Friedrich von Schiller, William Tell

Introduction

Opening Passage:

The rocky shore of the Lake of Lucerne, opposite Schwyz. The lake here forms a bay, with a hut a little way from the shore. A fisher-boy is rowing his boat. Across the lake the green meadows, farms and villages of Schwyz can be seen, lying in bright sunshine. To the left of the spectator, the peaks of the Haken can be recognised, veiled in mist; to the right, in the far distance, icy mountains. The herdsman's melody and the musical chiming of cowbells are heard before the curtain rises, continuing for some time afterwards.

FISHER-BOY (singing in his boat. Melody of the ranz des vaches.)
See how the lake so invitingly gleams,
And there on the bank how the fisher-boy dreams;
A music he hears then,
A fluting so fair,
Like voices of angels
In heavenly choir.

Summary: Switzerland seems almost idyllic, but a storm is beginning to gather over the regions of Schwyz, Unterwalden, and Uri. The Swiss are in an unusual situation within the Empire, being a loose collection of cantons allowed to do their own thing under direct authority of the Emperor and his representatives. The current powers that be, however, are steadily encroaching on freedoms that the locals have had for centuries, and are finding that the Swiss take more than words to convince. In the middle of all this is simple, straightforward William Tell, practically a feature of the mountains himself, excellent hunter and boatsman, and, like many an outdoorsman, Tell just wants to avoid trouble and be left alone.

It is not to be. As the pressure of the government, and particularly the zealous governor, Gessler, grows, he finds it difficult to avoid involving himself on occasion. And by sheer happenstance, he becomes the center of a maelstrom when (in a scene that seems to have been made up by Schiller) he fails to show respect to the governor's hat, hanging on a pole in a field, put there as a test of loyalty. Out of this comes Tell's first amazing feat, when the governor cruelly demands that he shoot an apple off the head of his own son. Tell draws two arrows and achieves the feat with the first.

When Gessler asks why he drew the second arrow, Tell finally admits that the second arrow was for the governor if Tell's son had come to any harm. So Gessler arrests him anyway. The sets up for Tell's second amazing feat, as a storm comes up while they are taking a boat on the way back. Since he is the best boatman in the region, they remove his bonds, but he, seeing a desperate opportunity, makes a great leap from the boat to the shore. There is, incidentally, a little chapel on Lake Lucerne to commemorate the Tellensprung, as it is called.

["Tellskapelle2000" by Roland Zumbühl - From Picswiss. Original uploader was Paenultima at de.wikipedia. Transferred from de.wikipedia; transferred to Commons by User:AndreasPraefcke using CommonsHelper. Licensed under CC BY-SA 3.0 via Wikimedia Commons.]

Tell becomes a symbol of revolt -- ironically, since the unbearable incident that drives the revolution is Tell's going above and beyond what anyone could reasonably expect by obeying a cruel and arbitrary order that put his own son at risk. It does so, of course, because in a very public and visible way it shows all the Swiss that Gessler and others like him are not just an inconvenience but a threat to their families. Tell does not, however, lead the revolt, this being a real revolt and not a Hollywood movie. William Tell's only significant contribution after his great leap -- although it is a very significant contribution -- is to speed his second arrow to its destiny in Gessler's heart.

The local citizens join together in a covenant to overthrow the governors. They do not attempt to break away from the Empire, a fact of considerable significance; they see themselves not as rebelling against the Empire but as upholding the Imperial charter that through the centuries has recognized their way of life. This is paralleled in Tell's meeting, at the end, with the Duke John the Parricide, who is on the run after having killed his uncle the Emperor. Tell is horrified at the man, who has killed his own blood over resentment about an inheritance, and, indeed, dared to kill no less than the Emperor. Tell had never originally had any ideas of assassinating a governor; he had just wanted to be left alone. The governor commanded him to endanger his son, and then arrested him even when he obeyed, leaving his wife and sons to fend for themselves; Tell acted on behalf of his family. It was the one oppression more than any man could bear, not a relatively trivial thing like shortchanging a patrimony, and Tell acted against an enemy of his family, not against a member of it.

I was pleasantly surprised by Francis Lamport's translation; verse drama is very difficult to interpret in a way that doesn't end up turgid or awkward, but he does quite well. If you are looking for a good translation, it works well.

Favorite Passage: Stauffacher, one of the leaders of the revolt, gives this passage as part of a long speech. It was a passage that was often censored when the play was performed in the early nineteenth century.

