SHAKESPEARE: The Tempest

At some point in their lives most people get fed up with “the rat race” and daydream about getting away from it all, somewhere far away; maybe a simple island, where they can live happily ever after. This happens (sort of) in Shakespeare’s play The Tempest. Miranda is fifteen years old. She was taken to an island by her father when she was three years old and has been brought up far away from the corrupting influence of cities and cell phones. So Miranda is no ordinary teenager; which is good because Prospero is no ordinary father. He’s a magician or a wizard of sorts and is also the undisputed king of the island. But Prospero’s not an ordinary king. He once ruled Milan. Now his only subjects are island “spirits” such as the fairy-like being called Ariel and a half-man, half-monster/creature named Caliban. So how do they all get along? Not as well as you might imagine in your daydreams. Ariel is kept in servitude only because Prospero threatens to pin him/her (do spirits have genders?) inside an oak tree for twelve long winters. Ariel would gladly run away at the first opportunity. And Caliban once tried to rape Miranda, so Prospero has had to keep on the lookout ever since. Caliban still has plans to people the island with little Calibans by using Miranda’s body, if he ever gets a chance.

When the play opens there’s a terrible storm. A ship has been sunk and the crew washed ashore, along with lots of booze. Even out here in the middle of nowhere, there’s always something going on; life’s just one darn thing after another. Obviously this little faraway island isn’t much better than the rat race back home. Still, it’s a wondrous island, full of music and magic and love. When Miranda first sees the stranded sailors from Naples she exclaims How many goodly creatures are there here! How beauteous mankind is! O brave new world, That has such people in't! Of course not all these “goodly creatures” are “beauteous” at all. There are also drunkards, thieves, assassins, rapists, cowards and fools included in the bunch. Miranda is totally innocent of knowing about these kinds of men. What kind of Queen would she make back in Milan or Naples? What kind of education could she have received on a deserted island to prepare her for life in the big city, much less all the intrigues involved in courtly life?

And what good did education do Caliban? He says You taught me language; and my profit on't Is, I know how to curse: the red plague rid you, For learning me your language. Caliban doesn’t want to be educated. He only wants to be in charge of the island and left to do what he wants to do; including having sex with Miranda. But to be fair, how much different is Caliban from the “civilized” sailors from Naples? Caliban (half-man, half-beast) is really only doing what his nature requires. He’s up front about his desires and doesn’t try to hide them. The sailors are crafty and devious. Which is worse? And there’s a softer side to Caliban we rarely see. He tells the shipwrecked sailors from Naples to Be not afeard; the isle is full of noises, Sounds and sweet airs, that give delight and hurt not. Sometimes a thousand twangling instruments Will hum about mine ears, and sometime voices That, if I then had waked after long sleep, Will make me sleep again: and then, in dreaming, The clouds methought would open and show riches Ready to drop upon me that, when I waked, I cried to dream again. Caliban isn’t sophisticated but he knows what pleasure is, and he knows what pain is. He’s almost child-like in his attempt to fall back asleep and pick up where he left off in a good dream. Caliban retires into his dreams because his reality is so dismal. His mother was a witch, literally. We can only guess what kind of childhood Caliban had. In short, he’s lonely. He probably daydreams about getting away from it all; maybe someplace where there are lots of Miranda’s to choose from. Someplace far away, maybe a big city like Naples or Milan. Faraway islands have their problems too.

DIDEROT: Rameau’s Nephew

Socrates is a hero to every generation of college students. They normally sign up for Philosophy 101 to get credit for a course in the humanities so they can graduate from college. Then they can go out into the world and look for a job with a bachelor’s degree tucked neatly into their resume. Socrates himself would probably have been amused at this state of affairs. Diderot’s character Rameau would have understood perfectly. In 18th century French society Rameau was adept at leeching off rich cultivated Parisians. That way he didn’t have to do any real work. In modern-day America he would likely have tried to make a living off university stipends, government programs and grants from private foundations. That way he wouldn’t have to do any real work.
Come to think of it, neither did Socrates; unless talking about philosophy is considered an occupation. Does that count as real work?

