Anna Thomas
11/29/17
Honors 103 Assignment 3
Two Philosophers Walk into a Bar…
For Mr. Liddell, the little black cat with a better than average understanding of the equation a2+b2=c2, the day started just as every other. He had followed Pythagoras to the little pub in London and had promptly found his favorite barstool. Pythagoras immediately began giving the bartender, Socrates, his hackneyed spiel about how the harmonic scale he had so lovingly worked to understand wasn’t being properly utilized in modern music. Mr. Liddell had just begun to fall asleep when two men sat down at the bar next to him.
Irritated though he was to be disturbed from his nap, Mr. Liddell was curious about these newcomers. They had never been in the pub before. Socrates, however, seemed to know them.
“Plato! How I’ve missed my finest student,” he cried out jovially, smiling and the older of the two men. “Who’s this you’ve brought with you?”
“This is Aristotle, a student of my own,” Plato answered. “We’ve just come for a few drinks and a break from Greece, thanks to a wonderful contraption I stumbled across in Egypt. You haven’t heard of a ‘time-machine,’ have you?”
Socrates snorted, half amused, half indignant. “How do you think I ended up serving drinks in a pub in London in 2017? Or Pythagoras end up eating his peanuts here and now? What other answer is there than the time-machine? But then, if time is so pliable as to be easily manipulated by the simple technology of earth-dwelling creatures, could it not be fathomed that I am in this place at this time by other equally simple means?”
“Ah, you gadfly, to think I’d nearly forgotten all of the questions you ask,” Plato laughed. “After all this time you still have your pupils stumped. Now, what do the people around here drink?”
Within moments the men had two beers in front of them. “Why, Socrates!” Plato exclaimed, looking past his old teacher to what was hanging behind the bar. “How interesting that you would decorate your pub with a painting depicting your own dying moments.
“Ah, yes, The Death of Socrates, some of Jacques-Louis David’s finest work,” the older man replied fondly. “I simply had to have it. It’s nearly perfect. Although, of course, art is merely an imperfect replication of an already imperfect copy.”
At this, Aristotle chuckled and rolled his eyes. “You two and your perfect forms.”
Plato gave the younger man a sharp look. “You’d do well to respect the wisdom of your teacher,” he grumbled. “If I didn’t know better I’d think that you feel you know better than me.”
Aristotle shrugged. “I do feel that the ideas you present on these forms, their ways and fundamental manner, lack a certain level of backing.”
“I find the idea of forms to be quite sensible,” Platoexclaimed indignantly. “What we see here in our midst, this beer, these chairs, this pub, even our very selves – all of these are just flawed copies of perfect forms. The realm of perfect forms is where one would find all forms in their full potential.”
“In believing this you must too believe that the soul of each being is inherently imperfect, then?”
“On Earth, yes. For it is the descent to our realm from the realm of perfect forms that leads to the imperfections of beings. This descent, in the case of the soul, comes after some time spent in the Underworld, during which the soul may undergo a ‘subterranean journey, which journey lasts one thousand years.’ And after such ordeals, a soul will begin ‘another death-bearing cycle for the mortal race. As Er saw in his journey to the Underworld, the souls were given the chance to ‘[choose] their lives,’ usually doing so ‘according to the habits formed in their previous life.’” At the mention of thereincarnation of souls, Pythagoras nodded fervently (Plato 537-540).
Aristotle remained quiet for a moment, clearly deep in thought, before saying, “Respectfully, I disagree with your ideas on forms. You say that forms, or souls, descend from this other plane and inhabit bodies in this world. In this case, the material aspects of each existing creature must be actualized with the intent of the soul directing it. But I find that ‘forms cannot explain the existence of objects.’” He thought a moment longer. “Furthermore, I disagree with your implication that the material body and the soul are two separate things that make up a being and which have no tie to one another other than during the time during which the soul is residing with the material being during its life.”
“How do you come to this conclusion?” Plato asked, puzzled.
“It’s quite rational really,” said Aristotle. “I find it makes most sense when compared to something physical. Here, I’ll use an eyeball, something which you can imagine and understand. In this example, the eyeball ‘being-fully-itself’ is ‘both the eyeball and the vision.’ What I mean to say is ‘the soul is like vision or the potency of the tool, and the body has the potency.’ This must mean that the soul is at least, in part, not separate from the body” (Aristotle 50).
“And if the soul were not to be a separate entity from the body, to where does it escape when that material being ceases to live and breathe?” asked Socrates.
Aristotle glanced around nervously at the question. “I wouldn’t dare go so far as to say the soul dies with the body. But one does wonder what tangible proof there is for the travel of the soul into a new life after death.”
“The proof is in the logic of mathematics!” exclaimed Plato excitedly. “You see, we as humans have the capacity to learn and understand numbers, and to perform hypothetical ‘thought experiments’ and glean real understanding of concepts. This logic is proof that in understanding math we are simply relearning what our souls once knew before the descent to this plane” (Plato’s Heaven).
“I agree that logic such as this is an important attribute of the human soul,” said Aristotle. “Such theoretical knowledge is a form of logos that separates us from animals, like this cat at the bar,” Mr. Liddell, who had begun to drift off to sleep again, perked up his ears with renewed interest,“which knows senses such as touch and smell and hearing and has a more practical type of knowledge. However, I find theoretical proof alone difficult to trust” (Aristotle 52).
Plato sighed. “At the risk of getting too involved in an argument neither of us will win, why don’t we just enjoy our beer for a little while.”
“If there’s no more arguing to be done, I may as well attend to the other customers,” Socrates grumbled, sidling off disappointedly.
“Well,” remarked Aristotle, “at least we can both agree on the importance of observation and philosophy in creating and living a happy life, even if discussing our differing philosophies can cause some conflict.”
“Absolutely true, my friend,” agreed Plato. “As Socrates has said time and time again, ‘A life without examination is not a life worth living.’”
Mr. Liddell, after having listened to what was by far the most complex and confusing conversation he’d ever heard, was certain of only one thing: as far as he was concerned, the most important element of a good life was nap-taking. With that, he finally went to sleep.