beings and the other things in water; and, later, the things themselves. And from there he could turn to beholding the things in heaven and heaven itself, more easily at night - looking at the light of the stars and the moon - than by day 足 looking at the sun and sunlight." (Republic 516a-b).

If we follow the analogy, then we see that just as human eyes

that have spent a lifetime in darkness must take steps to be able to see clearly in the sunlight, so too, the student who has lived a lifetime in an aphilosophical world of darkness must also take steps in order to see the good clearly.

It is also important to note the nature of the progression; the cave dweller first sees the shadows - an entity that he is accustomed to seeing. The next step of the progression is to see reflections of real things in water. The images inwater are closer representations of the real thing than shadows since they have color and better-defined shape. Then the cave dweller moves to the things in the heaven and the heaven itself, a move to looking at real objects rather than mere representations of real objects. The passage also indicates that it will be easier for the cave dweller to see these real

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objects at night probably because they are less complex (less hues and less intense light) than in the day when things are fully colored and defined in their perfect complexity. At this point, the cave dweller sees things as they really are.

In the same way the non-philosophical soul must also make the same sort of progression, moving from things that are less real (hazy representations of the good) to those things which are more real (sharper depictions of the good) to real things that are easiest to understand (the simple parts of the good) to things that are fully real (the good in all its splendor and glory). Thus, the ideal teacher does not begin by present足 inghis philosophically immature studentto the good in all its majesty and complexity, butbuilds up to it in small steps. For example, an algebra student is taught concepts that perhaps oversimplify concepts taught in calculus. However, those simplistic concepts reflect a far more complex concept. To understand the concepts of calculus one must first under足 stand simpler notions taught in algebrai a student who has not taken any algebra will have a very difficult time master足 ing calculus.

The cave poignantly illustrates that education is not only progressive in terms of the complexity and accuracy of the material studied (progressing from vague representations of the real to the real itself) but also progressive in terms of the students! attitude towards it. Recall that the cave dweller is "'compelled to stand up, to tum his neck around, to walk and look up toward the light... (Republic 515c). Though free from his chains, someone must still III drag him away from there (the cave) byforce'" (Republic 515e). Initially, the student feels absolutely repulsed. He wants to remain entrenched in the comfort of ignorance, couched in convention. And surely the student is partially right; for in order to see the good, one must ascend the I"rough, steep, upward waylll (Republic 515e). Because the affinity for comfortable ignorance far outweighs the trek for costly knowledge, the teacher must "' ...drag him out into the light of the sun... 111 (Republic 515e). distressed and annoyed at Furthermore, the student is being so dragged (Republic 515e-516a).9 However, as the student progresses from vague representations of the good to 1fI

III ...

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the good itself, he also progresses from repulsion to affinity: "'What then? When he recalled his first home and the wis足 dom there, and his fellow prisoners in that time, don't you suppose he would consider himself happy for the change and pity the others?1II (Republic 516c). Thus, through the process of education, the student not only learns progressively but also loves learning progressively.

V. Conclusion In a very real sense, pedagogy is always an eminent issue in Plato's dialogues. Even when the subject of the dialogue is not explicitly about education, the drama which portrays Socrates' interactions with his students invariably deals with Socratic pedagogy. So it makes sense to conclude with the pedagogical progression we find in the drama of the Repub足 lic. I have argued that Socrates' first attempt to teach Glaucon about the nature of education employed mimetic irony. In many ways mimetic irony is the best approach; for as Miller notes, if the interlocutor can identify his misguided concep足 tions freely, on his own, then the epiphany will have greater "internal significance." However, what mimetic irony gains in ends, it loses in means; for mimetic irony often requires complete negation, wholesale abandonment of one's idea. If the student is unable to see the error of his ways, he will not reap the internal significance" Socrates desires.

To Socrates' credit, when Glauconfails to see the mimetic irony of the feverish city, he wisely changes his approach.

Surely the task of interpreting an allegory is easier than the negation required by mimetic irony. Glaucon merely has to understand whatthe allegory symbolizes to reap the benefits of its meaning. Interestingly, the easier approach may not provide equally fruitful results. Recall that mimetic irony dictates that Socrates intentionally limit himself from an overt refutation so that the student arrives at his conclusions freely. In contrast, the cave presents a conception in which the student is compelled to see the good by force. If it is the freedom in mimetic irony that cultivates the internal signifi足 cance that Miller describes, then it is safe to say that when the /I

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Bournos

student is forced to see the good, the internal significance may not be as profound.

However, all students are not created equal. While Glaucon may not reap the benefits of rn:i.rnetic irony, Plato's students, the readers, may very well be changed. That is the beauty of drama, the reader is not relegated to passively receiving the arguments presented. Instead, the very act of reading the dialogue places the reader inside the dialogue.

The reader is indeed an interlocutor himself. As Miller notes, IISocrates' examination of the interlocutor will be, for the hearer, an opportunity for self-examina tion" (Miller 5). Even if Socrates' students prove themselves dimwits, his efforts are not in vaini for through clever mode of drama, Socrates' . tenure as a teacher will live as long as its readers.

WORKS CITED

Brumbaugh, Robert S. "Plato's Philosophy of Education: The Meno Experiment and the Republic Curriculum."

Educational Theon) (Summer 1970), 207-28.

Hobson, Peter. "Is It Time for Another Look at Plato? A Contemporary Assessment of His Educational Theory." Journal ofTI'tOught (Fall-Winter 1993),77-86.

Hyland, Drew. "Taking the longer road: The Irony of Plato's Republic." Revue de Metaphysique et de Morale (July足 September 1988), 317-35.

Jaeger, Werner. Paideia: The Ideals ofGreek Culture, Vol. II: In Search of Divine Centre. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1986.

Kieran, Egan. "Development of Education." Journal of Philosophy and Education (1984), 187-93.

SPELUNKING WITH SOCRATES

Miller, Mitchell H. Platofs Parmenides: The Conversion of the Soul. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1986.

Nehamas, Alexander. "Plato and the Mass Media." Monist (April 1988), 214-34.

Plato. The Republic ofPIa to. Trans. Allan Bloom, 2nd. ed. New York: Basic Books, 1968.

Plato. Symposium. Trans. Robin Waterfield. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1994.

Taft, Richard. "The Role of Compulsion in the Education of the Philosopher-King." Auslegung (Winter 1982), 311足 32.