The narrator in Diderot’s short story introduces us to a unique character, Rameau, who is a philosopher in his own kind of way. He only thinks about himself. He doesn’t give a damn about the rest of the world. Come to think of it, one of Socrates’ favorite quotes was “know thyself” and he also taught that living in our everyday world was like living in a dark cave. He wanted his students to turn their backs on the “real” world and follow him into the sunlit splendors of philosophy. But Rameau was having none of that. He liked this world just fine, thank you very much. In fact, he was against most of the things that Socrates was for; philosophy, for example. Rameau says Lord, may I never meet anyone more pigheaded than a philosopher…Virtue and philosophy aren’t for everybody. For the few who can, let them have it. Socrates exhorted his students to seek a higher level of existence than we find in the workaday world. Rameau was having none of that either: The important point is that we exist and that we exist as you and I. Let everything else go. The best order of things, in my view, is one in which I exist here in this world. Who cares about life in a perfect world if I'm not in it? … So let's just accept things the way they are. Rameau accepted the world the way it is, imperfect as it is. That’s good enough for ordinary people. It’s the smarty-pants of the world that screw things up: We must have men, but not men of genius. No, my goodness, we don't need them. They're the ones who are constantly trying to change things … evil has always come from some genius. All this talk about philosophy gives folks unrealistic expectations about life. And therefore about how life should actually be lived: Virtue is praised, but really it’s hated. People avoid it when they can, because it’s ice-cold and in this world we have to keep our feet warm. A lot of times devout people are harsh, touchy and unsociable. That’s because they’ve forced themselves to do something that’s unnatural. They’re in pain, and people in pain make other people suffer too. This certainly gives a different spin on the Socratic method of trying to instill virtue into his students.

College wouldn’t have done a man like Rameau much good. He wouldn’t have followed the course guidelines anyway: You’d be surprised how little I care about methods and rules. The man who needs a textbook won’t get very far in life. Geniuses don’t read much, but they experiment a lot. Rameau has a simple philosophy developed on his own: I want a good bed, good food, warm clothes in winter, cool in summer, plenty of rest, money, and other things that I would rather have given to me than to earn them by working. This may be a bit blunt but at least it’s a coherent philosophy of life. And he may have given Socrates a run for his money in a fair and open debate. Not everyone will agree with Rameau’s outlook. College students will more likely gravitate (intellectually) to the message of Socrates. But many of them will actually live daily lives more like Rameau than Socrates. Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery.

MONTAIGNE: Of Experience

There is no desire more natural than that of knowledge. We try all ways that can lead us to it; where reason fails us, we use experience… That’s the way Montaigne’s essay “Of Experience” begins. Here we go again, you might think; another dry academic treatise; another boring philosopher. Ho hum. But Montaigne isn’t a philosopher. He’s a flesh-and-blood man. He understands the way ordinary people think and he knows how they feel about studying philosophy: Philosophy is very childish, to my mind, when she gets up on her hind legs and preaches to us… Montaigne doesn’t preach. He just tells us what he thinks because that’s the subject he knows best: I study myself more than any other subject. No matter our station in life we would be wise to do the same. Montaigne believes that the life of Caesar has no more to show us than our own; an emperor’s or an ordinary man’s, it is still a life subject to all human accidents. Let us only listen: we tell ourselves what we most need. My own life should interest me more than reading about Julius Caesar. If my life seems dull in comparison to Caesar’s, that’s because I’m not paying attention. Of course we can learn a lot by reading. We can learn even more when we discuss what we read with other people. Montaigne asks: When do we agree and say, “There has been enough about this book; henceforth there is nothing more to say about it?” In a group discussion we always come away with more than we walked in with: new insights or ideas we hadn’t thought of while reading on our own. Still, when all is said and done we have to make up our own minds about what we think. No one can do it for us. We can read commentaries but Montaigne points out that it is more of a job to interpret the interpretations than to interpret the things, and there are more books about books than about any other subject: we do nothing but write glosses about each other. The world is swarming with commentaries; of authors there is a great scarcity. In other words, reading commentaries will help us gain more knowledge. But commentaries will not make us wise. Wisdom is something we can only get through the experience of living and thinking for ourselves.

So then the obvious question is: how should we live and think? This is a question every mature person must consider. Montaigne has given the question a lot of thought. His advice is surprisingly simple: The most usual and common way of living is the best… All that deep thinking, and that’s the best he can come up with? Actually, “the most usual and common way of living” is both more difficult and yet easier than it sounds. It’s difficult because over the years Montaigne learned that There is nothing so beautiful and legitimate as to play the man well and properly, no knowledge so hard to acquire as the knowledge of how to live this life well and naturally… And he gives us fair warning that we can’t learn about life from reading about it in books. We have another mission: To compose our character is our duty, not to compose books, and to win not battles and provinces but order and tranquility in our conduct. Our great and glorious masterpiece is to live appropriately. Life will come naturally and gracefully to those who “live appropriately.” Montaigne has comforting words for modern-day slackers: We are great fools. “He has spent his life in idleness,” we say; “I have done nothing today.” What, have you not lived? That is the only fundamental but the most illustrious of your occupations…Have you been able to think out and manage your own life? You have done the greatest task of all. To be socially and financially successful is a worthy goal, but to live well is enough for most of us. We may not ever be rich or famous or beautiful but Montaigne says the most beautiful lives, to my mind, are those that conform to the common human pattern, with order, but without miracle and without eccentricity. Montaigne believes just being an average person is a worthy goal. The modern world could use more philosophers who think like Montaigne.

