Aristotle!

“wondering implies the desire of learning, so that the object of wonder is an object of desire” (The Rhetoric 1371a)

At first glance, it seems that Aristotle’s nearly neurotic obsession with classification and order interferes with any possibility of philosophical wonder, and instead drains it. In The Physics, for example Aristotle posits that nature moves toward a final cause, claiming that the world is organized teleologically. In many ways, the idea of an ultimate purpose and organization works against wonder by controlling it and limiting all knowledge to a final, knowable end. Even his most exciting and surprising philosophical innovation—that there is a sort of divine unmoved mover—is a controlled, organized, and analytic theory based on the principles of the observable physical world. This crystallization of first principles tames any wild, unknowable theories of nature.

Perhaps nowhere is Aristotle’s obsession with organization and division clearer than in the minutely-detailed The Rhetoric. Again, Aristotle is interested in systematic principles, in logic and syllogism, in definitions and applications of rhetorical terms. We can see his predilection for scientific inquiry running rampant here. He is much more practical than Plato, even at times boring to read, as he picks apart emotional, personal, and psychological responses to rhetoric in order to manipulate them. Aristotle explicitly defines rhetoric as a “practical art,” explaining that the “use of persuasive speech is to lead to decisions.” Far from discussing the ways in which rhetoric can generate awe or wonder, Aristotle’s methodical analysis drains its potency. While he does talk about pleasure, which is akin to wonder, Aristotle generally invokes this feeling to demonstrate that since we all seek pleasure, rhetoric should please in order to persuades its audiences. Indeed, Aristotle wants his readers to learn to judge rightly when they encounter rhetoric, and they can’t judge properly if they are overwhelmed or awed.

Yet even Aristotle’s analytic approach cannot entirely contain his appreciation of wonder. The Rhetoric and The Metaphysics--and even The Physics--offer space for wonder in terms of surprise, defamiliarization, and pleasure; however, it is not the sort of overwhelming delight that I associate with wonder, but rather a more collected and utilitarian type that is a response to and impetus for learning. (We see wonder as a tool for philosophy in Plato, as well.) In The Physics, Aristotle asserts that the basis of the natural world is change. Instead of allowing this theory to stagnate, Aristotle spends the whole of the metaphysics marveling about how this change works in the world, how it can be both the same world and one that changes, for example. For him, these seemingly cold and analytic theories become a source of wonder and an impetus for sustained inquiry.

In The Metaphysics, Aristotle makes the connection even clearer between wonder inspired by the complexities of the natural world and the inquiry and learning it provokes. He explains, “For it is owing to their wonder that men both now begin and at first began to philosophize; they wondered originally at the obvious difficulties, then advanced little by little and stated difficulties about the greater matters, e.g. about the phenomena of the moon and those of the sun and of the stars, and about the genesis of the universe. And a man who is puzzled and wonders thinks himself ignorant (whence even the lover of myth is in a sense a lover of Wisdom, for the myth is composed of wonders); therefore since they philosophized order to escape from ignorance, evidently they were pursuing science in order to know, and not for any utilitarian end.” So wonder is a natural faculty that moves people to desire to know. I find it odd that Aristotle does not qualify “pursuing science in order to know” as utilitarian. Is Aristotle’s understanding of knowledge, then, as something wondrous, overwhelming, transcendent even? In this case, does wonder lead to a new kind of wonder?

Don’t worry; Aristotle offers a sort of answer here: “Yet the acquisition of it [knowledge] must in a sense end in something which is the opposite of our original inquiries. For all men begin, as we said, by wondering that things are as they are, as they do about self-moving marionettes, or about the solstices or the incommensurability of the diagonal of a square with the side; for it seems wonderful to all who have not yet seen the reason, that there is a thing which cannot be measured even by the smallest unit. But we must end in the contrary and, according to the proverb, the better state, as is the case in these instances too when men learn the cause; for there is nothing which would surprise a geometer so much as if the diagonal turned out to be commensurable.” As it turns out, knowledge may not be utilitarian, but it is no longer wonder. In fact, Aristotle seems to define wonder here as the opposite of reason, and its “better state.”

Aristotle’s attitudes about wonder and learning are pretty similar in The Rhetoric. Again, Aristotle actually admits to the value of wonder as a response to new observations. In The Rhetoric, he associates wonder with learning: “Learning things and wondering at things are also pleasant as a rule; wondering implies the desire of learning, so that the object of wonder is an object of desire; while in learning one is brought into one’s natural condition.” Indeed, wonder as a spur for learning (which might be a bit closer to curiosity than to an overwhelming sense of wonder), is natural and pleasant. Aristotle explains that this kind of pleasurable wonder serves as the basis of our love of art: “Again, since learning and wondering are pleasant, it follows that such things as acts of imitation must be pleasant—for instance, painting, sculpture, poetry…even if the object imitated is not itself pleasant; for it is not the object itself which here gives delight; the spectator draws inferences…and thus learns something fresh.”