NOTES

Education is receiving a great deal more attention from the secondary literature. See, for example, Peter I-Iobson, "Is It Time for Another Look at Plato? A Contemporary Assessment of His Educational TI,eory," Journal of Thought (Fall-Winter 1993), 77-86. Also Egan Kieran, "Development of Education," Journal ofPhilosophy and Education (1984), 187-193; Richard Taft, "The Role of Compulsion in the Education of the Philosopher-King," Auslegung (Winter 1982),311-332; Robert S. Brumbaugh, "Plato's Philosophy of Education: The Meno Experiment and the Republic Curriculum;" Educational Theory (Summer 1970), 207-228.

2 This is the argument of Drew Hyland, "Taking the longer road: The Irony of Plato's Republic," Revue de Metaphysique et de Morale (July-September 1988),317-335.

3 Some dramatic interpreters include Paul Friedlander, Charles Griswold, Drew Hyland, Jacob Klein, David Lachterman, Mitchell Miller, David Roochnik, Stanley Rosen, and Leo Strauss.

4 Quite an ironic name for an ideal city - taken from 373c.

5 See Alexander Nehamas, "Plato and the Mass Media/' Monist (April 1988) 214-31.

6 By undesirable, I mean that Socrates wants to prohibit the guardians from even considering something contrary to the ideal for fear that they may be corrupted.

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Again, this is just the sort of response we see in Gloucon when Socrates begins the analogy of the cave (515a).

S Both the convention of those in his environment and the convention that he himself has sensorily experienced to be true in his environment.

9 In light of the predicament of the cave dwellers, it is clear that the teacher is absolutely necessary if philosophic insight is to occur. The cave dweller will never leave the prison on his own, only the teacher can forcibly free him from his shackles.

7

LOST IN THE HORIZON: IRIGARAY'S HEIDEGGER

Joanne Molina

American University

I

Heidegger's fundamental ontology was written to ex­ plore the primordial question of Being. His ontology, written to address the question, "What is the being that is Da-sein?" is defined by describing the structure of the being who is able to ask this question. He provides Being's structure, which is Care, and then determines the unifying location of this being, which is temporality. Heidegger specifies his concern by claiming that /lDa-sein no longer understands the most el­ emental con ditions which alone make a positive return to the past possible in the sense of its productive appropriation" (BT 17). His two Divisions account for this task, Division I, accounting for the description of Being (Da-sein) and Divi­ sion II accounting for the temporalization of Being (Da-sein).

Heidegger finishes his ontology by reminding us of our primordial task of finding a pathway towards being that allows us access to the primordial question of Being.

Irigaray claims that the creative and ecstatic unily that is Da-sein is only possible because ofthe feminine represented as air. As she examines his fundamental ontology, she finds that Heidegger's foundations re-inscribe images of feminin­ ity into a sphere of forgetfulness and concealment, ending in the mourning of the death of the feminine to support a masculine world. lrigaray shows that Heidegger is commit­ ted to an ontology of presencing that remains unaware and uncritical of the absence associated with and used to sup­ press and bastardize the feminine. Irigaray concludes that Heidegger's quest for authenticity and possibility fails. She claims that his entire ontology, which projects a way of understanding man's place in/as/through being-in-the­ world, must be reconsidered. She claims that this productive Molina is a senior at American Universit1J and plans to persue lier Ph.D. in philosophy at DePaul in the fall.

EPISTEME - VOLUME IX - SEPTEMBER 1998

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appropriation of the question of Being asked by Da-sein is another exploitative means by which a masculine economy asserts itself as the active and heroic subject.

Air is automatically trapped in a double bind. It cannot be seen or presenced but always acts as the pathway for others and elements such as water, earth and fire. She claims that all previous philosophical understandings of the cosmos have always represented man in the brightness and useful足 ness of fire and it is this fire that has distinguished and illuminated the lives of others. However, what philosophy has failed to do is examine air (feminine), as it makes every足 thing possible. Heidegger has forgotten air and its attributes.

But Heidegger's "forgetfulness of air" is not just a mere not remembering air and how it is appropriated in the context of philosophical discourse. Rather, lrigaray is drawing specifi足 cally upon the Heideggarian notion of forgetfulness. His notion of forgetfulness stems from a positive, ecstatic mode of having-been; a mode with a character of its own. The ecstasy (rapture) of forgetting has the character of backing away.... ecstatically dosing off what it is backing away from and thus closes itself off too ..." (BT312). So, if the feminine is represented in the element of air, which cannot rely on its ability to be seen or heard, then it is forgotten and concealed.

But, as Heidegger's own definition states, this concealmentis not without repose. If we are in the constant ecstasy of forgetting air, then manhas also closed off his own possibility for authentic revelation and the ability to question in an a uthentic manner.

The very notion oflogos presupposes the existence of air, but it must always already be forgotten in order to show presence through vision or speech. Heidegger conceptual足 izes logos as " ...deloun, tomakemanifestwhatis being talked about in speech...." (BT 28). He then attempts to link the idea of speech as "letting us see something" with the idea of synthesis that allows us to see something in its unity and completeness. Rather, he is trying to show that the possibility no longer of letting things be seen together in a way that takes the form of a pure letting-be-seen, but rather in its indicating always has recourse to something else and so /I

1/ ...

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always lets something be seen as something.... also the pos­ sibility of covering up" (BT30). Logos allows us to see things as things and this image has the potentiality of being con­ cealed or unconcealed. lrigaray claims, nothing comes into appearance that has not dwelt originally in the natural element (air) .... that has not first taken root in an environment that nourished it undis­ turbed by any gaze .... Shielded from the unveiling of any fixed form" (Mortenson 73). Irigaray's air gives without limitations and without demonstration, the air which is deploying and being deployed (Irigaray43). Air is constantly makingpresent life and the ability to have presence, but it can never be presenced or articulated because of its very nature of transparency and fluidity that must be forgotten for logos to play its part in the presendng of man through vision and speech. Irigaray shows that "Being is the original ecstasy, where man exists inpermanent representation," and this is in concordance with Heidegger's own notion of forgetfulness as an ecstatic activity (Irigaray 43).