PLATO: Symposium

When was the last time you walked into a bar and heard a bunch of guys discussing the nature of love in a philosophical tone? That’s sort of what Plato’s Symposium is all about. Drinking and philosophy generally don’t mix. When most guys start drinking they believe they’re saying profound things but are really just acting goofy. That’s the usual result of a dazed mind and confused thinking. Socrates was an exception. He could out-drink everybody in the bar and still remain clear headed. Philosophy was his passion in life and alcohol didn’t affect his mission of bringing philosophy to everyone he met. Apparently he was successful at it. One of Socrates’ pupils admits that …I don’t know anything that gives me greater pleasure, or profit either, than talking or listening to philosophy. But when it comes to ordinary conversation, such as the stuff you talk about finance and the money market, well I find it pretty tiresome personally, and I feel sorry that my friends should think they’re very busy when they’re really doing absolutely nothing. Of course, I know what you think of me; you think I’m just a poor unfortunate philosopher, and you’re probably right. But here’s the difference: I don’t think that you’re unfortunate, I KNOW you are. This is the kind of attitude that can get you into a fight in a bar. It eventually got Socrates killed.

Ordinary people may be forgiven for asking if there’s a link between philosophy and real life. Of course philosophy professors say there is. But let’s put it to the test and find out for ourselves. Let’s take a common human experience: love. Everybody knows about love and everybody has an opinion. What can philosophy tell me about love that I can’t find out in my local bar? In Symposium we find not just one, but several answers:
PHAEDRUS: Love is a god…the ancient source of all our highest good.
PAUSANIUS: There are two kinds of love: earthly and heavenly. The earthly Aphrodite’s Love…governs the passions of the vulgar. Heavenly love… is innocent of any hint of lewdness.
ERYXIMACHUS: Love is the ordering principle or harmony that is necessary to the good of all things.
ARISTOPHANES: The real nature of man is like this…in the beginning…the race was divided into three: male, female, and hermaphrodite. (they were originally one creature, with four arms and four legs, two faces, etc. but because of human pride Zeus) cut them in half…(now) love is always trying to reintegrate our former nature, to make two into one, and to bridge the gulf between one human being and another.
AGATHON: Love is…tender, beautiful, wise, temperate, the loveliest and the best of the gods, and the author of virtue, peace and friendship among men.

So there’s philosophy for you. Ask a simple question and you get five different answers. And according to Socrates, they’re not even the right answers. For Socrates, love is a life-long search for beauty. The right answer goes something like this: Starting from individual beauties, the quest for the universal beauty must find him ever mounting the heavenly ladder, stepping from rung to rung; that is, from one to two, and from two to every lovely body, from bodily beauty to the beauty of institutions, from institutions to learning, and from learning in general to the special study that pertains to nothing but the beautiful itself…if man’s life is ever worth living, it is when he has attained this vision of the very soul of beauty. There are at least three good options here. You can (1) go to a bar, drink beer and listen philosophically to Hank Williams sing I’m so lonesome I could cry; (2) sit home and read Plato; or (3) forget about love and go do something else.

ST. AUGUSTINE: The City of God

In the Great Books tradition we run across a great variety of people from a wide variety of backgrounds. We meet a poor Russian coffin maker/fiddle player (Rothschild’s Fiddle); an English captain on a steamboat in the middle of Africa (Heart of Darkness); an Egyptian Queen and Roman politicians (Antony and Cleopatra, Caesar and Cleopatra); Greek and Trojan heroes (The Iliad); Italian nobility (The Prince); French courtiers and sycophants (The Misanthrope); Christian martyrs (Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire); and American citizens (The Federalist). There doesn’t seem to be a lot in common with most of these people. In spite of these appearances Augustine assures us that there are no more than two kinds of human society, which we may justly call two cities, according to the language of our Scriptures. The one consists of those who wish to live after the flesh, the other of those who wish to live after the spirit. Is this true? At bottom are there really only two kinds of people in the world? If so, does that mean that those who “live after the flesh” are bad and those who “live after the spirit” are good? We might think so. Augustine doesn’t. Why? Because if anyone says that the flesh is the cause of all vices and ill conduct, inasmuch as the soul lives wickedly only because it is moved by the flesh, it is certain he has not carefully considered the whole nature of man. Man isn’t merely a body and he isn’t merely a soul. He’s both. They’re fused into one complete being. Neither is complete and would cease to exist without the other. So Augustine wants us to be very careful to understand what he means by the terms “living after the flesh” and “living after the spirit.” He goes on to say that in enunciating this proposition of ours, then, that because some live according to the flesh and others according to the spirit, there have arisen two diverse and conflicting cities, we might equally well have said, “because some live according to man, others according to God.” So what Augustine is really saying is that there’s a big difference between people who live according to man and those who live according to God: this is the great difference which distinguishes the two cities of which we speak, the one being the society of the godly men, the other of the ungodly, each associated with the angels that adhere to their party, and the one guided and fashioned by love of self, the other by love of God.

