Reflections and an Oath

I have had the time to think on many matters these past few months, or this semester in general as it were. The prevailing thought that occupies my mind appears to be the passage of time.

Barely fifteen days hence, I will graduate from college. What a milestone – I will no longer have any license, any excuse to act as an uncouth and foolish youngster. This day will mark that formal partition. And in these fleeting, few moments before the passing of the last remnants of my youth, I will mull the significance of the marker, and set in granite the means of adulthood.

I know I am late. Men and women of old have reached where I now stand, countlessly and infinitely before me. Theirs was a different time, though mine may be even more alien. They pondered their passing with a more decisive mind than I, for in this age such lines have been hopelessly blurred. They knew their duties, and prepared to meet them with every ounce of every fiber in their being. I. I search for such duties in a world that has none, but because of this, I and every member of my generation have already had the opportunity to touch and taste wealth, fame, and endless prosperity. Who am I to beg discontent?

I sit now, alone in a field of Ceres, feeling the effects of the slow ebb of time. The corn is almost as tall as I am now. When I last visited these fields, the crops barely adorned the Earth as shrubbery. How magnificent is this testament to unrelenting Chronos?

Looking back upon our activities, the progression of all western thought and philosophy is revealed with clarity before me. The pre-Socratics – Thales, Anaximenes, Anaximander – offered to us the basis. Wrong and misguided they may have been, but such is the glory and the folly of being first. Socrates, ever-inquisitive, brought us the advocation of critical thought over mere memory and repetition. He undauntedly stripped away the foolish trappings of tradition and mindless acceptance of precepts left by his predecessors, but his greatest contributions to the world at large may have been his pupils Plato and Xenophon.

They were both brilliant and prolific, I must admit, though I may not agree with all of their written word. Plato’s criticisms of Gorgias and the sophists stand without my challenge. Speech, like any other power or tool, can certainly be wielded to do harm. It is however, by no means innately unjust. My challenge regards his tendency to force dichotomies and split what should have remained whole: reality and appearances, truth and practicality, techne and “knacks”. Here, I stand inveterately with Isocrates and Aristotle. Such things do not oppose each other, but instead complement each other. Without one, the other cannot function properly.

Isocrates’ accomplishments are largely unacknowledged in modernity, and this perturbs me. For one who is considered the father of liberal arts education and the progenitor of many educational precepts that endure to this day, I find his fate to be deplorable.  This becomes even more pronounced when examining his efforts at uniting all Hellas and spurring his fellow citizens to engage in civic affairs. Even today, we attempt to sustain institutions like NATO, the Arab League, the UN, et cetera and et alii, in the hope that multinational interests can stave off unilateralism and world war. Even today, the majority of our citizens make no effort to participate in their hard-won civic duties.

Time passes, and the world moves on. Cicero, Quintilian, and Longinus all offered fresh perspectives and in many instances improved upon the works of the previous names. And finally, we arrive at Augustine. Augustine towers above them all; he reached the pinnacle and zenith, incorporating all aspects of his predecessors into his own thought. Neo-Platonism and Christianity, rhetoric and philosophy, reclusion and civic duty; these distinctions matter not, because to achieve transcendence, it is necessary to reconcile these seemingly disjointed factions into a harmonious whole.

Of course, numerous writers lie still ahead, but most of them will owe their works to this pipeline.

I am not religious, and I can say with as much certainty as the universe allows that I will never be. However, as demonstrated so elegantly in class, neither is my appreciation of these things strictly secular. All of these people contributed greatly to who I am and who I will be, and I shall always share in their motivations and convictions.

The grand question remains – Augustine was right yet again, for such questions remain long after they have been answered. Why have we studied this? Why read the texts of antiquity, the origins of which have long crumbled to dust?  Why were they so keen to leave behind precepts and construct “ladders” to wisdom? What significance do their words hold for us, and what do they compel us to do? Should we listen?

The answer to these inquiries presents the greatest lesson I have received in college.

Fear not fear, fear not death. Fear apathy and ignorance of the past. The future is full of possibilities, but the past is final.

As children, we are fascinated by fire and reach for the embrace of its brilliant, dancing, flickering arms. Pain ensues, and a scar forever marks the encounter. Do we attempt to touch the flames again? Do we readily forget? Let the past serve as a similar reminder for our future endeavors.

Unless we heed those that have preceded us, we will repeat their mistakes until all of humanity lie in ruin and decay. The stakes are much higher than momentary discomfort of the physical nature; so momentous are the works humanity can put forth. We have but one opportunity to set things right before they fall into the realm of the immutable, and let us not leave it to chance.