According to Irigaray, the only thing that can ever be heard in language is the v oice of masculine presencing. In his "Origin on the Work of Art," Heidegger states quite clearly that "language, by naming things for the first time, first brings Beings to word and appearance" (BW 185). This evokes lrigaray's concern with logos and its direct relation­ ship with presencing and speech. However, Heidegger continues more affectively, stating " ... where there is no language.... there is no openness of beings ..." (BW185). This direct and compelling remark indicates that the later Heidegger is much more explicit about the implicit need for presencing based on articulation which is a direct descen­ dent, if not embodiment of the logos that is articulated in his early work. Addressing this privileging of presencing through the concreteness of language, she embraces air, claiming that it inviSibly supports all reproduction of the visible. Still, she reminds us that it is only his voice can be present and heard in air. "It is present where she is in absence and the absence of the Other is revealed only through air - which is always II

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revealed in access, but without appearance or apparatus ­ this voice is a porthole for air. But the passageway that exists for his voice is forgotten and is appropriated as logos and the trace of air and fluidity is assimilated into his voice and is forgotten" (Irigaray 48). So language is also directly rooted in the absence of air and is formulated only against a back­ ground of forgetfulness.

II

Heidegger's "call of conscience" can also be subject to Irigaray's analysis and actually elaborates her discussion of how air, as silence, is used quite explicitly to formulate the authenticity located in the anticipatory resoluteness of being­ towards-death. Heidegger's call of conscience can only be heard if one experiences Anxiety and subsequently flees into the Nothingness.

In fact, one of the first descriptions Heidegger offers us is Da-sein "being held out into the nothingness of being, held as a relation" (BT 6). So, in order for us to have the experience that allows for authenticity, we must have the negative experience of being held into the Nothingness, provided only by the call that summons us to examine our possibilities; the call of silence. According to Heidegger, this call must be silent because it is the only kind of call that can forget about the"idle talk" of Das Man (rooted in the traditional language of tradition; logos).

However, this silence only acts as the summons. It is named and assigned a place, a statute, a name: established in the system of relation for existence and crOSSing" by Das Man and is used only as a mechanism that is purely contin­ gent, although always available (Irigaray 114). Even when we hear the call of silence, Heidegger reminds us that is only Da-sein calling back to itself and its own possibilities, consti­ tuted through the structure of Da-sein and its temporal location. So, this silence is never able to be comprehended or heard as a present and intelligible voice of another. It is merely a part of the assimilation process which results in the completion of an authentic self that must return to its own face to have an authentic existence. Irigaray argues that this assimilation through airis always out in the open but, as with /I ...

LOST IN THE HORIZON

language and presencing, it is without voice and so it is doomed to be forgotten as soon as it is deployed. By desig足 nating this call as silence and separating it from Das Man, we forget about the existence of air (Otherness) and how it completely shapes both the realm of authentic (and inauthen足 tic) existence by its very absence and ability to never be heard or presenced.

In this process of moving towards authenticity, not only is her absence forgotten, but her difference is assimilated entirely into his voice and his words. He keeps her as silence and Nothingness, as something which can never have a voice, but as something that is originally encountered as different and fearfut as Anxiety. However, as he utilizes her, he assimilates her difference into himself and maintains her as forgotten. So, in the final moment of resoluteness, the decision that Da-sein can and will be called into exploring the possibilities of its own thrownness into a particular location, we have completely forgotten about the silence (air) that makes this possible. The forgetfulness of her in silence be足 comes essential to move beyond the Nothingness that we are held out into, allowing for resoluteness. lrigaray claims that the very repetition of the return to the Nothingness maintains this forgetfulness. As we are drawn into the Nothingness, nothing ever reflects the Nothingness. Instead we are only involved in the constant utilization and repetition ofthis use ofthe Nothingness. It is of importance to note that Heidegger also discusses the nullity that results from the possibility of hearing the call and choosing. One might suggest that one could appropriate air simply as something we could choose or just "recognize" as we emerge from our thrownness into our authenticity. However, nullity results in guiltiness, which resides in the inability to make evelY choice, inescap足 ably residing in a transcendental always already guilty. This guiltiness conceals, just as logos, the very element that is essential in making a call towards authenticity possible. lrigaray describes the appropriation of air (feminine) in the Nothingness as a sameness, transparent, where everyone comes into presence in giving and receiving.... everyone in /I

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the reflection of his being" (Irigaray 69). Again, it is impera­ tive that we realize that we only receive this call and are thrown into the Nothingness and Anxiety so we can be called back to our own thrownness that provides the groundless grounding (air) for Da-sein.

In addition, lrigaray discusses the role of the masculine economy in the Heideggarian discussion of being-towards­ death. Irigaray claims that everyone gives and returns to him (masculinity) in his death - his proper Being. We are called only into the realization that we are made present by thrownness and the possibilities afforded to us through/by logos. She states, more affectively, that Being remains a residue of logos, while Air as our means and nutrience is completely forgotten (Irigaray 112-3). Irigaray implicitly links the Nothingness and the silence that is forgotten in the call of conscience and the resoluteness that is present in Heidegger's authentic being-towards-death. As Heidegger describes this phenomenon, he describes it terms of finitude and then elaborates on it as part of our existential structure.

He asserts that it exists as a certainty; not as a mere option that we can cast aside, but as something that must remain with us at all times without being constantly present. Being-to­ wards-death is revealed as one of Heidegger's final steps toward authenticity; anticipatory resoluteness, which is re­ vealed as we anticipate out being-towards-death in such as way that unconceals our possibilities. This mode of achiev­ ing authenticity built upon the absolute forgetfulness of air (feminine)is represented as silence and absence. lrigaray argues that because of this forgetfulness, man is in constant mourning for the actual origin of his authentic possibilities and that Being-towards-death is actually mourning the for­ getfulness of air (feminine). His brief encounter in the Nothingness leaves a residue that leads to the eventual mourning of the air that surrounds him in his everydayness, as it makes this everydayness possible. lrigaray discusses how "Being becomes the veil of mourning, as a shade (cover) of absence that deploys and reploys his opening and her assimilation and continues in the serenity of his thoughL" (Irigaray 75). In this mourning she (air) becomes a trace and

LOST IN THE HORIZON

a mystery. She continues to claim that this mourning that occurs with the forgetfulness of air, while condemning air to absolute isolation, is the only way that air is even maintained without absolute obliteration and destruction. Irigaray claims that air is crypted in mourning, retired in his forgetful­ ness. She is always placed for him in memorial of his own being-there.... always alive in and for death. His origins always enter the opening through a veiL./I (Irigaray 101). So, in order for Da-sein to become authentic in anticipatory resoluteness, it must constantly be in the state of mourning the Otherness, known onlythrough absence or the encounter with the Nothingness, and existing only for the possibility of Da-sein to recover itself, assimilating the moment of silence into its own pathways or possibilities.