While Aristotle doesn’t openly advocate rhetors charming their audience or mystifying them, he does see the value of defamiliarizing them: “It is therefore well to give to everyday speech an unfamiliar air: people like what strikes them, and are struck by what is out of the way.” While striking isn’t exactly the same thing as eliciting wonder, it does share with wonder the quality of shock and awe. Interestingly, for a guy who likes definitions and classifications, Aristotle does not give us his definition of wonder. We know it has something to do with the inspiration of learning and with pleasure, and it is in some sense imitative. He does, however, offer some sources of narrative wonder: “Dramatic turns of fortune and hairbreadth escapes from perils are pleasant, because we feel all such things are wonderful.” So newness, surprise, and improbable things made possible are all elements of his version of wonder in art.

Unlike his other works, The Poetics is somewhat interested in wonder for its own sake, although again we see it in terms of its relationship to learning: “the reason of the delight in seeing the picture is that one is at the same time learning—gathering the meaning of things.” The Greek word for wonder, in fact, brings together delight and curiosity. As the index of Edward P.J. Corbett’s edition of The Rhetoric and the Poetics of Aristotle explains, “Wonder (the Greek word…implies both the feeling that a thing is remarkable—as being at once fine and mysterious—and also the curiosity that makes men want to understand and explain it) is regarded by Plato…and Aristotle…as the origin of learning and philosophy.” (Can anyone verify this for me? Where are my Greek scholars?)

Tragedy, the best genre of literature according to Aristotle, is particularly attuned to wonder, as Aristotle contends, “The marvelous is certainly required in Tragedy.” He continues, saying, “The marvelous, however, is a cause of pleasure, as is shown by the fact that we all tell a story with additions, in the belief that we are doing our hearers a pleasure.” Wonder and pleasure are again intimately linked. Further, as in The Rhetoric, Aristotle connects learning and wonder, although in The Poetics, learning is the source not just the result of wonder: “to be learning something is of the greatest of pleasures not only to the philosopher but also to the rest of mankind…the reason of the delight in seeing the picture is that one is at the same time learning—gathering the meaning of things.”

One other place in The Poetics that deals with wonder is Aristotle’s treatment of the pity and fear that tragedy elicits: “Tragedy, however, is an imitation not only of a complete action, but also of incidents arousing pity and fear. Such incidents have the very greatest effect on the mind when they occur unexpectedly and at the same time in consequence of one another; there is more of the marvelous in them then than if they happened of themselves or by mere chance. Even matters of chance seem most marvellous if there is an appearance of design as it were in them.” Surprise and improbability are qualities of wonder, and these qualities contribute to tragedy’s pity and fear; thus, it is wonder that provokes the pity and fear that are central to tragedy’s effectiveness. Unfortunately, The Poetics gives us very little on the nature of catharsis; a more detailed explanation of this concept would direct us to a better understanding of Aristotle’s idea of this kind of (or this quality of) wonder.

Despite Aristotle’s obvious interest in wonder, in The Poetics, wonder is not as important as beauty, pleasure, and learning. While I need to work through how beauty, pleasure, and learning fit in with wonder, it is clear that Aristotle views beauty as more orderly and effective than wonder. He explains that unity of plot in tragedy is important since “Beauty is a matter of size and order, and therefore impossible either 1 in a very minute creature, since our perception becomes indistinct as it approaches instantaneity; or 2 in a creature of vast size—one, say, 1,000 miles long—as in that case, instead of the object being seen all at once, the unity and wholeness of it is lost to the beholder.” Wonder is inferior to beauty because it is out of proportion. It is too big (or too small) and thus overwhelms, any appreciation for or understanding of a subject’s unity. Aristotle might argue, then, that wonder is pleasing but not beautiful.

Plato and Wonder

“for wonder is the feeling of a philosopher, and philosophy begins in wonder”

Plato’s “Theaetetus”

Reading Plato’s dialogues (and trying to make sense of them) is a delightful and frustrating endeavor. Trying to figure out how wonder fits into his understanding of philosophy and aesthetics is even more challenging. I think that Plato’s Socrates appreciates the power of language and beauty to overwhelm and even allows himself to be overcome. In fact, I think that Socrates deliberately seeks out the feeling of being overwhelmed, which I link closely with wonder. These moments of wonder occur when Socrates encounters lovely rhetoric, beautiful young men (physically or otherwise), or surprising philosophical moves. Socrates also puts wonder to use, by charming his listeners with his pretty language, his sophisticated arguments, and his sudden turns of inquiry. At the same time, however, he mocks rhetoricians for amazing their audiences with pretty words that in turn stultify their ability to find truth. Thus, while he appreciates and generates wonder, Socrates (and Plato by extension) believes that wonder is only a starting point for inquiry.

The very form and methods of the dialogues have wonder at their center. Many of the dialogues—particularly the early ones—end in aporia, in which the argument creates doubt about itself. Often, this aporia is even more extreme, which modern deconstructionists would describe as a moment of final impasse in which claims undermine or confound themselves. Such aporia itself inspires wonder; readers are delighted and charmed as the argument overwhelms itself. But it is a kind of wonder that directs us to look beyond the charm and to continue inquiring about the issues raised in the dialogue. This strategy uses wonder to propel philosophy. We also see this at work in Socrates’s use of paradox and irony. Further, the Socratic method—elenchus and dialectic—force us to rigorously examine established beliefs through what Schlovsky might call defamiliarization, making the known new. This recourse to surprise and newness is also something that I identify with wonder. Further, the dialogues are—or at least they profess to be—a search for truth, rather than a treatise about what is already known. In a sense, then, they are about awe experienced in encountering the unknown and in approaching truth, rather than controlled and collected reflection on the known.