My time here has almost come to an end, and it will not be for nothing. It was a good four years. Lessons fade, their magnitude diminished by the ebb of time. This one, I swear, shall not suffer that fate. We are not born for ourselves alone; by now, these sentiments are innate in my being. I shall always hold vigil over our progenitors, in solemn remembrance of their efforts, and in observance of our sacred duty.

The Modern Logographer

Isocrates was always quite coy about his past as a logographer, a profession that we now know as speechwriter. This should not be surprising to us, if we recall the scorn with which Plato and other so-called philosophers looked upon the need to work for a living. Intellectualism, techne, and wisdom, according to them, were attainable only by freeing onself from the menial labors of day-to-day life. We have witnessed this firsthand through Plato’s treatment of Lysias, a logographer who made a living out of writing speeches, in the Phaedrus. Isocrates, through his silent acknowledgment, appears to agree with this sentiment.

In modernity, the tables have turned. We now look upon the unemployed with suspicion and speak spitefully about those who are “just looking for handouts”. What else would we deem those that are voluntarily, adamantly umemployed, but the very dregs of society? Such a dramatic shift in societal opinion is likely derived from various workers revolutions and union movements. In a rare departure from the Isocratean, I am grateful for it. We are of this world, after all, and in the grand scheme of things it was not so long that our ancestors could do little more than survive on a day-to-day basis. Their triumphs cemented our continued existence; there is no need to belittle their endeavors.

A slight distinction between logographers and speechwriters can be made in the context of their employment. Most speeches in Isocrates’ day were composed on the behalf of clients in the courts and the legal arena who could not speak nearly as well without the help. Such roles have been formalized today into other professions, and in America they are known as prosecutors and defense attorneys. Politics is now the arena that most modern speechwriters display their wares. I may be exaggerating slightly, but I don’t think most people will take issue if I say that behind every relevant politician is a speechwriter or two.

It may be very interesting to contrast the life of a modern speechwriter to that of a logographer in Isocrates’ era, during which the occupation of speechwriting on behalf of another essentially began. For politicians of this day, it no longer seems sustainable to request the services of a writer on a speech-by-speech basis, but rather the norm is to retain a team on permanent employ. In recent memory, it could be said that U.S. President Barack Obama has been one of the more inspiring orators in the political arena. Let us then examine the responsibilities of his speechwriting team, which is headed by a man named John Favreau.

Favreau himself was rather young – merely 23 – when he began work for then-Senator Obama, but his accomplishments with speech and the theory of writing was already reminiscent of Cicero’s own youth. He described his political theory of writing as the following:

“A speech can broaden the circle of people who care about this stuff. How do you say to the average person that’s been hurting: ‘I hear you. I’m there. Even though you’ve been so disappointed and cynical about politics in the past, and with good reason, we can move in the right direction. Just give me a chance.’” ^[1]

This attitude is certainly a departure from the aim of logography, transitioning from the need to win tit-for-tat exchanges between clients to the desire for inclusion and inspiration in politics. Furthermore, logography was largely recognized as the field that helped the most frigid and uneducated of speakers to appear eloquent and competent. In modern speechwriting, helping the client to become a better speaker is not the only concern. An even clearer mark of a successful speechwriter regards the ability to make a client, while delivering the speech, sound like it originated from his or her very own pen. In the words of Christopher Buckley, a speechwriter for President Bush,

“The trick of speechwriting, if you will, is making the client say your brilliant words while somehow managing to make it sound as though they issued straight from their own soul.” ^[2]

It is said that Favreau had mastered President Obama’s voice by reading almost everything he wrote as a senator and channeling those ideas and phrases. Favreau had become so adept at this that he admitted it would be difficult to write in his voice own again.

In Response to Longinus

It is amusing to note that my first encounter with On the Sublime occurred while reading the Panegyricus, and not in class. Barely a few paragraphs into the  Isocratic treatise (broken up into small sections on the Perseus database), a very large and prominent footnote appeared. It read:

“The author of the treatise On the Sublime quotes this passage and condemns Isocrates’ ‘puerility’ in thus dwelling on the power of rhetoric and so arousing distrust of his sincerity…Plutarch attributes to Isocrates the definition of rhetoric as the means of making “small things great and great things small” … a similar view is attributed to Tisias and Gorgias.”

Immediately apparent from this passage was Longinus’ intent, personal convictions, and faction association in the philosophy vs. rhetoric divide. Despite all of Isocrates’ insistence to the contrary, Longinus depicted him as a sophist in the style of Gorgias, devoid of all claim to the notion of sublimity. On the Sublime itself certainly did not disappoint in these regards. Longinus specifically singled out one of Isocrates’ passages as an example of a rhetorical figure executed badly, while Plato was referenced with high praise many times in the treatise.