However, Heidegger finds himself caught in his own hermeneutical circle of understanding which lrigaray labels the circle of forgetfulness." She elaborates on the forgetful­ ness present in the circle in a fashion similar to how she discusses silence and Nothingness. She describes man as "turning in an identical circle, he absorbs difference and assimila tes the other, he does not articulate the mystery of the difference irreducible to the same" (Irigaray 113). lrigaray elaborates, claiming that II man and the world are reunited in the bewikhment of the circle" (Irigaray 77). Heidegger argues that any understanding of the past is automatically projected by the present, projecting its own future possibili­ ties. Irigaray claims that they accept forgetfulness inview of the future consequences" (Irigarayl05). The pastis automati­ cally shaped by the desires that exist as projections out of the Nothingness, initiating the stages of mourning. But it also conceals the absence and silence that make possible the futural projections that function as our possibilities. This means that 1/ ... the development of history occurs because of the permanent reserve of the deployment of the world, of being ... /1 (Irigaray 123). The historical nature of Da-sein can only exist because of the way the circle is premised on the assimilation of everything into a presencing that occurs because ofthe logos thatforgets air. The circle of understand­ ing that gives man the ability to understand his presence in /I ...

/I

1/

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JOANNE MOLINA

48

the hermeneutical circle. It is her air that supports and provides for manls illumination of his own ontological struc足 ture and temporality.

III It is important to note that Irigaray makes important references to themes in Heideggerls later works. She dis足 cusses the role of the poet and the artist in lieu of the openness of the hermeneutic circle. Heideggerl s later work gestures towards giving the poet and auteur god-like statuses because of their ability to use and promote mechanisms that unconceal in an authentic way. In his "Origin on the Work of Art/' he makes this explicitl claiming that" the origin of something asks about its essence. The question concerning the origin of the work of art asks about its essential sourcel l (BW149). He discusses how art operates in a cyclical model stating that" ... we are compelled to follow the circle .... to enter upon this path is the strength of thought.... not only is the main step from work to art a circle like the step from work to artl but ll every separate step that we attempt circles in this circle (BW 150). He immediately links the possibility of the unconcealment of art with that of the unconceal ability of the everydayness we encounter as part of the henneneutic circlel or Irigaray s "circle of forgetfulness/I This link is very important to Irigaray beca use she proposes that if the circle is maintained by;in; through airl which is always forgotten l then the work of art and the artist must reinforce this circle with their ability to unconceal and participate authentically in this circle. While Heidegger maintains that poetry is the saying of the concealedness of beings/' Irigaray reveals the the poet in a different shade (BW185). She maintains that poet arrives for the maintenance of openness. Renouncing the seal he casts in anchor in the native land.... he consecrates the house of gods ... (Irigaray 104-5). If we are to assume that the guardian of the openness of the circle of forgetfulness and Nothingness is the poet and the artist, then we are to assume that the presencing of the artist does, indeed, work to build the temple for the gods that Heidegger cites in his later work as being in the brightness of the sun." In a similar fashion, /I

/I ...

11

II

LOST IN THE HORIZON

we are forced to accept Heidegger's assertion that poetry is the saying of the world and earth, the saying of the arena .... the place of all nearness and remoteness of the gods" (BW 185). However, we should be cautious of those who create and maintain metaphors of presence and illumination (we will explore the precise implications of their building and brightness later).

II

IV

lrigaray continues to show how Heidegger fails to re­ solve the problem of positing Being as substantive in his final discussion of the historical pathways (clearing) of Da-sein.

At the end of his Being and Time he states, "We must look for a way to illuminate the fundamental ontological question and follow it" (BT 398). She pursues this statement, and others similar to it, because of Heidegger's metaphors that focus entirely on the ability to appear and be seen. Irigaray develops her discussion of his metaphors quite early in her critique, discussing how his use of horizon and illumination should not be taken superficially. She provides a provocative narrative that discusses the metaphoric implication of Heidegger's horizon and illumination.

Irigaray begins her discussion of Heidegger' s horizon by discussing it in terms of a mode of establishing presence, a way of making known that relies on statisticity and place­ ment, discussing how the sun assists in awakening forgetful­ ness. The sun allows matter to be seen individually, sepa­ rated and at a distance. Butitis the source. It is always hidden in mourning (morning). With light as his source, man enters into the economy and into reserve. He begins to make/ ascribe absence to presence (Irigaray 44-5). Later, she re­ marks in a similar fashion, liThe morning, when the sunrises, that is when order is restored. Everything is there and posed in front of him in lumination. Matter, which does not allow that entrance into the Other, is day" (Irigaray 50). The only thing that designates what is placed and how it is placed is the sun, which is bright and heavy. The sun, then, represents his domination through the presencing that must occur when we become locked into a horizon. But Irigaray indicates that

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"her being is not in a perceptible horizon. He is always entering through her." Unlike air, which flows through everything and allows for life, the sun shines on everything and makes present. She continues, claiming that this rising of the sun marks the passage ofthe Other. Whenthesunrises, she is always inplace.. (Irigaray 44). She states more specifi­ cally that because of the sun"... she is held at a distance and her movements are controllable .... this is the place she occu­ pies in the world, where she is named and approximated....

He is joyful with his mourning (morning)" (Irigaray 40). So Heidegger's discussion of the sun's rising reaffirms Irigaray's discussion of his obsession with presencing through assimi­ lation and domination. She finds that the sun is used as a metaphor for the logocentric origins of Heidegger's ontol­ ogy. Although the sun and the light attempt to illuminate and reveal her, she still remains air and every attempt at illumination results in a false presence and articulation of her.

So, as we come to understand how man is concretely rooted in his ability to emerge in/ from his ability to become present in his location, it is then necessary to look directly at Heidegger's vocabulary when he presents historicity.

Heidegger first links historicity and metaphor when he slates, "that for more advanced Da-sein day and the presence of sunlight no longer possess an eminent function, because this Da-sein has the advantage of being able to tum the night into d ay"(BT381). This turning of night into day represents the extreme ability of the earth to not only illuminate the path­ way for itself, but to clear the pathway for history to emerge, to create a "clearing." Heidegger states in his later work, "Upon the earth and in it historical man grounds his dwell­ ing in the world" (BWl71). So the clearing for historical man must be grounded in the earth, which can illuminate itself and even have the possibility of aSSimilating the night into grants and the day. This lighting, according to Heidegger, guarantees to us humans a passage to those beings that we ourselves are not, and access to the being that we ourselves are..." (BW 175). The illumination of history that is made possible by the presencing of the earth is further assimilated /I

,/1

/I •••

LOST IN THE HORIZON

by the light which accompanies our passages to the openness of the circle of meaning and forgetfulness, where man always returns to himself.