No, there are limits to the tyrants' power.
When a man finds that justice is denied him,
When he can bear no more, then he will look
To Heaven at the last with bold assurance
And claim from Heaven his eternal rights,
Which hang there like the very stars themselves,
Inalienable, indestructible. --
The ancient state of nature will return,
When man to man we stand in weal or woe --
And in the last resort, when nothing more
Remains to save us, we still have our swords.
What is most dear to us we may defend
Against oppression -- We stand for our country,
We stand here to defend our wives and children! (p. 53)

Recommendation: A light tale about deep politics, and especially about the overwhelming importance of the rights that protect one's home and family. Highly recommended.

***
Quotations from Friedrich Schiller, William Tell: A Play, Francis Lamport, tr. Libris (London: 2005).

Full and Most Undivided Entirety

The sphere, therefore, and field in which philosophy has to move, or to which it has to apply itself, is no narrow one, hemmed in and confined by any unwarrantable exclusiveness. On the contrary, it must, so far is possible for aught that is human, be complete and perfect. And for this reason also, she must not, as indeed she can not, take her rise in a consciousness artificially parceled out and divided, and, in short, but one half of its true self, and which, being biassed and visionary in its views, is divorced from real life. It can originate only in the mind's greatest perfection and in its full and most undivided entirety, inasmuch as to make this consciousness clear to itself and to others constitutes even its proper function and entire aim.

Friedrich von Schlegel, Philosophy of Language, Morrison, tr., p. 353. The problem he has particularly in mind is the tendency of German philosophers to treat philosophy as if it focused wholly on abstract thought, as if abstract thought and ideas were not only one aspect of the whole of living reason and rational life.

St. Austin's Day

Today, of course, is the feast of St. Augustine of Hippo, Doctor of the Church. From one of his lesser-known writings, against the Donatists:

With however great light of learning and of reputation he may shine, however much he may boast himself to be a precious stone, who endeavors to lead you after him, remember always that that brave woman who alone is lovely only to her husband, whom holy Scripture portrays to us in the last chapter of the Book of Proverbs, is more precious than any precious stones. Let no one say, I will follow such an one, for it was even he that made me a Christian; or, I will follow such an one, for it was even he that baptized me. For "neither is he that planteth anything, neither he that watereth, but God that giveth the increase." And "God is love; and he that dwelleth in love, dwelleth in God, and God in him." No one also that preaches the name of Christ, and handles or administers the sacrament of Christ, is to be followed in opposition to the unity of Christ. "Let every man prove his own work; and then shall he have rejoicing in himself alone, and not in another. For every man shall bear his own burden,"—the burden, that is, of rendering an account; for "every one of shall give an account of himself. Let us not therefore judge one another any more." For, so far as relates to the burdens of mutual love, "bear ye one another’s burdens, and so fulfill the law of Christ. For if a man think himself to be something, when he is nothing, he deceiveth himself." Let us therefore "forbear one another in love, endeavoring to keep the unity of the Spirit in the bond of peace;" for no one who gathers outside that peace is gathering with Christ; but "he that gathering not with Him scattereth abroad."

The brave woman of Proverbs 31 is the Church, of course.

Life in This Present Hades (Re-Post)

Book VII of Plato's Republic brings us one of Plato's most famous passages, the Allegory of the Cave. (If you need to brush up on it, it's hard to beat this animated version, narrated by none other than Orson Welles, although it un-dialogues it and fiddles with the ending.) Describing the man who has come out of the Cave, Socrates notes that he would not envy the prisoners, but instead would prefer "to serve as the serf of another, of some portionless man" rather than live the life they do.

It's notable that this quotation, which comes from Book 11 of Homer's Odyssey, has come up before. At the beginning of Book III, Socrates is in the midst of criticizing poems about the gods, and he begins to argue that if the citizens of the just city are to be courageous, they should not be told stories from childhood that would make them fear death. In particular, they should not be taught that Hades is filled with terror; rather, life in Hades should be praised. This, of course, is precisely what Homer does not do. When Odysseus talks to Achilles in Hades, he tries to comfort him for the fact that he is dead, but Achilles will have none of it, saying he would rather serve a poor man than be king of the dead. It is this that Socrates quotes in Book VII, and this is the very first passage that Socrates lists for deletion in Book III. As he goes on to say in Book III, it isn't that such passages aren't pleasing, but indeed, rather the reverse; because they are pleasing and poetic, they are not appropriate for teaching a courageous people who should fear slavery more than death.

We are not to speak this way, then, of the afterlife, lest we make people timid. But Socrates speaks exactly this way of the Cave. The Cave, like Hades, is an underworld, and, like Hades, its inhabitants have only a shadow of real life. But the Cave is, so to speak, true Hades, the Hades of which it might truly be said that even servitude outside it is better than autonomy within it. And the difference is important, because we are the inhabitants in the Cave, living our lives according to sensible goods, which are mere shadows in comparison with the intelligible goods that make possible order, mathematics, and virtue. We should be pitied as the Greeks pitied the heroic dead. But unlike the heroic dead, there is a path for us out of this underworld. We only have to stand up, turn around, and walk toward the Good.