Furthermore, the positions advocated by Longinus were almost always diametrically opposed to those advocated by Isocrates (and by extension Cicero and Quintilian). The most prominent of these appeared to be the role of natural ability in the development of the sublime, the model citizen, or the ideal orator. Out of five sources of sublimity, Longinus attributed the foremost to “natural greatness”, while Isocrates was adamant in the Antidosis that “credit is won not by gifts of fortune but by efforts of study”.

Other criticisms of the Isocratic style I will accept and take to heart, but I cannot let this foolhardy sentiment of Longinus to stand. In fact, I consider this line of thinking to be seriously detrimental to education itself. In America, the belief that you are predisposed to failure or success is especially prevalent. Students abandon all hope on a subject too often, simply because they have been ingrained with the notion that you must be born with the “gift” in order to succeed. While natural greatness may be a non-negligible factor in reaching virtuosity or sublimity, the vastly dominant contribution comes from the sheer amount of time spent honing a skill, drilling a technique, or practicing a routine.

Talent may get you past the basic motions effortlessly, if only for the sake of appearance and bluster, but conceptual mastery is the direct result of intensive study.

There is yet another matter regarding Longinus and Plato that I must address. My primary critique of Plato was the following: while Plato had explicated in great detail his Theory of Forms, he ultimately left no way for humans to distinguish what constituted a Form and what did not. We could perhaps speculate that that the concept of sublimity is capable of being extended to enhance Plato’s Forms.

Longinus makes several references to the true sublime, which can remain awe-inspiring to its audience no matter how many times it is examined. The true sublime is independent of who or what perceives it; everyone who experiences it can only depart with unanimous and fervent praise. Can this be used a criterion in recognizing the Forms? How good of you to patch up the numerous holes in Plato’s so-called theories, Longinus!

And what a criterion it is. Will there ever be a speech, performance, philosophy, or ideal that elicits total approval from its evaluators? Why, perhaps we should journey around the globe to put certain promising items to the test, accosting all beings that chance upon us. When we’ve reached a thousand bodies in favor and only one opposed, can we call it a Form? No? Longinus, you have simply redrawn the asymptote and redefined the indefinite. What we need is a measure of how close we are to that asymptote, and correspondingly, when to stop wondering if what we have is a Form or not.  I would like to have awarded you the honor of improving upon Plato, just as Cicero improved on Isocrates, Quintilian on Cicero, and Augustine on them all – but it is not to be.

Foucault’s Pendulum

Some years ago, I read Foucault’s Pendulum, written by the famed Italian novelist Umberto Eco.

The novel itself could best be described as the “elite” or (dare-we-say?) “intellectual” version of The Da Vinci Code. The premise revolved around a small group of scholars intent on solving an ancient mystery, seeking clues inscribed upon old marble columns and recorded cryptically in dusty, crumbling texts.

Like the works of Dante, a fairly intimate familiarity with Italian history and literature was necessary to understand the many cultural and linguistic references that were made in the novel. These were lost upon me, regrettably, yet I was still largely unmotivated to search for their meanings in the web world. To exacerbate matters, either by the virtue of an overzealous translator or by Eco himself, many of the words in the English version were positively draconian in nature. By the first ten pages of the book I had written a list of words whose inclusion would have shocked even the GRE, to say nothing of their effect on a high-schooler.

All such matters in consideration, it can be best said that I charged through the reading of Foucault’s Pendulum, employing little caution and paying scant attention to detail (that is, to invoke Heinrich Schliemann, except if I were in his place I may have destroyed three Troys instead of just one).

And to think, the ease with which I could have gained a complete and thorough understanding of the book and its requisite vocabulary and cultural knowledge, with a simple flick of a wrist and a cursory glance at a computer screen. I do really pity (and admire) the students of the not-so-distant past, armed with nothing but books, libraries, and librarians. The effort and time it would take me to locate knowledge is infinitesimal compared to the Herculean labors of these not-very-ancient scholars. But I digress. (And I should very likely give Herodotus due credit for the ease with which I did so.)

The reason I am writing this is because the study of Isocrates, Cicero, and the origins of the liberal arts tradition has suddenly prompted remembrance of a passage in the book, even after all these years and a haphazard first reading. The passage is reproduced below, and it deals with the subject of teaching:

“I believe that what we become depends on what our fathers teach us at odd moments, when they aren’t trying to teach us. We are formed by little scraps of wisdom.”

What does this imply? Despite our best efforts to structure a carefully-crafted curriculum that would expose our children to a broad spectrum of knowledge, do the most significant moments in teaching occur unplanned and unpremeditated? What would linger in the mind of a student, the precepts taught in Day 67 of Grade Six, or knowledge passed in the form of friendly banter with parents, teachers, and mentors?