Irigaray contrasts Heidegger' s use of the sun and horizon with the transparency and fluidity of the night. She claims that" ...she (air) can only be heard when she cries in the night," and that"in the apparition of the night, when the sun is down, it is possible to enter..." (Irigaray 45). It is interesting to look at Irigaray' s use of night to describe the location of the feminine (air). As her being is maintained in the nocturnal cover, she uses the metaphor that is usually associated with anxiety, despair, lostness, and darkness and is also associated with metaphors often denoting race (Irigaray 106). This is significant because she is maintaining the same kind of difference, the difference between night and day, that has traditionally categorized and exorcized woman from the realm of man. Irigaray opts to find difference in the pathway of the night that not only shows us a" way, but allows for many ways to emerge and confront each other without the blinding gaze of the sun.

Ii

v As we grasp Irigaray's critique of Heidegger's use of logos, historicity, and metaphor, it is useful to examine the traces of the Heideggerian paradigm in Irigaray's own work.

Her work undeniably provides us with a provocative and revol utionary way of re-conceptualizing the role of the femi足 nine in the philosophical tradition, yet, her work also remains within Heidegger's shadow. In her essay "Irigaray Reading Heidegger," Joanna Hodge addresses Irigaray's use of Heidegger's origin./f Irigaray's pronounced understanding of the matricide. that has plagued Western interpretative standards has arguably stemmed from II the originary from which a particular discursive formation is to stay in place ....

An originary event articulates itself as omnipresent and recurrently affirmed set of parameters that open up certain lines of possibility while closing off others/f(Hodge 202).

Hodge wants us to understand that Irigaray's practice in "looking for the silencing gesture of the alternative voices" is II

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made possible because of a methodology that was first recog­ nized by Heidegger's understanding of history, temporality, and unconcealment (Hodge 194). Heidegger writes: "the preconception shackles reflection on the Being of any given being.... We ought to turn toward the being, think a bout it in regard to its Being, but by means of this thinking at the same time let it rest upon itself in its very own essence" (BW160-1).

Hodge clarifies this for us, explaining that the notion of the origin in history has everything to do with finding oneself in some sort of eternal return to sameness. This is the eternal return that lrigaray wants to avoid, yet simultaneously uses in order to evoke her notion of the forgetfulness of air.

However, Hodge directs us towards Heideggerslater analysis of technology and claims that this marks the next prominent difference between Heidegger and lrigaray.

Heidegger's discussion of the residues of technology lead him to fear " ... the distinction between what there is and human activity is eroded.... accomplished only at the cost of abolishing the autonomous existence of the objects of thought: putting wholly what there is at the disposal of human beings and our destructive urges" (Hodge 205-6). Heidegger grounds this fear in his earth metaphor (see previous section) and this is where Irigaray immediately objects. Hodge correctly maintains that Heidegger's later work asserts that the para­ dox of the twentieth century is the impossible logic of technology is to destroy what there is and replace it with human activity and its products .... working toward the de­ struction of the earth" (Hodge 206). Irigaray finds similar problems with the appropriation of the sameness that oblit­ erates sexual difference. But, she finds that instead of trying to save the earth, "there is a kind of change blowing over the earth's surface, disturbing the logic of sameness that lies concealed in Heidegger's invocation of the earth" (Hodge 207). It is clear that the change that is blowing is wind. It is not blowing in the wind, but it is the recognition of air tha t can salvage the earth. She proposes that Irigaray is moving towards a space where "woman can disrupt the exclusive­ ness of philosophy.... the issues themselves are likely to 1/

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-----------------------

53

shift" (Hodge 207).

However, while lrigaray investigates and reads Heideggers corpus using her air metaphor, representing the feminine, it may be wise on the part of the reader to be cautious when evaluating her analysis. lrigamy provides an extremely compelling and creative understanding of why Heidegger does not escape from metaphysical foundations that are the origin" of the matricide and sublimation of the feminine. She is able to flush out Heidegger's dangerous commitment to a logos that sets the stage for language, historicity, and authenticity, all of which are articulated by the intense use of metaphor. But, one must also be cautious and worrisome when she returns to the same Greek concep­ tion of the foundational elements that create the world. Her return to the elements, while understood strategically as a counter-movement to Heideggers his own historical prefer­ ences and foundations, is a foundation that reflects an essen­ tialist position that resides in her own metaphor of air. Why does lrigamy posit sexual difference (as opposed to racial difference or other kinds of difference) as something that is originary and essential as the four elements?

While lrigaray attempts to use air to locate the feminjne as that which offers fluidity and flexibility, she returns to a concept of femininity that is universalized. Statements that organize themselves around universal understandingofllher" and "man" can easily misconstrue an understanding of a clear and unproblematic reading of gender identity and creation. It might be important to make some sort of distinc­ tion, which is often evoked, but not enough in lrigaray's work, between the appropriation of air and air itself. Al­ though the difference between these two descriptions is, itself, not necessarily clear, as Irigaray does answer that air is only appropriated, it is necessary to have an understanding that does not bleed into a reading of air as the original and natural place of woman. This kind of reading could extend into a positing of the feminine and masculine that is only articulated in static metaphors, whether they are earth and air or descriptives such as masculine or feminine. If we are 1/

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trying to create a sphere to recognize sexual difference, or any kind of difference, then we must utilize a methodology that works with the intention of further deconstructing the iden­ tities that are subsumed by what we understand as mascu­ line/feminine and male/female. Irigaray returns to the Greek historical framework to discover that the appropria­ tion of air is responsible for the continued prevalence of matricide and the forgetfulness of the feminine. However, it is not clear after reading her analysis, whether she would be willing to posit and use a terminology that does not re­ inscribe these differences as being masculine and feminine.

Irigaray does anexceptional job as aninterpreter of Heidegger, but one may want to worry about her own commitments to creating an alterative terminology. In the very moment of counter-acting Heidegger' s presencing, it is imperative that we not re-articulate the same ground with a counter-termi­ nology or counter element that is supposed to embody the complexities of difference(s).