Boethius has an interesting adaptation of this theme in Book III, Meter 12 of the Consolation. This is one of Boethius's mythological poems, and the subject here is Orpheus and Eurydice. Eurydice, of course, died, and Orpheus in grief set out to retrieve her. So beautiful was his music that he touched the heart even of the compassionless king of the dead, who as a single exception allowed the return of Eurydice to the land of the living. But, of course, there was the condition that he could not see her dead. You know the story: Orpheus failed, because he looked back at the very last moment and she vanished away before his eyes. And the moral that Lady Philosophy draws is clear: in pursuing the Good, we must not only walk out of the Cave, we must not even look back until we are free in the sunlit realms.

Monnica of Hippo

Today is the feast of St. Monica, who teaches us that the prayers and tears of mothers are never futile. The name 'Monica' is a slight simplification of what seems to have been her actual name, Monnica.



The above is quite clearly a painting of the Vision at Ostia, which I've talked about before.

And we came at last to our own minds and went beyond them, that we might climb as high as that region of unfailing plenty where thou feedest Israel forever with the food of truth, where life is that Wisdom by whom all things are made, both which have been and which are to be. Wisdom is not made, but is as she has been and forever shall be; for "to have been" and "to be hereafter" do not apply to her, but only "to be," because she is eternal and "to have been" and "to be hereafter" are not eternal.

[Augustine, Confessions Book IX, Chapter 10]

Politeia (Part III: Philosophical Ascent)

Book VI

The distinction between the philosophers and the 'philodoxers' opposed to them turns out to be a distinction between those who do not merely stop with individual splendid or good things, but consider and reflect on the splendid itself or the good itself, and those who never get beyond the many, wandering from one to another without cease. If the guardians are to shape the just city, however, they must have a clear model according to which they can shape it; thus we must have philosophers, lovers of wisdom, not philodoxers or lovers of opinion, leading the city.

This raises the question of what natures are philosophical, which must be known if the just city is to be constructed properly. Glaucon and Socrates agree that the philosopher is a lover of learning of all kinds, a lover of truth rather than falsehood, who gives learning and truth a higher priority than pleasures of the body. One who gives learning and truth such an honored place will not be afraid of bodily death, will associate with others so as to learn, will learn swiftly, and will have thoughts that are measured and orderly.

Adeimantus notes, however, that people will reply that in reality most philosophers become kooks, and even the decent philosophers are largely useless. Socrates notes that something can be useless not because it fails to be of value but because others do not make use of it. As for philosophers becoming kooks and cranks, or even vicious, the important question is how the kind of nature we are starting with becomes corrupted. Even vigorous plants and animals, perhaps especially the vigorous ones, will go bad if it is outside its proper milieu. If you give a promising young man a bad upbringing, a bad education, you can hardly expect him to grow in a proper philosophical way, except "by divine dispensation" (493a). Socrates sharply criticizes the sophists -- it is one of the most direct attacks on the profession in the dialogues -- for only being concerned with teaching opinions of the majority and yet daring to call it wisdom, when the majority themselves are philodoxers more than philosophers.

Education and constitution are closely tied, then, and Socrates complains that no political constitution in ancient Greece seems to be the right one for the kind of philosophical education needed by the guardians. And the education tends to be backward -- people learnf philosophy early on, and then no more; whereas they should get lots of physical and mental exercise early on so as to prepare them for philosophy. And what constitutes a genuine philosophical education, rather than a false one like that given by the sophists?

Socrates gives us several images in succession in order to convey what this philosophical education might be. We start with the Analogy of the Sun and the Divided Line. But these are in a sense merely preparatory for what is, after the Myth of Atlantis, the most famous Platonic Myth of all.

  Additional Remarks

* The discussion of the corruption of a philosophical nature so closely tracks what we know of Alcibiades that he is almost certainly in view.