There may be a glimmer of truth in this tendency, possibly due to the nature of the human psyche itself, and it is worth investigating. I can attest personally to experiencing this adverse reaction to “formal education”, reverting quickly to curious diligence the moment any pretense of formality is dispersed. Surely this is not a phenomenon of the 21st century, but as to whether or not Isocrates dealt with the issue, I tend to remain in doubt. He taught only six students at a time and prescribed entrance requirements; any interactions students would have had with Isocrates would invariably have resembled free banter than any sort of institutionalized, formal learning. Alas, in our classrooms of thirty and our lectures of two-hundred, we have no such luxury. Currently, it is the duty and responsibility of the student to approach the teacher to engage in such exchanges, but responsibility should be placed equally.

Space: the Final Frontier

We are attempting, even today, to escape the confines of this world and arrive with engines roaring and orbits trailing behind us at the limits of the universe.  I long for this day, and when it comes, I will have only a lingering reluctance and regret in leaving behind the already infinite wealth of worldly aspects, studies, and people. I want to glance backward at our star system as we leave its influence to investigate even deeper mysteries; I want to see for myself the elusive centerpiece of our galaxy, brilliant and ever enigmatic; I want, most of all, to answer that one question that both plagues and transcends our time – what’s out there?

So many fundamental questions like these linger about the cosmos that we inhabit. This is a frontier that still today eludes the grasp of even the most intrepid and ingenious of men and women. The vast territory that is space remains largely uncharted, its outer limits unknown but to theory and imagination, despite the best efforts of scientists and explorers throughout the millennia of human history.

A better understanding of the hostile environment of space must be grasped in order to develop means to counter and alleviate issues while operating in its midst. But to gain this better understanding, we must make forays into space itself to conduct experiments and relay results. We must utilize practical methods to discover truth; we must understand truth to develop practical methods. This is a distinctly Isocratean problem, and it requires an Isocratean solution.

One of the largest barriers to space activity and exploration is the sheer cost associated with the planning and execution of a mission – manned or unmanned, local or far-flung. The cost of a launch vehicle that injects a spacecraft into orbit can range anywhere between 50 million USD and 150 million (depending on the mass of the payload to be transported). The entire cycle of researching, developing, and constructing a spacecraft and sustaining its operation could demand a budget of over 1 billion USD.

These enormous costs are often offset by government-based funding (e.g., the 2010 NASA budget tops 18 billion USD), which is currently a necessary but unhealthy dependence. The recent global economic downturn placed great strain on annual budgets, and space agencies throughout the world suffered numerous setbacks and cancellations. As a result, the industry is inordinately sluggish and progress is often haphazard, subject to the whims of politicians and their incessant campaigning and posturing.

How can we address this unhealthy dependence? The Isocratean answer is clear: sever it.

To achieve this, the space sector must establish a measure of fiscal self-sufficiency. There must be a motivation for space exploration and pioneering that melds both scientific pursuit and commercial enterprise: an entrepreneurial and venture capital motive. I would like to see a burst of advancement and innovation in space technology that can rival the dot-com boom of the 1990s in information technology and internet-based fields. I want to help spark an interest in space so intense that a hub for the space sector as iconic as Silicon Valley can be created and sustained.

Hence, the primary task of engineers like myself should be to develop technology that reduces the cost of space activity such that it is accessible to the individual – something akin to the transistor in the field of electronics and computing. Enabling a vested commercial interest in space would provide a basis for a fast-paced, vibrant space industry. Whether this viable interest manifests in mining, tourism, communications, et al. is yet to be seen.

Encomium of John Bardeen

The name John Bardeen is uttered with quite familiarity on the University of Illinois campus, just like Busey, Edmund James, and all those “Six-Pack” residence halls. But how many students can match accomplishments to these names, illustrious enough to adorn the face of this University for all eternity? Bardeen itself has been attached to that little plot of land inhabiting the region between Everett Lab and Engineering Hall – quite small, but recipient of a huge quantity of pedestrian traffic. There is no place more fitting, as this is the area that aspirants of the electrical engineering discipline frequent the most.

John Bardeen was the only person in history to have won the Nobel Prize in Physics twice. The two technological breakthroughs that were honored by the Nobel represent the apex of his work; they revolutionized this world to the point that we would hardly be able recognize life prior to their inception, let alone contemplate living one like it. The subject of this panegyric must focus on the accomplishments of the man, rather than the exemplary nature of his character, but I shall show nevertheless that he was a paragon in both regards. Praise from a mere student such as myself will not benefit him in the slightest, but let it serve as a solemn remembrance of one who is infinitely greater.