Yet, after providing this critique, it is fair to acknowledge that Irigaray is aware of the problems surrounding air and may address these problems with her metaphor. If we under­ stand air as only an appropriation of womanhood, as some­ thing that has been named by the earth and its commitment to presencing, then we have flexibility in our understanding of womanhood. Then the question would no longer be posited around a "liberation" of air, but rather an intense re­ examination of the earth. Furthermore, the metaphor of air does provide a strong foundation for the maintenance of difference on the level of never being able to be seen as something clear or static. Instead, as Irigaray does mention in her work, it preserves differences. But, in light of these positive and productive readings, one may inquire as to what kinds of other differences exist and whether those differences could not be accounted for in the appropriation of air and whether air may not be too "transparent" to address issues such as race and ethnicity. Furthermore, are these differences as "natural" as the Aristotelian elements?

In conclusion, Irigaray's creative and exciting critique of

LOST IN THE HORIZON

Heidegger accurately shows that his use and understanding of logos, while not rooted in the mere presence or present, is still committed to a presencing that requires forgetfulness and the concealment of differences. She addresses his com­ mitment to presencing through language and her use of metaphor leads us to examine Heidegger's authentic Being­ towards-death and historicity as intensely problematic.

Irigaray also intensely focuses on Heidegger's use of meta­ phor and descriptives. She examines his fascination with the illumination and the brightness of fire, his obsession with the earth, as well as his use of silence. By focusing on these elements, Irigaray aims to show, just as her other investiga­ tions into the Western philosophical tradition, how the ap­ propriation of difference has "originated." She develops Heidegger's own notion of forgetfulness to account for this phenomenon, recognizing her own commitment to some of the more productive implications of his work, as discussed

by Hodge. Irigaray shows that the historicity and presencing thatHeidegger suggests as being core to the true understand­ ing of the unconcealment of Being, is rooted in a maintenance of assimilation and sublimation.

Still, as we examine Irigaray' s own incredible response to Heidegger's problem, we find that it could be laden with overarching assumptions as well. While Hodge indicates that the productive critique of lrigaray shows how women have been named and appropriated, it is also necessary to be cautious when addressing elements that are deemed to be essential and natural. It vital that we draw a distinction between beingnamed and re-articulating that name. Irigaray's use of "he" and"she" implicitly suggests that she is merely re-articulating the historical use of these names, but she does not explicitly claim that these distinction are any more com­ plicated than "masculine" and "feminine." Her rooting sexual difference in the naturalness of the elements could fail as theoretical models that try to work away from the natural­ ness of the sex! gender distinction. These models may not show how other differences are just as important when investigating the negative recognitory techniques present in

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the Western philosophical tradition. lrigaray's discussion of Heidegger, provocative and invigorating, leads towards an evaluation of Heidegger that allows us to utilize his work without subscribing to the illusion that he can escape the economy of presence and masculinity that emerges in his discourse.

WORKsQTED

Burke, Carolyn and Margret Whitford,NaomiSchor. Engaging With Irigamy: Feminist Ph.ilosoph.y in Modern European Thought. New York: Columbia, 1994.

Heidegger, Martin. Being and Time. Albany: SUNY Press, 1996, referred to as BT. Heidegger, Martin. Martin Heidegger: Basic Writings. ed.

David Farrell Krell. New York: Harper and Row, 1977, referred to as BW. Hodge, Joanne. "Irigaray Reading Heidegger," in Engaging with Irigamy: Feminist Philosophy in Modern European Thought: 191-209.

Irigaray, Luce. L'Oubli de ['Air chez Martin Heidegger. Paris: Les Editions de Minuit, 1983.

Mortenson, Ellen. The Feminine and Nihilism. Oslo: Scandinavian Press, 1994.

THE BUDDHIST PROBLEM OF EMPTINESS

Ian Varley

Skidmore College

In this essay, I would like to present a logical problem with the idea, evident in the writing of Geshe Rabten and Keiji Nishitani, of an innate human tendency towards .substantializationand objectification, which they oftenspeak of as being an "instinctual" characteristic of human exist足 ence. The problem, specifically, is this: how can Buddhism claim that humans have an innate tendency towards incor足 rectly imputing permanence and a positive essence to the world, while at the same time maintaining that humans have no innate qualities at all? I am not claiming the problem to be in any way unconquerable; on the contrary, I hope that an attempt at solving it may serve as a means by which to clarify a realm of Buddhist thought which is difficult to talk about even in its most clear moments. First, I would like to define the problem itself as it comes up in the writings of Rabten and Nishitani; then I would like to defend the idea that such an nmate tendency might exist as such, by making recourse to the nature of our perception and our language as humans.

Finally, I would like to present what is more likely to be the correct analysis of the concepts, emptying the clanns made by Nishitani to the level at which he most likely intended them.

We begin, then by stating the question: Why do we substantialize? The initial answer to this question, which seems to me at first terribly unsatisfying to the philosopher, is thatitis our destinyll. We are bound to read substance and permanence into our world, according to Buddhism, by the very nature of the universe and the nature of our minds. In the Buddhist literature in general, there seems to be a tacit acceptance of this problem as a general human defect, espe足 cially in relation to the question of why people need to be II

Varley is a philosophy major at Skidmore College.

EPISTEME - VOLUME IX - SEPTEMBER 1998

IAN VARLEY

enlightened. Of course, the fact of the matter is that enlight­ ened people are in the extreme minority compared to those suffering in samsara, so whether or not it truly is an inborn human fault, it is the prevalent state for the majority of human existence. But why then make these strong claims, especially in light of the empty nature of human existence?

Before we can answer, let us actually look at some of these claims.

In his book Echoes of Voidness, Geshe Rabten comes to this point as a part of his analysis of the "Heart of Wisdom Sutra". Although all things arise dependently, he says, we must realize that: All things instinctively appear to us as though they did exist independently, as though they were en­ dowed with their own autonomous self-existence.

