Many of our efforts at self-examination presuppose at least a sense of things we don’t know. We sense our life is inadequate and take steps to acquire more knowledge to remove our ignorance. We widen our scope, gain new perspectives, and see ourselves in a new light. In many cases we find that self-knowledge comes by understanding our place in a larger whole. Indeed, according to A.W. Moore, “In making sense of my life I must be shown it as a whole” (see his book The Infinite, p. 233). But how inclusive does this whole have to be to really know ourselves?
Plato provides one startling answer in his dialogue Republic. He has Socrates tell us that philosophers who seek wisdom must eventually “lift up the eye of the soul to gaze on that which sheds light on all things; and when they have seen the Good itself, take it as a pattern for the right ordering of the state and of the individual, themselves included.” The Good, as Eva Brann notes, appears to be the whole which both comprises and unifies partial wholes: “[The Good] is the All as that Whole which comprises what each partial whole is as well as what it is not, that bonding container within which different things are at one” (The Music of the Republic, p. 204). So the success of self-examination is inseparable from a vision of the Good. Indeed, “without having had a vision of this Form [of the Good] no one can act with wisdom, either in their own life or in matters of state” (for my post on the Good, go here).
This, however, leads to a problem since any description or representation of the Good is bound to fall short of being the whole. Thus Socrates says he will offer only images of the Good, such as the sun, that give partial revelations of unity. Does this mean philosophers can never make progress? Not necessarily. After all, Socrates also notes that the Good is something which “every soul pursues as the end of her actions, dimly divining its existence, but perplexed and unable to grasp its nature with the same clearness and assurance as in dealing with other things, and so missing whatever value those other things might have…” Without this dim awareness philosophers wouldn’t know what they were missing and wouldn’t have an erotic need to achieve a vision of it in the first place. But is there a way to achieve a more vivid experience of the Good to aid our efforts at self-examination?
In teaching aesthetics this past semester, I was struck by the possibility that Immanuel Kant’s (1724-1804) conception of the sublime may offer a way. In the section “Analytic of the Sublime” in his Critique of Judgment (Indianapolis: Hackett, 1982), he defines the mathematical sublime as “what is absolutely large.” By absolutely large, Kant means “large beyond all comparison.” Thus “that is sublime in comparison with which everything else is small.” Kant elaborates: “Here we readily see that nothing can be given in nature, no matter how great we may judge it to be, which, regarded in some other relation, may not be degraded to the level of the infinitely little, and nothing so small which in comparison with some still smaller standard may not for our imagination be enlarged to the greatness of a world. Telescopes have put within our reach an abundance of material to go upon in making the first observation, and microscopes the same in making the second.” We can look into a microscope and calculate or imagine a regress into the microscopic realm; we can look through a telescope and calculate or imagine a regress into the wondrous starry heavens. But in doing so we realize, much to our dismay, that our imagination cannot represent these totalities in a bounded image or representation. In such experiences we don’t feel the harmonious connection with nature we experience in judgments of beauty. Rather, we feel terribly disconnected from nature. But then it might dawn on us that we couldn’t know our imagination is falling short unless we had the idea of actual infinity or a totality beyond all comparison to begin with. If this is the case then apparently our reason has an unrepresentable idea of actual infinity. And this idea “expands the soul” and “awakens the feeling of a supersensible faculty in us” that can “surpass any standard of taste.” As a result we experience a feeling of pleasure when we realize that, despite the painful failure of our imagination to bound the boundless, we have an idea of the whole without images. In sublime experiences we are both humbled and elevated.