The first Nobel was awarded for his involvement in the 1947 invention of the transistor, a device that can amplify and switch electrical signals. Such a thing hardly seems exceptional to those unfamiliar with the field, but in fact, the transistor is single-handedly responsible for revolutionizing the entire field of electronics. Its inception cleared the path for the development and mass production of now-widespread devices, such as computers, cell phones, and calculators. The Internet Age, the Information Age, the Obsolescence Age; for better or worse, you may attribute all of these to the rise of the transistor. Today, they are recognized as a fundamental building block in all electronics, replacing vacuum tubes as the primary electrical component. This spurred the transformation of electronics from towering behemoths to the palm-sized devices that we are accustomed to using today.

Simple logic gates, which are small architectural components that facilitate a computer’s binary logic, can consist of up to 20 transistors. An advanced microprocessor can contain up to 3 billion. In the year 2002, it was estimated that 60 million transistors were built annually just for you. It was also estimated that by 2010, the number of transistors built per person  annually would exceed one billion. Such is the ubiquity of this device in the modern era, and indeed, few other inventions can claim to have experienced the same meteoric rise.

Image (yikes): Atmel ATS2343 Microprocessor. Transistors circled in red.

As if this technological breakthrough were not enough, Bardeen was awarded a second Nobel for his contributions to superconductivity theory, which was developed when he was a professor at the University of Illinois. (Should you pass by the engineering quad, take a moment to stop and read the sign by the river titled Theory of Superconductivity. Or you can just click here.) The property of superconductivity refers to a material’s ability to maintain zero electrical resistance, which gives rise to powerful magnets and magnetic fields. Bardeen and his colleagues proposed an explanation for how materials achieve this state, which is now known as BCS theory. Superconducting magnets are widely used in modern equipment, such MRIs, mass spectrometers, and signal filters for cell phone towers. However, the most revolutionary applications of this theory are not yet completely within our grasp. Examples of these include magnetic levitation “maglev” devices (such as the maglev train), electric motors and generators for conventional vehicles, and the development of advanced materials such as nanotubes and composites.

Finally, let it be known that John Bardeen, despite his great genius, always maintained a humble and unassuming personality. Bardeen was recognized by his neighbors to be affable and frank, and was best known to them not for his scientific accomplishments but for the many cookouts he held right on his front lawn. In outward appearance, he never claimed to be anyone out of the ordinary, but instead embodied knowledge and achievement in his very manner. Too many in this field adhere to and perpetuate the stereotype of the “mad scientist” or the “crazy genius” in a dank laboratory. Such foolishness is unbefitting of those who hold a professional station and is indicative of one who craves fame and attention over virtue and substance; these are the sophists of the scientific realm.

The full implications of BCS theory will be explored for decades into the future, and there is no improvement or replacement in sight for the transistor. Many future generations will yet be influenced by the magnitude of Bardeen’s works.

I had once mentioned the potential rift between physics and engineering as possibly reminiscent of the millennia-old dispute between philosophy and rhetoric. Upon examining the life of this eminent scientist, what conclusions can we draw? What greater example could we obtain of a single being that delved deeply into the mechanisms of the universe, and then armed with that knowledge, wrought goods of great and practical significance to the world at large? Proponents of the dichotomy, take heed. Apply your furious efforts elsewhere, advocate disunity no longer, and all will benefit from your abandonment. Truth, the ideal, sublimity; such things are achievable only when all matters come together as a whole. Let the Paragon of John Bardeen remain a testament to the transcendence of this splendid harmony.

In Defense of the Liberal Arts

Philosophy is the highest pursuit. All other subjects only function as a gymnasium of the mind in preparation for its study. Isocrates, in the compilation of his life’s work, asserts this plainly and astutely.

Lately however, as noted several times in class, the reputation of the liberal arts has not fared well in the realm of public attention. The rhetoric had shifted yet again to favor the narrow, vocational style of education exhibited in the curricula of colleges like that of Business and Engineering. This debate had been framed so aptly by Cicero in his De Oratore, but seems to be just as relevant today as it was long ago. A few typical phrases uttered by politicians and so-called social commentators:

“Our country is experiencing a severe shortage of engineers and scientists!”

“China and Russia are surpassing us in technological innovation and achievement.”

“What will students do with that major after graduation?”

There are several implications. The United States has a large appetite indeed for those in scientific professions, and it is entirely possible that there is a dearth of individuals to fill vacant positions. This is the case in certain sectors, such as the aerospace industry, where it is estimated that over 50% of the current workforce will be eligible for retirement within 5 years. The implication here is that a surplus of students in the liberal arts is detracting from scientific fields – a claim I find to be fallacious. Generally, there is already an existing net surplus within the fields of science and engineering. This is a situation currently exacerbated by the global economic recession; many engineers who would have otherwise entered the workforce were forced to attend graduate school instead. I see no reason for politicians to continuously spout such alarmist sentiments. Indeed, I am exceedingly baffled by the actions of those who have benefited most from the study of the liberal arts, who yet continue to defame it.