Take for example a mountain. From its own side, it seems to have an inherent substantiality and mas­ siveness independent of all conditions. It stands there against us: imposing, independent and con­ crete. But upon reflection we shall slowly become aware that this mountain depends for its existence upon a variety of causes and conditions [ ... ] (Rabten 30)

Again, he comes close to this subject when talking about the selflessness of phenomena. He makes a clever analogy, comparing the unenlightened person to someone with a cataract, who sees things that are not there. In the same way, people who are in samsara naturally see substance which is not there: Because bewilderment obstructs one from seeing the nature of phenomena, it is said to be deceived. And the Mighty One taught that whatever objects are artificially affected by it and thus appear to be true are deceptive, Le. conventional truths. For those who have abandoned the apprehension of inherent exist­ ence, however, things which are so artificially af­ fected are seen as merely deceptive but not as

THE BUDDHIST PROBLEM OF EMPTINESS

true.(Rabten 58) Rabten does not question why this is the case, but merely makes the comparison. Reality is simply not what it seems to be to the unenlightened mind. Although as human beings we are equipped with eyes, ears, and minds capable of accepting and sorting the ambulating mountains of sense data we constantly take in, the picture we put together is not a true one, because we see the world as containing objects and sub­ stance, of having an essence of positive being. To the Bud­ dhistway ofthinking, this positive being is not what we think it is; it is merely empty appearance, and it is our mistake to think (as we all do) that the story ends there. We are constantly betrayed by our perceptions and mental imputa­ tions of the world, just as someone with a cataract is betrayed into thinking he sees hairs where there are no hairs. This comparison might lead us to believe that Rabten sees the substantializing impulse in the unenlightened mind as a quasi-p hysical manifestation, owing its existence to nature or dharma or dependent arising in the way he would speak of any other physical characteristic. On the other hand, how­ ever, keep in mind that he makes the above statement in the course of proving that the self and all things are essentially empty and cannot have intrinsic characteristics. Is this a contradiction, or is there something we are not yet seeing?

Let us push forward and attempt to glean more from other arguments.

Keiji Nishitani makes reference to the concept of an inherent objectifying tendency at several points. Inhis analy­ sis, he grapples with this problem, and attempts several versions of qualification or explanation. In the course of his discussion on Kant and the "old metaphysics", he says: The problem of the thing-in-itself developed, in fact, from the presupposition of [an objective, representa­ tional point of view] as a constant base. To view things as objects is, after all, to grasp things on the field of consciousness, under the Form they display

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insofar as they unveil themselves to us. In that case, as a matter of course, all objects are received as representations.(Nishitani 133) He here identifies consciousness as the agent of extortion by which we are forced to see everything as representationat objective, and filled with positive essence. He criticizes Kant in that despite his belief in the Copernican revolution, he is still operating from the same base as those Western metaphy足 sicians (Descartes, Spinoza, Leibniz, etc.) who preceded him.

Namely, he is still framing the world around him in terms of subjects and objects, and merely removing the real" objects by a step and calling them noumena, leaVing us only with the phenomena we ourselves force onto the world, as a frontis足 piece for the elusive noumena of which we can have no experience. Nishitani, in this instance, says that as long as we function on the field of consciousness, we will necessarily be caught in the subject object distinction. Although he does not finish the connection in this passage, the next logical step is to realize that insofar as consciousness is a normal, universal facet of human existence, our tendency to objectify is brought once more to the level of instinct. In other places he refers to this tendency as the" essential attachment to things that lurks in the essence of consciousness" and our orientation to know objects and relate to them as [subjective]" (Nishitani 151, 155). He also ties the idea to the Buddhist word avidya (Uthe darkness of ignorance") in which the self, because it must impute permanence, positive being, and essence to things, remains"opaque and not yet penetrated to its core" (Nishitani 204). This lack of clarity seems to be a stumbling block which is as much a part of being human as seeing or hearing at all. "In fact," he says of avidya, this state of affairs is the constant companion of history, following it around like a shadow" (Nishitani 204). Here and elsewhere, we see Nishitani is in fact making a claim about the breadth and depth of this tendency towards substantialization in human II

LI

II

Existenz.

In taking a step back from this stream of thought, we see what the obvious objection is, which was mentioned above.

THE BUDDHIST PROBLEM OF EMPTINESS

If, according to the Buddhist standpoint, we are essentially

empty in the manner of sunyata, how can we then speak of anything as being our destiny? Using the term destiny connotes many things which are directly opposed to the entire concept of sunyata, in that destiny" is something inevitable and predetermined, or moreover beyond human power or control. Is this truly the claim that is being made of our tendency to objectify the world? Would it not have been better to use another vocabulary in this case, such as speaking in terms of "necessity" or "compulsion" perhaps? If we are going to maintain on the one hand that all appearances are empty of substance and essence, but on the other that our minds (empty though they be) have a characteristic which is enduring, specifically that all humans, by their very nature, tend towards objectification and substantialization, then we have some reconciling to do.

In the next section of this essay, I would like to defend this prospect as well as possible, to see if it has merit despite its obvious tension with the concept of the emptiness and void足 ness of all things. I would offer two initial solutions, one more satisfying than the other, but both worthy of discussion. To say that it is our destiny or instinct to make the world into a permanent and objectified substance is basically to say that this action has its origin in some aspect of our nature. What are two facets of our material existence in the world that relate to this? Our physical sensation and perception of the world, and our language. Let us deal with each of these sides separa tely.

In the course of his discussion on the knowing of 110t足 knowing, Nishitani says that "not even the so-called subject, but even the body is an apparition of selfness" (Nishitani 156). Our consciousness is very much linked to ourbody, and our body has limitations. Our survival in the world, at the most basic level, is dependent upon our ability to perceive the physical nature of the world around us. If we are lacking in the areas of sensation or perception, it is simply a fact that we will not live long enough to consider the questions of.our essential nature in the first place. (Whether or not it is II

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essentially empty on the field of sunyata, the delivery truck coming down the street at 60 miles per hour will kill us if we choose to interfere with it.) Psychological research tells us that in our system of perception, we have many little" tricks which tend to aid us in the process of taking a large, complex field of input (our vision, for example) and delineating it into discrete meaningful areas, such as foreground and back足 ground, near and far, up and down, etc. It isby means of these perceptive tricks that we are quickly able to determine how distant the truck is and how fast it is moving, even though we are only actually seeing blotches of color moving past each other. This ability is so engrained in our perceptive abilities that we rarely see these perceptive tricks occurring, and if we do, it is only in the case of an optical illusion or other unusual circumstance.

My point is this, that if such mechanisms are known to be in place in as simple a realm as ourvisual perception, so much more can we assume they exist in the realm of our mental framing of the world. This is the realm of phenomenology, of course. So perhaps we can say that Nishitani uses the word 1/ destiny" in his writing to connote the idea that we are originally oriented in such a way as to impute substantiality in the things around us, in that it helps us to survive physi足 cally. Going back to the Rabten analogy of the cataract, perhaps it would be better to compare our predestined substantializing tendency to something like a person who sees an optical illusion. Take the following picture, for example: lf

THE BUDDHIST PROBLEM OF EMP1"INESS

The two squares in the center are exactly the same size.