The main difference is the motivation (or “love”) which drives our lives. Augustine sums up this idea when he says Two cities have been formed by two loves: the earthly by the love of self…the heavenly by the love of God. The things that motivate people seem to drive them into two distinct parties. Those who believe that man is the measure of all things follow one standard. Those who try to live according to the laws of God follow another standard. Does it really matter which standard we follow? Can those who live according to man be just as good, or better, than those who live according to God? This is a difficult and complicated question. It depends on how we define the term “good.” Augustine doesn’t waver. He believes the man who lives according to God, and not according to man, ought to be a lover of good, and therefore a hater of evil. This doesn’t mean the City of God will be perfect in this life. We all inherited sin from our original parents Adam and Eve. In a modern manner of speaking sin is in our DNA. But even though we won’t be perfected in this earthly life Augustine believes we should try. We won’t be perfect but at present it is enough if we live without crime… Our “affections” will invariably lead us into various lusts for pleasure, money, and the thousand other temptations in the City of Man. But …we must live a good life in order to attain to a blessed life; a good life has all these affections right, a bad life has them wrong. The goal is to live a blessed life and according to Augustine a blessed life is possessed only by the man who loves it. Any of us can leave behind the City of Man and enter into the City of God. Augustine shows us the way.

GEORGE BERNARD SHAW: Caesar and Cleopatra

Shakespeare’s play Antony and Cleopatra is a love story but it’s also the story of the clash between the cultures of Rome and Egypt. George Bernard Shaw’s Caesar and Cleopatra is a love story too and it’s also the story of the clash between the cultures of Rome and Egypt. So what’s the difference? In Shakespeare CLEOPATRA says: He (Antony) was dispos’d to mirth, but on the sudden a Roman thought hath struck him. For Shakespeare Rome was grimly firm; Egypt was pleasantly weak. Mark Antony was portrayed as sliding away from the manly Roman virtues into the extravagant pleasures offered by “the East” as personified in Cleopatra. In Shaw’s play Romans are generally portrayed as crude money-grabbers while Egyptians are portrayed as the truly civilized culture. Shaw has the Egyptian BELZANOR say: That shows that the Romans are cowards. His companion BEL AFFRIS replies: They care nothing about cowardice, these Romans: they fight to win. The pride and honor of war are nothing to them. This is a different interpretation than the one Shakespeare had made. For Shakespeare the Romans are proud and honorable. They’re just misled by the temptations of an alien Eastern culture. In Shaw’s play it’s the Egyptians who are a proud and honorable people; the Romans are mostly just tough and brutish soldiers from a simple and close-minded country.

But Shaw is too good a writer to follow the simplistic formula Egyptians good, Romans bad. As in real life, there are good and bad people on both sides. And the real fight is between clashing cultural values. Honorable people on both sides violently disagree. It’s not because one is good and the other one is bad, or because one is right and the other one is wrong. They disagree because they’re not starting from the same set of cultural assumptions. For example, the question of whom one should or should not marry and have sexual relations with. The following exchange takes place between honorable men: THEODOTUS: Caesar, you are a stranger here, and not conversant with our laws. The kings and queens of Egypt may not marry except with their own royal blood. Ptolemy and Cleopatra are born king and consort just as they are born brother and sister. BRITANNUS (shocked): Caesar, this is not proper. THEODOTUS: (outraged). How! CAESAR (recovering his self-possession): Pardon him Theodotus, he is a barbarian and thinks that the customs of his tribe and island are the laws of nature. BRITANNUS: On the contrary, Caesar, it is these Egyptians who are barbarians; and you do wrong to encourage them. I say it is a scandal.