Secondly, it is suggested that the study of liberal arts has hindered the country’s technological progress, again by detracting those who would otherwise be studying the sciences. In response, it must be noted that vocational schools function much like coin mints or assembly lines. You cannot hammer out innovation through a procedural process, lest you desire the resulting graduates to be mere number crunchers. The required ability is cultivated by critical thinking, curiosity, and an indomitable sense of perseverance. Strangely, these are the traits that a curriculum in the liberal arts professes to teach. You will find that an inordinately large number of professors in the scientific fields have an appreciation for history, literature, and the fine arts. This is no coincidence.

Two examples come to mind regarding the above, straight out of various engineering classes. In one instance, a professor interjected into the middle of his lecture: “You can watch me draw symbols on the board all day, but to be human, you must know the humanities.” During another class, a student once complained about the breadth of humanities courses (18 credit hours) we needed to take in addition to engineering courses. The professor replied: “Without those, you’d be ignorant. We don’t tolerate ignorance.” The consensus is clear. All vocational education should be supplemented by a curriculum of liberal arts.

The last inquiry suggests that a liberal arts education is too broad to be practical in any field offered by the real world. This may be true for highly specialized fields, but in general the question is ill-posed and the inquirer presumptuous. What will you do with a liberal arts degree? You will dictate policy, preside as judges of the civil court, and champion the rights of the people. You will declare war on our enemies and preserve ties with our allies. You will allocate funds here and cut budgets there; engineers like myself will write proposals to you, begging you for the funds without which our projects would only wither. Let us not forget, dear students of the liberal arts, that a great majority of the elected leadership in this country had sat in the same seats, walked the same halls, and toted the same books. You will, as they are doing presently, decide what is important to the country. By the virtue of your training, your decisions will shape the future of this world: politically, scientifically, morally.

I have great confidence that you will succeed, armed with the summation of knowledge from those that have preceded you. When you’ve reached such heights, do not forget to credit those that are responsible for your rise, and restore the liberal arts back to its proper eminence. Too many already are preoccupied solely with their own reputations.

Isocrates made no mistake in asserting that philosophy was the culmination of all studies, as its pursuers will eventually preside over all human matters imaginable. After all, we elect leaders who we believe to be capable of arriving at the best course of action on our behalf; such is wisdom. It may not produce results measurable by discrete numbers or human methods of survey, but we should know better than to assume that it produces no results whatsoever.

Physics, Engineering, Truth, and Practicality

The metaphysical battle between philosophy and rhetoric spanned centuries, transcended generations, and divided the loyalties of even the reconcilable of minds. The former claimed to be the art that discovered truths and condemned the latter as derivative and illusory, whilst the latter professed indifference and ridiculed the former for taking itself so seriously. The origin of this clash is difficult to pinpoint, but all might agree that the great inquisitive mind of Socrates, ever intent to flesh out the truth, had poured fuel into the fire that threatened to burn rhetoric and its practitioners.

The criticisms are not completely unwarranted. Much emphasis is always placed on the ease with which rhetoric can be used to obscure the truth, and abused to subvert and coerce, by exerting the intoxicating power of speech upon easily-swayed minds. Indeed, even I must seek to distance myself from those sophists with outlandish boasts, claiming to know all things under the sun, and teaching all for but a paltry fee. Philosophy, in contrast, can only be pursued by those that are good and just, for the purpose of determining truth.

Lately, I’ve heard rumblings that instances of this dichotomy may be found between other disciplines too – that of physics and engineering, the latter a field that I have chosen to call my intended profession.

If Socrates were to ask me to define the both of them, I would be fairly confident in the response I could offer. It can be said that physics takes the role of philosophy, in that it attempts to determine the governing principles of the universe and expresses them in the absolute language of mathematics. Now, it must be noted here that mathematics is just a language, such as English or Latin or Greek, but is particular, precise, quantifiable, and succinct. Note the examples below.

The wave equation, which describes a wave propagating along a medium (e.g. air, water, wood):

The Euler-Bernoulli equation, which describes the deformation of a beam under loading:
And finally, Newton’s law of gravitation,
All such physical principles of our universal have been revealed by the tireless work of physicists. Now, you may wonder where subjects like chemistry and biology belong in relation, but for simplicity’s sake I will group all such sciences under the heading of physics, as it was only in modern times that science experienced such segmentation. It is also noteworthy that in the days of Newton and the Royal Society, scientists called themselves natural philosophers.

