Philosophical and Psychological Road Blocks
In his Confessions, Augustine knits together the intellectual and emotional seamlessly. Philosophy involves arguments, yes, but the true lover of wisdom will not merely contemplate, but apply the deliverances of truth to his life. Conversion for Augustine is not only an act of the intellect, but it is psychological, involving the will and emotions as well as the mind. Through him we see that the reasoning faculty can be blinded by one’s psychological state, God’s truth being darkened in proportion to one’s sin. Augustine writes that God opposes the proud and he allows this truth to be on full display as he recounts his conversion narrative.
The process of resolving one’s intellectual reservations about Christianity often involves a disentangling of legitimate conceptual difficulties with its truths from volitional resistance to its ethics. The two are tightly woven together in human nature, complex as it is. The Christian Augustine expertly utilizes Scripture, the penetrating sword that divides soul and spirit, joints and marrow in order to separate these strands. In this way, he is able to cast his glance back over his life and see his motives more clearly from within the context of biblical wisdom. “Man is a great deep, Lord,” he writes. “You number his very hairs and they are not lost in Your sight: but the hairs of his head are easier to number than his affections and the movements of his heart.” G.K. Chesterton wrote that “one may understand the cosmos, but never the ego; the self is more distant than any star.” Augustine shows us that without God’s gentle grace, no one would be saved, no one would come to God, for who can fully penetrate the mysteries of the self?
Bishop Augustine of Hippo by Antonello da Messina
“Truly my soul finds rest in God …”
“Grant me, O Lord, to know which is the soul’s first movement toward Thee,” Augustine writes in the opening lines of what is widely acknowledged as the Western world’s preeminent autobiography. “What goal are you making for wandering around and about by ways so hard and laborious?” Augustine asks.  Penned in the form of a conversation with God that brings to mind the Psalms of David, Augustine’s Confessions are the recollections of an intelligent and passionately sensitive mind as it considers its search for God in the midst of earthly distractions. The goal is rest. “Rest is not where you seek it,” Augustine writes, for “You seek happiness of life in the land of death, and it is not there.”
Written between 397-398 A.D., one might think that such a conversion narrative would have little of value to offer the modern world. What would a fourth-century bishop in a Roman province in the northern part of Africa have to say to our twenty-first century world filled with the fruits of modern science?
In Plato’s Cave No.1 by Robert Motherwell, 1972
Perhaps the most memorable illustration of the limitations of the pagan poets and their epistemology is Plato’s cave allegory. Socrates wants to move the minds of the young men away from the visible world to the unseen world beyond the senses, the realm to which reason looks and is grounded. In the allegory, Plato likens the world as perceived by the senses (and the pagan poets) to a dark cave. The sensual aspects of our souls are what keep us captive there in chains, while the fire (representing convention) offers a secondary light, casting shadows on the cave wall that we perceive as reality. The poets might be the ones who produce the shadows that capture our attention. The goal of reason (and education) is to move one outside the cave into the world that “is eternal, unchanging and utterly good.” Once one has been freed from the chains and has ascended, he is obligated to return to the cave and seek to free others with captivating images drawn from outside the cave that are necessarily closer to that which is truly good, true, and beautiful. The genius of this allegory is that it has done just that for many generations. Reynolds notes that “the image of the cave is so powerful that it has haunted countless other works of art, including poems and movies.” Plato was indeed engaged in his own artistic endeavor.
Plato conversing with his students, mosaic from Pompeii, first century BC
The opening dialogue of Plato’s Republic centers on the question of whether or not “morality is beneficial to its possessor – that, in fact, an individual gains happiness by being moral whether or not any external advantages accrue to him.” Plato has three characters express the general view of the pagans, none of which seem to indicate that morality is an intrinsic good. It is here that the reader gets the first glimpse of Plato’s complaint against the popular poets of his day such as Homer, Hesiod, and Simonides. Reynolds notes that the Homeric religion, in particular, “had a tight grip on the Athenian imagination and represented a dark power against which even the love of wisdom seemed scarcely enough protection.” Glaucon and Adeimantus, two of his young questioners, present the case for injustice as told by the poets and storytellers of the day. This forms a succinct summary of the pagan beliefs about morality against which Socrates must contend.
“There’s an ancient quarrel between poetry and philosophy.”
“Yesterday I went down to the Piraeus with Glaucon the son of Ariston …” Thus begins the world’s seminal Socratic dialogue, Plato’s Republic. It is a literary journey through the human soul; a dramatic dialectic in the search for morality. The process will involve constructing a “city with words” in an attempt to create a concrete representation of the elusive human psyche. The hope is that such a projection, writ large, of the inner workings of man will enable Socrates and his young students to find true morality and observe its effects on the one who seeks it above all else. The question: Is morality “intrinsically rewarding” regardless of extrinsic benefits? Inevitably, part of the discussion moves to education, namely, how one ensures the production of a moral soul. What will nourish and protect the inner man on his treacherous quest to find and follow the good? What will guard him against all the various temptations he will encounter along the way? This leads the discussion to poetry, something that C.S. Lewis saw as “a little incarnation, giving body to what had been before invisible and inaudible.” At first glance, Plato seems to suggest that the arts are inherently dangerous and should be avoided. Yet, we would be remiss if we failed to recognize that the very medium he chooses to denounce them is itself artistic, an attempt to make the invisible soul incarnate. Indeed, Plato’s narrator Socrates will compare the construction of this mythical city to the work of the artist. What, then, is Plato’s assessment of the role of the arts in society, and can we find any truth to guide us in our consumption and production of art in our modern world? Republic is what translator Allan Bloom observed as an “invitation to the philosophic quest.” Let us take Plato up on his invitation and determine if he is correct in his assessment of the role of the arts in the soul and in society.
The wisest man once said that when it comes to our earthly perspective there is nothing new under the sun. Existence consists of an endless cycle of life and death from which it is impossible to escape. Indeed, this observation is itself nothing new under the sun, for it describes the general despairing ethos of the ancient world just as much as it does that of our modern one. Whether at the mercy of unpredictable gods or the blind forces of evolution, mankind is destined to imprisonment in an indifferent cosmos in which meaning is an illusion. Today, the despair is more palpable, for even the hope of leaving this world has been lost. No shadowy afterlife awaits us as it did the pagans. Nonexistence greets us from the infinite beyond.
Dr. Adam Rachnid’s Devouring Reason– The Myth of Arachne Retold
The crowd gathered like flies, pressing into the reclusive scientist’s tiny lab. The prodigious author, famous for his tirades against God, was finally granting a face-to-face interview to a select group of reporters. The brilliant and bellicose Dr. A. Rachnid, Oxford scholar and Nobel Prize winning geneticist, was one of the most loved and feared thinkers. For decades, he had written countless works in which he found new ways to debunk belief in the transcendent realm. “Cognito ergo sum skeptical” was his most famous saying. Notepads in hand and craving the intoxication of controversy, the journalists were ready to record the tireless crusader’s every word.