Interestingly, it seems to me (and there are many debates about this by people who know far more about Plato than I do) that the later dialogues become increasingly skeptical. The early ones tend to be completely unresolved; the earlier middle ones begin to tentatively advance a few claims (like wisdom=goodness and the theory of Forms); but the mid- to later-dialogues begin to interrogate and revise more rigorously those claims. If this observation is at all accurate (and for fun, let’s pretend it is), then I wonder, does wonder explored lead to skepticism?

I also need to think more about how Plato’s mysticism fits in. Socrates always claims he is subject to mystical visions, prophetic insights. Like everything else in Plato, it’s hard to tell how much of this is ironic, especially since Socrates himself talks about the limits of vision, inspiration, and prophecy. It does seem that Socrates approaches the mystical in the same way that he approaches wonder—they are genuine and exhilarating and can lead to philosophical insight, but they can also stun and stultify inquiry. He uses words like charm and amaze to show his concern about the ability of wondrous things, like mystical events, to concretize thought. Like wonder, then, mysticism must be tempered with rational thought.

We can see this at work in “Ion,” when Socrates teases the rhapsodes for their divinely inspired riffs on Homer and the poets. He acknowledges their power, yet at the same time recognizes their limits. Plato and Socrates thus link mystical, divine inspiration with poetry, language, and imagination. Socrates warns us, “Imagination is often at war with reason and fact. The concentration of the mind on a single object, or on a single aspect of human nature, overpowers the orderly perception of the whole.” Wonder, too, is an all-encompassing experience wonder that can distract from understanding the whole Truth because it limits understanding to one part. Inspiration, imagination, and wonder are all lumped together in this dialogue, and all three are negative if they do not move us toward knowledge.

Timaeus’s wild creation story also demonstrates the limits of this triad. The creator placed the faculty of wonder and inspiration not in the mind, but in the foolish part of the body: “For the authors of our being, remembering the command of their father when he bade them create the human race as good as they could, that they might correct our inferior parts and make them to attain a measure of truth, placed in the liver the seat of divination. And herein is a proof that God has given the art of divination not to the wisdom, but to the foolishness of man. No man, when in his wits, attains prophetic truth and inspiration; but when he receives the inspired word, either his intelligence is enthralled in sleep, or he is demented by some distemper or possession.”

In “Phaedrus,” Plato adds love to the list of wonders that can either inspire or interfere with inquiry. This is my favorite dialogue. It is sexy and sensual and—forgive the intended double entendre—delightfully impenetrable. In this dialogue, Socrates links love, rhetoric, imagination, and madness. Poetry and love are both divinely inspired, and as such, they are a sort of mystical madness endorsed by the gods. At the same time, these forms of wondrous madness demonstrate how man can only perceive reality “as through a glass dimly.” When lovers encounter beauty, their souls experience physiological awe—they become hot and sweaty. Keep in mind that this is drawn from a really interesting analogy in which the soul is a charioteer leading two horses, one good horse drawn towards heavenly things and one bad one drawn toward earthly ones (Freud, anyone?). The only way the soul can come close to apprehending true Beauty is if the charioteer can tame the bad horse with some masochistic bit tugging: “and with a still more violent wrench drags the bit out of the teeth of the wild steed and covers his abusive tongue and jaws with blood, and forces his legs and haunches to the ground and punishes him sorely.” So, once again, we see beauty, wonder, poetry, rhetoric, love, all of these lumped together as potential spurs or blockades to knowledge that must be tempered by something in order to reach ideal knowledge or truth. Indeed, Socrates’s speech about why lovers are better than non-lovers (which immediately follows a speech that argues the opposite) is very sexy and itself charms and awes Phaedrus. Immediately after, however, Socrates picks apart the rhetorical flaws of his own lovely speech, explaining that its beauty is insufficient. In transforming the rhetorical force of his speech into philosophical analysis, Socrates enacts his own theory of wonder. Indeed, the dialogue ends with “and now as the heat is abated let us depart.”

Particularly relevant dialogues to those interested in rhetoric, aesthetics, or wonder: Ion, Phaedrus, Charmides, Protagoras, Symposium, Theaetetus, Cratylus, Timaeus, Gorgias

Other fun things to think about:
• What’s with all the desire to lay people bare, stripping, and nakedness?
• The myth of Atlantis and the wild creation story in “Timaeus”
• The intellectual midwife metaphor in “Theaetetus,” coupled with philosophy as the desire for immortality through conception, generation, and parturition metaphors in “Symposium” told to Socrates by a wise woman named Diotima

So, who wants to help me work through this?

I wonder...

...if I can possibly survive my qualifying exams. I'm going to post my responses to my readings here--just the overall reactions, I think. That way, they won't live atomized lives in separate Word files but will instead (hopefully) link together.