Then, does engineering belong with the likes of rhetoric? In the simplest and most general of terms, engineering is the application of physical principles. Using the wave equation, engineers construct theatres in which sound can reach all members of the audience and build cars whose engines are dramatically quieted to accommodate passengers. Using the Euler-Bernoulli equation, engineers build towers and ensure that if 100 people stood on the top floor, the structure wouldn’t so much as budge a millimeter. Using Newton’s law of gravitation, engineers can build planes and spacecraft and scheme to leave the confines of Earth behind us in a trailing plume of smoke and dust.

Where does engineering fall astray? By harnessing the principles of combustion to develop bombs and other incendiary devices to maim and kill. By converting chemical energy to mechanical energy in order to construct machines used to systematically strip the earth of its resources. By concocting sinister poultices with the sole intention of harming those that are tricked to imbibe them. Of course, let us not forget an improper or incomplete education in physics would more oft than not result in collapsing bridges, sputtering engines, and sinking ships.

Why do the physicists not cry foul at the devious uses of their hard-gained work, like so many philosophers had at the rhetoricians? It is perhaps easier to see in a discipline that uses a language so explicit. To be an engineer, you must understand all the fundamental principles. You are just like a physicist, except your immediate task is to discover methods to utilize existing principles, not to discover more principles. Only the foolish would hark to such an inconsequential distinction to sow discord in this mutually beneficial relationship, and such people would likely make poor physicists and poor engineers.

Engineering is a tool to be utilized for benefit or for harm, depending on the wielder. It is by no means inherently unjust. Its correct usage depends on a broad swath of education that addresses the ramifications of wielding a power as potent as the very secrets of the universe.

Just so, an aspiring rhetorician must receive a broad education in order to perceive the just use of the power of speech.

Socrates chose a truly pure path: he did not risk corruption by wading into the public fray, but his ideas are left unexplored and at the mercy of time. He had power at his fingertips, but chose not to use it. As a result, much of his work and wisdom is lost to us. A question had once been posed during class regarding why Plato chose to defy his beloved mentor in writing a host of treatises. I believe it to be this: Plato recognized that in order for philosophy to benefit the world at large, it must be taken into the public sphere of rhetoric.

Without engineering, the principles uncovered by physics can never be harnessed to benefit the world. Vice versa, without physics, engineering would only stumble blindly through a world full of intricate and elegant truths. Likewise, truths determined by philosophy cannot be implemented in policy without rhetoric.

Aristotle put it most aptly: engineering is the counterpart to physics, just as rhetoric is the counterpart to dialectic. The relationship between them is that of duality, not dichotomy. Without one, the other cannot function.

1; Unity

In the half-century following the conclusion of the Peloponnesian War, the city-states of Hellas remained embroiled in incessant quarrels over the most of petty matters, despite the best attempts of those who had once hoped to unite all Hellenes under a common banner. Though the leaders in power had never solved any issues of great importance, they still walked with pride and held their heads high, concerning themselves with little matters fit only to enhance their own reputations. These leaders made often treaties of peace between themselves, but in vain and perhaps in ill-conscience from the outset. The treaties themselves did not settle hostilities, but served only to defer wars to the moment that one such leader perceived that he could inflict some grievous wound upon another.

It is in this environment that we are counseled by Isocrates, that the more narrow-minded and cowardly our leaders prove to be, the more vigorously the rest of us must work to find a solution in order to end our apparent enmity. Our duty is to rise above these petty plots and endeavour to establish a greater sense of security at home, and to install greater confidence among neighbors and between each other.

The specifics, however, may be more difficult to swallow in modern times. Isocrates presents a simple solution to forging a lasting peace: war with Persia, which would turn the mutual enmity of the Hellenes away from each other and towards a common enemy.

Yet has America not been forged by the very same process? We have been united by war, and our member states have long ago sacrificed much of their independent identities and sovereignties to become integrated as parts of the whole. Our enemy was no derivative Achaemenid king, guardian of a realm long bereft of their former glory and hegemony, but one of the most powerful and far-flung empires that has ever graced the surface of this Earth, and it was still yet in its prime.

It took a foreign army to conquer the city-states of Hellas and impose unity upon them. Isocrates would no doubt look upon the creation of the United States as a demonstration of the natural tendency to form bonds against all adversity. The colonies, which were established with vastly different motivations and creeds, had virtually no mutual ties but were able to create common cause nonetheless.

The United States has advanced innumerable steps since then, but our political climate has suffered to the point that it is comparable to that of Hellas. Long gone are the days that any single politician can be elected to the office of the Presidency on a unanimous vote. Politicians today stand on what they call “principle” in order to appeal to their voter base, instead of compromising with opposing factions to create more balanced legislation. They do and say not what is required for the betterment of country, but what will cement their reelection. One faction’s triumph is now automatically regarded as another’s scourge. The recent battle over the 2011 budget is exemplary of the tendency to pass temporary treaties so that all parties involved can probe for another chance at the killing blow: several “stopgap” funding measures were passed that funded the government for 3 weeks at a time, postponing the inevitable confrontation and giving politicians more time to maneuver. However, I am not here to judge the guilty party, but only to observe that all sides are worthy of praise and deserving of condemnation.