However, the white center square on the right seems bigger than the black center square on the left because our eyes tend to expand white on black, and decrease black on white. This is a defect, in that it prevents us from seeing what is actually the case. But unlike the cataract, we do not simply dismiss this error as a type of disease. More like the "destiny" Nishitani speaks of, this example shows a tendency to sub­ stantialize that is a part of being human, at least insofar as we understand being human. This example is preferable to the example of someone with a cataract (at least, it is if we want to maintain that this substantializing tendency is instinctual) because the cataract is a disease which developed over time, whereas the perceptual illusion seems to be common to all people regardless of their background.

The other possibility by which we can explain this"des­ tiny" is that perhaps Buddhism labels this problem as instinc­ tual or destiny-bound because it has to do with representationality, which is central to the nature of language, which is in turn all-important to our humanity. Language is our mode of understanding everything, as well as the only bridge connecting us and others. Language functions, to be criminally simple, by establishing metaphorical relation­ ships between symbols (words) and corresponding objects or concepts. Implicit in this relationship is the fact that words mean something; they mean some thing, and thing" in this case easily slips to mean some objective, essential, substantial thing which is heavy and solid with its own being. To say "apple" already has the effect of pinning down apple as a solid object, capable of holding its ground against the on­ slaughts of nihility. To say "love" marks love as something which we can talk about, and in turn, some thing to which characteristics can belong; which can exist or not exist and be authentically objective ih either case. Perhaps to find a problem with Nishitani's use of fhe word"destiny" is to miss the fundamental point that language has the effect of pinning us to substantiality (and pinning substantiality to us) in a nearly inescapable way. /I

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To this second idea, the Buddhist might object, citing that in enlightenment, what has happened is not that we stop using words; we continue to speak and write, but we some­ how manage to avoid doing it in a substantializing way.

Apple becomes apple2, and love becomes love2, in the man­ ner of conventional truth, meaning that we speak now relat­ ing to things in their appearance (knowing that they are only appearances, but also that in the appearance lies the very fullness of essence). Language is therefore not the culprit, or at least, not a reason to be using the word destiny" .

As a matter of fact, this same objection can be applied to the first solution I offered to our problem, that of physical perception leading us into a broader fonn of substantializing.

If it is the case that we have the ability to escape these problems, why are they born into us? Could it not be the case that a baby is born who might learn to perceive and use language in a non-essential way? After all, enlightened monks can do it, and they are only human. Whatis on the line here is the question of nurture versus nature, albeit in a more in-depth way than the usual debate: are we naturally born to substantialize the world, or is it something we learn as we grow up? If Buddhism is going to maintain that it is inborn and unalterable at that level, how can they still claim that human existence is essentially empty? If on the other hand, they hold that yes, human existence is empty and has no inherent qualities, they must admit that the objectifying impulse is learned and not an innate characteristic we pos­ sess. 1 It is a sticky situation we have put ourselves in now, but perhaps we can be aided by a discussion of Nishitani' s earlier in his chapter.

One clue we have which may help defend Nishitani against the contradictions raised above comes in his discus­ sion of the historicity of self-centeredness. Citing Arnold Toynbee, he explains that what we may actually be looking at is, in part, a mode of self-centeredness. Western history, starting with Israel as God's chosen people", is a goal­ oriented, directional history, and as such naturally empha­ sizes the "master" side of the master-sive-slave relationship of circuminsessional interpenetration. It tends to put us as /I

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THE BUDDFUST PROBLEM OF EMPTINESS

the players on the stage of life, as Shakespeare has quoth, and thus the center of it all. We become subject, all else becomes object: "Given this standpoint, the self-centeredness of mall casts its shadow over everything. Trying to elude this shadow is in vain" (Nishitani 203).

This is the problemj what is the solution? The talk of this tendency being "innate" can only go so far, and Nishitani's pointinbringing it up is to make it clear to us that Buddhism's radical emptiness is in fact the only cure for the disease: liThe Buddhaic mode of thought has one distinct advantage over the Western mode: the former contains the possibility of going beyond the self-centeredness that is innate not only in man but in all living things" (Nishitani202). Aha! Here we see two things. First, his most candid admission of the basic problem discussed in this paper: the self-centeredness that is innate not only in man but in all living things." If not for the context of this statement, we would have to say that Nishitani has allowed just enough rope to hang his self of no­ self. However, the escape is evident in this statement. Bud­ dhism, and the standpoint of sunyata, gives us the only" out" from what is otherwise an innate tendency, by making us understand that it is "innate" only insofar as any conditional truth can be innate. On the level of ultimate truth, however, it is just as empty as our need to breathe or eat. On the field of rationality, it is a logical problem. The field of sunyata, on the other hand, transcends the field of logic, and therefore does not need to worry about this contradiction as a problem.

Going more in-depth into this idea, we come to see that our "problem" is no problem at all, but rather it is at most a careless choice of language. The tendency to objectify is part and parcel of the substantial mode of thinking which traps us all until we become enlightened, but that is not at all to say thatitis our home-ground. Nihility opens up in our lives not as something external, but as coextant with life itself, and in embracing this nihility, we become truly ourselves for the first time, and "take leave of the essential attachment to things that lurks in the essence of consciousness and by virtue of which we get caught in the grasp of things in trying to grasp them in an objective, representational manner" 1/ • • •

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IAN VARLEY

(Nishitani 151). In enlightenment, our vain attachment to things is exchanged for a new relation to things as primal facts, and it is this relationship which is our most fundamen足 tal mode of being, not our attachment to things in the realm of samsara. In the war between the destiny" of this errone足 ous tendency and the clearing force" of sunyata, we see the struggle of where to locate our primal, basic ontology: either in permanence and absolute being on the one hand, or in impermanence, negativity, and emptiness onthe other. Bud足 dhismholds the latter to be the most basic, and I would argue that as long as writers persist in calling the substantializing tendency by the misnomer of "destiny", Buddhism is only hurting its own project.

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WORKS CITED

Nishitani, Keiji. Religion and Nothingness. Trans. Jan Van Bragt. Berkeley, CA.: University of California Press, 1982.

Rabten, Geshe. Echoes a/Voidness. Trans. Stephen Batchelor.

London: Wisdom Publications, 1983.

NOTES

In this case, I would think that it should be one of the goals of Buddhism to change the world in this respect, so that right from birth we attempt to keep children from substantializing the world in perception and language, rather than accepting the fact that each human being must endure a youth of learning to substantialize everything, only then to turn around and unlearn what was learned.

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