01) Why and Truth.

“Why?”

I recall a conversation a few days ago that included that word quite often and the amused yet fatigued face that followed my persistence. The slight upward incline of the eyebrow, the flex of the pupil under consideration, the huff of the laugh that passed, how the chin cut left and away from me as I peered with my teeth leaving impressions in my lips. Then my sigh, my fingertips dragging across my knuckles in concession while I apologized, “I’m sorry, that’s getting irritating, isn’t it?”

That single word takes us to the beginning of something. It carries us not only to the start of a discussion, but also to the start of the idea expressed. Through the strings of our justifications, through the simplicity of deriving pleasure, we seek explanations that illustrate the truth rather than what we settle for.

More or less, this is the concept of philosophy.

The seeking of a truth to explain the actions we pursue and derive pleasure from falls back to the Socratic Discussion. The Socratic Discussion acts not as a means to an end, however. While the idea of seeking a truth may seem like finality, it persists for the opposite: to inspire thought. The constant asking of ‘why’ may frustrate, but it is a method to this seeking of logic and understanding. It inspires discussion, enlightenment, opening your mind to new possibilities and ideas. To seek an end to this process is to misunderstand its purpose.

One of his disciples stressed Socrates’ discussion to truth more. Plato wrote “The Allegory of the Cave” to reveal the blindness we carry with growing up—and our reluctance to eventually assimilate into the light, meaning the “truth”. As people grow up, they are typically exposed to a streamline view of the world, one shared by their parents. The world in which one grows up in tends to be the only reality that they see and the only one that they know to accept. In Plato’s allegory, people are chained far back in a cave, only able to see straight in front of them where shadows of things pass along a wall. Because these shadows become their single point of reference, the chained people accept them as reality of the actual objects. How are they to know something beyond those shadows if they only knew them all their lives?

When one is taken from their homely environment and forced into the light of the outside world, it can be too much. The sun blinds him; he can only register the shadows and reflections of things in the water, on walls, assimilating slowly. Eventually, however, he will be able to look at the world around him, and see more than just the smoky images he knew all his life. He will see the true forms of all those shadows. More directly, seeing past the metaphoric, he will figure out the “truth”.

Upon returning to the cave once he has seen the light and has done many things in the upper world, he looks to tell his fellow blinded men about the things that he has experienced. They laugh at him, call him ridiculous, and in the event that they could get up, kill him. Why? Who is he to come down there and tell them that their world is false? Why are they wrong and he is right? He becomes an exile in his own society—an outsider and a threat.

The allegory represents the ascension from viewing the world in a strict, narrow-minded fashion to open-mindedness and exploration. The ascended individual must aid others to achieve this level, or at least to show them the way. However, as represented in the individual’s return to the cave, the process can render no results—the “enlightened” can be rejected. This is perhaps why Plato later expresses that the leader of a city-state must be on the top echelon of philosophical capability, to direct others in this fashion. That lends itself to trouble, as this new leader is trying to lead people who do not understand where he comes from. How, in that light, can he stick around? There would be a revolt, a revolution, an usurping because the people‘s leader attempts to undermine their way of life. This is most likely why Plato’s form of government gave very little power to those underneath the ruling elite and military.

The allegory also represents the journey of education—the purpose of education. Education’s purpose is to bring people to the state of understanding, and ultimately the reason people are educated is to seek higher things in life than the cave, the menial, the content. We learn to explore, progress, and innovate. This, I believe, has been lost somewhere in the centuries that separate us from Plato.

In modern times, in my suburb of the United States, education is an enforced aspect of life. From a young age until eighteen (and beyond, now, with so many jobs requiring a college education), we attend classes building and building upon the general facts of life—the forms, the truth. Most of the time (we digress, ignore and manipulate certain facts to suit keeping the “innocence” and, perhaps, patriotism of the youngest). The thing that the educational system does not explain to us is why. The whys we get often relate to something dull and overused—your future career, everyone needs to know this! etc. The purist reason—to seek and understand the “truth”—has been diluted by what society deems more “practical”. Therefore, we restrict our focus. We become intent on only studying and caring for that which benefits us in the future. We narrow. We stagnate.

Not that I am promoting the ultimate knowledge of algebra, geometry, and astronomy that Plato seemed to believe people needed to achieve leadership and greatness. And even if schools were to create a class for philosophy, what's to say that student's wouldn't become equally bored with such a class? Perhaps the only way to ensure education comes to its correct purpose is to instill its value as a means to progression in children from the get go.

Enforcing education for the sake of education breeds apathy. Unless the student can conjure self-interest, or educators inform us of how it can help us grow, lessons fall on indifferent ears. It’s easier to simply fall into pattern than to escape the lines.

But, whatever makes you happy, right?

It’s funny how different our perceptions of happiness differ from the Aristotle, student of Plato. What he considered the ultimate good was philosophical contemplation, and that all goals should point to it. All activities should point to that happiness, though these don’t always bring pleasure. An example of these could be attending classes, which does not always elicit excitement for the person involved, but ultimately results in a life of greater happiness—in the event that the class provides something substantial.

I believe it would be a stretch to say that contemplation ranks as the highest form of happiness for people in this modern age. However, Aristotle’s words do hold true in that happiness is what is most typically sought by people nowadays—and most likely for as long as people have been around. Happiness becomes the ultimate goal, as well as the ultimate justification. Someone can say that any activity makes him happy and that is why they do it, making it acceptable to them—sans the infliction of pain on others, typically.

Aristotle argues that people can only reach happiness through rational action, given that we are rational beings. Exercising this rationality makes humans human; leading lives built on rational action allows them to be the best humans that they can be. A life built on rationality seems ideal, yet at the same time very restricting. Life on impulse and in the moment seems to suit some people than that which is thoroughly thought out. Rational thought, to Aristotle, aided (even created) happiness.

The idea that prudence and reflection supply the means to happiness takes roots in Plato and Socrates with the seeking of the “truth”. The thread runs clearly through the three most popular philosophers of the Greek era. This thread can be seen weaved into society as its played out today—the importance of education, the ultimate seeking of happiness—yet they have been weakened and blended more to suit the times as the years passed. Often, we can see just how deeply these things have been rooted in by asking people why they do things, because the easiest way to see into someone’s head remains quite the same since the day of the Socratic Discussion. Just ask why.