Some of the descriptions of the kinds of people who do manage to "consort with philosophy in a way that's worthy of her" (496a) are also quite specific. Socrates, who manages it because of his divine sign, and Theages, who manages it because his physical illness reduces the chances of temptation, are specifically named. Are the other descriptions describing particular people? If we were to interpret the passage at (496a-e) on the hypothesis that there are particular people in view, do we know enough to identify them, even if only tentatively? The first kind the "noble and well brought-up character" who is exiled, sounds a lot like Xenophon, who was, in fact, exiled, although the word here could mean that he fled rather than was exiled. Others of Socrates' students were forced to flee or were exiled, but Xenophon is the only one who had a significant philosophical after-history. Paul Shorey, in the notes to his translation, suggests that besides Xenophon (Socratic), Plato could have Anaxagoras (pre-Socratic) or Dion (post-Socratic) in mind. It would be tempting to take the description of the great soul (megale psyche) to be Plato himself (the attitude described fits the descriptions of Plato in the Platonic epistles, for instance), except for the fact that Athens in Plato's day wasn't even a small city by our standards today, much less for the ancient Greek world; its full population would certainly have been several hundred thousand people, and may have been as much as half a million, although only about forty thousand people would have been citizens in the strict sense of the term. Any other guess would require knowing more about the fates of Socrates' students than we do. Several of Socrates' students fit the profile of people from other crafts, such as the Simon the leatherworker who was supposedly somehow connected to Phaedo and who (according to that philosophical gossip mill, Diogenes Laertius) was the first person actually to write down Socrates' arguments. All of this is speculative, of course, but it is interesting speculation and, moreover, it reminds us that for both Socrates and Plato the arguments in the dialogue were about real life and real people.

* Peter Losin, Plato's Analogy of the Divided Line, argues for a somewhat different interpretation of the Line than is usually given. He gives a salutary warning worth keeping in mind when interpreting all of Plato's images in this middle part of the dialogue:

...we must remember that the sun, the line, and the cave are images (Rp 509A9, 517A8). As they are developed Glaucon is repeatedly asked to imagine or picture things (508B9, 508D4, 508D10, 514A2, 514B7-8); and they are qualified by some of the most explicit caveats in all of Plato's writing (see 505A1-4, 506C6-D5, 507A1-5, 517B7-C5). Socrates himself warns Glaucon against taking his spatial language too literally at 529A9-C2. So we must not be overly literal in reading what Plato so explicitly cautions is not to be taken as a straightforwardly literal account.

Book VII

The Allegory of the Cave is about the education of guardians, but it is worth also recognizing that it continues to answer the question of why philosophers can have the bad reputation of being useless despite being (if Socrates is right) so necessary to the good government of the city. And, of course, since the description of the city is a model for individuals as well, and guardians in the city represent reason in the individual, everything here is also arguing about what is required to give reason its proper role in one's life. If anyone asks why one should consider Plato a philosophical virtuoso, Book VII of the Republic more than suffices as an answer.

One of the key points is that education is not about putting knowledge into people. It depends on the fact that everyone already has the capacity to learn. Moreover, it requires the full person: "the instrument with which one learns is like an eye that cannot be turned around from darkness to light without turning the whole body" (518c). And the object of study that matters is the good itself. This is the kind of study that is necessary if the guardians are to have a clear model on which to base their shaping of the just city. But, of course, to shape the city they must also "share the labors of the city, each in turn, while living the greater part of their time with one another in the pure realm" (520d). To this end they need to be trained in music, poetry, athletics, and the crafts, including mathematics; but most importantly they need dialectic, which allows them to go beyond the merely hypothetical to actual principles.

Dialectic is a dangerous subject, however; it needs to be introduced carefully:

I don't suppose that it has escaped your notice that, when young people get their first taste of arguments, they misuse it by treating it as a kind of game of contradiction. They imitate those who've refuted them by refuting others themselves, and, like puppies, they enjoy dragging and tearing those around them with their arguments. (539a-b)

Dialectic needs to be practiced instead with a love for truth and in a way that shows the goodness of philosophical life; otherwise it is counterproductive. It needs to be learned slowly and it must culminate, somewhere down the line, with understanding the good itself.

Thus we have completed the description of the beautiful city, and the character of those who live lives appropriate to it. Plato will now go on to tear it down.

  Additional Remarks

* If you haven't ever watched Orson Welles's narration of the Allegory of the Cave, you obviously must:



* Notice that Socrates explicitly emphasizes that his account of education applies to women as well as men (540c).

Music on My Mind

The Whispers, "And the Beat Goes On". A surprisingly interesting video to watch, incidentally, considering that it is from before the "Billie Jean" era in which Michael Jackson began turning music videography into an art form. Prior to Jackson's reconceiving of music videos as short films to frame music, music videos were usually just recordings of stage performances; the result usually ranges from bland to awful, but this one turns out quite well. I think it works because the choreography is excellent; the separation imposed by the camera lens blunts the interest and excitement of any performance, but there's enough of it here that some survives.


The term has started for me, so I'm juggling a number of things at the moment; I don't know if it will slow things down around here, but I mention it in case it does.