Now, it has also been suggested by many thinkers, including Plato, Augustine, Aquinas, and Plotinus, that beauty occurs when the whole is partially perceived in and through a sensible part. But the sublime appears to supersede the beautiful in our search for the Good since the sublime, unlike the beautiful, is completely about our inner experience. When it comes to beauty, there appears to be something beautiful in the object, a high degree of proportion for example, that triggers our faculty of taste leading to a free play of the imagination. But in judgments of the sublime there is nothing sublime about the relatively large objects that trigger our experience of that which is absolutely large. Kant explains:
“We hence see also that true sublimity must be sought only in the mind of the subject judging, not in the natural object the judgment upon which occasions this state. Who would call sublime, e.g., shapeless mountain masses piled in wild disorder upon one another with their pyramids of ice, or the gloomy, raging sea? But the mind feels itself raised in its own judgment if, while contemplating them without any reference to their form, and abandoning itself to the imagination and to the reason—which, although placed in combination with the imagination without any definite purpose, merely extends it—it yet finds the whole power of the imagination inadequate to its ideas.”
This freedom from external constraints uniquely qualifies the sublime to be the means of contacting the Good without misrepresenting it. And this contact, as is evidenced by people’s sublime experiences, would be vivid rather than dim. After all, as Kant points out, when experiencing the starry heavens “I have not to search for them and conjecture them as though they were veiled in darkness or were in the transcendent region beyond my horizon; I see them before me and connect them directly with the consciousness of my existence.”
Now Kant’s analysis, influential and romantic as it is, can certainly be questioned. Perhaps the experience of the sublime is an illusion with no reference outside our minds. Perhaps the experience has a far less dramatic explanation in terms of brain chemistry. Or perhaps the unrepresentable nature of the sublime leaves us too much in the dark of feeling. But if his analysis is correct then we can make the following connections with Plato’s vision of philosophy:
1) The sublime, in making us vividly aware of our kinship to the Good, can play a role in awakening the love of wisdom in the first place. In sublime experiences we become aware of what we lack – a full understanding of the Good to which we are somehow akin – and eros, which seeks what it doesn’t possess, is born out of this lack. Perhaps this is why Plato’s character Timaeus, in discussing the benefits of sight in Timaeus, makes a connection between seeing the heavens and starting philosophy: “The sight in my opinion is the source of the greatest benefit to us, for had we never seen the stars, and the sun, and the heaven, none of the words which we have spoken about the universe would ever have been uttered. But now the sight of day and night, and the months and the revolutions of the years, have created number, and have given us a conception of time, and the power of enquiring about the nature of the universe; and from this source we have derived philosophy, than which no greater good ever was or will be given by the gods to mortal man.”
2) The sublime, in making us vividly aware of the Good, can play a role in dramatically enhancing the process of self-examination which, as we have seen, requires such an awareness. According to Kant, the sublime reveals our “supersensible vocation” to develop our moral and religious potentials since we are “not restricted to conditions and limits of this life, but reaching into the infinite.” Paul Guyer, in his book Kant and the Experience of Freedom (Cambridge: 1996), comments: “What Kant did was to transmute the psychological account [of the sublime in thinkers such as Edmund Burke and Joseph Addison] into an alternative moral account, in which humanity is elevated rather than humbled. In the experience of the sublime, we stand in awe of the power of our own reason rather than God. Indeed, God’s creation is humbled before our own free reason, and even the sublimity of God himself can be appreciated only through the image of our own autonomy” (259).
3) The sublime can satiate the philosopher’s erotic need to unify with the Good. To be sure, sublime experiences, insofar as they are aesthetic, are primarily about feeling and lack the ideal cognitive apprehension of the Good that Plato’s metaphors of vision seem to suggest. Nonetheless, such a felt communion might provide a welcome respite on the philosopher’s dialectical journey which proceeds, as Plato’s dialogues so often proceed with their interplay of myth and reason, by projecting limited wholes within which analysis can occur and then critiquing those wholes to expand into new territory and so on and so on.
4) Lastly, experiences of the sublime might offer some hope for immortality since for Kant they reveal to us a “life independent of animality and even of the whole sensible world.” For Plato this life was the life of the soul which, as Socrates says in Plato’s Phaedo, “is most similar to what’s divine and deathless and intelligible and single-formed and indissoluble and always keeps to the self-same condition with itself.”