Theodotus thinks it’s only natural for royalty to produce royal offspring. That’s the way he was raised. Britannus is horrified at the idea of a brother and sister having sex. That’s the way he was raised. Caesar is wise enough to see the irony at play here and makes this observation:
CAESAR: Scandal or not, my friend, it opens the gate of peace. For Caesar the main question is: what works? In some ways Caesar follows Mill’s Utilitarian philosophy to maximize the pleasure and minimize the pain. This often puts him in conflict with how the rest of the world thinks and acts. And it makes him different from most men. Here’s an example: POTHINUS: Caesar, I come to warn you of a danger, and to make you an offer. CAESAR: Never mind the danger. Make the offer. RUFIO: Never mind the offer. What's the danger? POTHINUS: Caesar, you think that Cleopatra is devoted to you. CAESAR (gravely): My friend I already know what I think. Come to your offer. Pothinus and Rufio are both good and honorable men. But they’re also products of their old fashioned cultures and find comfort in them. Caesar is a universal man and accepts new cultural values but he’s not really “at home” anywhere. Which is better? Shakespeare prefers the old fashioned English way of life. Shaw makes fun of it.

SHAKESPEARE: Henry V

O for a Muse of fire, that would ascend The brightest heaven of invention, A kingdom for a stage, princes to act And monarchs to behold the swelling scene! That’s how Shakespeare begins his play that traces the further adventures of Prince Hal and also of Falstaff and his motley crew. What makes this play different from the rest of Shakespeare’s plays is the use of a Chorus. Unlike the ancient Greek tragedies Shakespeare doesn’t normally use a chorus. But in this case a chorus helps bridge the gaps between France and England; gives an opportunity to explain history to the audience; and accounts for the passage of time that might otherwise be impossible to put on stage. It also helps point out the vast difference between a live theatrical performance and a modern movie. Shakespeare has the chorus speak the lines: Think when we talk of horses, that you see them Printing their proud hoofs i' the receiving earth; For 'tis your thoughts that now must deck our kings, Carry them here and there; jumping o'er times, Turning the accomplishment of many years Into an hour-glass: for the which supply, Admit me Chorus to this history… In other words, you have to use your imagination. Imagine these are horses. Imagine these are decked-out kings. Imagine everyone growing older with the passage of time. In movies we’re not asked to use our imaginations. When we sit in a movie theater we expect to see something: show me real horses. Show me the decked-out kings. Show me people who have grown older as the film progresses. Use make up. Use special effects. Do whatever you have to do, but don’t ask me to use my imagination. Shakespeare teaches us how to imagine history.

Henry V requires a lot of imagination from the audience. It also leaves a lot of difficult questions for readers of the Great Books. Henry V lives in a world of action, not contemplation. Actors must act but the audience is left free to contemplate the action. In another play, Julius Caesar was lenient with conspirators and got assassinated, which threw Rome into a bloody civil war. Here Henry V is harsh with conspirators and lives to become a hero. As a result England was at peace for many years. What’s the lesson? Be tough? Take pre-emptive action before your enemy gets any stronger? Summarily execute those accused of treason? Our reading in the book of Job says: There was a man in the land of Uz, whose name was Job; and that man was perfect and upright, and one that feared God, and eschewed evil…this man was the greatest of all the men of the east. Job tried his best to be good and lost everything he had. Henry spends his youth drinking and carousing with losers like Falstaff and Bardolph, who both fritter away their lives and die miserable deaths. But young Prince Hal goes on to become King Henry V and winds up a hero instead. Why? What’s the lesson here? One of the characters in Moliere’s play The Misanthrope says we should accept people as they are, or else leave them alone. This sounds good to modern ears. But what’s the lesson? Would this advice apply to characters like Falstaff and Bardolph, who are drunkards and thieves? Accept them as they are? How about young Henry (Prince Hal) when he’s out drinking and carousing with them? When should we intervene and when should we just let people be? Gibbon describes the tenacity with which the early Christian martyrs clung to their religion. This baffled the Romans. But these martyrs were heroes to later generations of Christians. The French noblemen clung tenaciously to their king and died by the thousands. But they weren’t considered heroes; they squandered their military superiority and lost the battle of Agincourt. What’s the lesson? Finally, what’s the lesson when your back’s to the wall and you face overwhelming odds? King Henry gives a famous speech to his outnumbered men that goes something like this: We few, we happy few, we band of brothers; For he to-day that sheds his blood with me Shall be my brother… Is war glorious or is it terrible? Shakespeare’s overall lesson seems to be this: it’s better to be lucky, like Henry V.