It is time that we left behind these petty, childish power plays that have yet again divided our country into squabbling factions. But who are we to unite against? Enemies that we face now are much more insidious than the looming threat of a foreign invader. The true threats are diminishing natural resources, global overpopulation, and rising extremism on all sides of the political spectrum. These are enemies that shed no blood and conscript no hosts, and cannot be solved by a broken and disjointed effort. No, what can spur a nation to great heights other than the sentiment that it is being outdone by another? Like those before me, I propose a simple solution. We have been complacent for too much time while we surmised that our country was preeminent in all affairs: science, law, medicine, literature, and invention. Such designations are far from permanent and are ultimately worthless to our motivations; other nations have been spurred by the desire to match and surpass our accomplishments, and they are getting ever closer. Let the spirit of competition among nations dictate to us an identity and purpose that all can rally behind. If we are to endure the real challenges that lie ahead of us, our banners must first be unfurled.

To that effect, let us bask in our mutual accomplishments instead of our ideological differences, and allow all our myriad parts to come together as a functioning whole once more. After all, we hardly boast that that a single state was responsible for the civil rights movement or that the Democratic Party defeated the Third Reich in World War II; such deeds are what the nation is capable of only if it chooses to come together.

Hahn-Bin: a Glimpse into the World of Forms

I have, here on the very campus of the University of Illinois, glanced upon what Plato must have envisioned to be a Form!

The encounter was brief, fleeting, and totally unpremeditated, but there it was not one-hundred meters in front of me: the embodiment of a Form displaced from the world beyond heaven itself.

This embodiment manifested as Hahn-Bin, a virtuoso violinist 22 years of age, who appeared as guest soloist at CU Symphony Orchestra’s concert last weekend. When I first took my seat among the audience, the performance hall at Krannert Center was quiet and unassuming. Neatly-arranged rows of stands and chairs adorned the stage, each occupied with a musician dressed crisply in black, cradling an instrument in hand – a sight quite familiar to me. Suddenly, the side-doors flung open and the soloist walked forth onto center-stage. His attire was bright red in hue and quite stylish in manner, his demeanor grandiose yet affable, and the entirety of his black hair was swept upward in a mohawk – all in brilliant contrast to the stark and conservative nature of the traditional symphony. All eyes were on him; the orchestra was forgotten; only one presence remained.

Then, soft notes filled the surroundings. The orchestra was in motion. Hahn-Bin raised his bow with a flourish of his arm, where it landed on string like an acrobat. The result was the most exquisite music I have ever heard (I’ve watched my fair share of performances and virtuosos, not nearly enough to judge them on technicality, but merely their impressions on the mind). The waves of sound rippled gently over their aerial medium, so discretely ushered by their progenitor that the air could scarcely claim to be disturbed. At other parts of the composition, the mood of the music shifted towards the energetic and discordant, with the notes ricocheting to blanket the audience more like gusts of wind rather than the acoustic waves they were supposed to be.

Video: Hahn-Bin – P. de Sarasate, Carmen Fantasy

Hahn-Bin’s demeanor matched the mood of the music, or rather, perhaps his demeanor was the driving force behind the composition itself. His every motion personified the waves of sound, and even from afar, I could see his face twinge with agony, glee, and contentment. There was an element of dance and expression that Hahn-Bin incorporated into his performance that hinted at inspiration beyond that of even an adept musician. Here, he was not a student of Sarasate’s Carmen Fantasy, but its master. All the marks of a true artist were evident, whose foundation is perhaps beyond this world, transcendent and virtuoso in the image of its corresponding Form.

You may recall that not too long ago, I criticized the Platonics and their prized concept of the Forms for their emphasis on rigidity and absolutism. What does this bode for my previous assertions, now that I have so enthusiastically professed to have seen one for myself? Can our two philosophies be reconciled, or must one of us abandon our posts for good? The answer to this inquiry – I contend, and you can judge for yourself – supports both of our claims, but it tends to be more consistent with the relativistic view of the world.

Other people, such as yourself, may not agree with my interpretation and appraisal of the artist’s work. Perhaps you believe that the performance was not so striking at all, or that such extravagant displays only move art away from its proper form. Perhaps the performance struck my senses with its novelty, and the next one I see will not move me so much. Perhaps an even greater artist will honor me with their presence on the stage, swaying my notion of perfect art into a new direction.

There are so many possibilities, but each of them is centered on a single concept: our interpretation of the world based on our observations. The culmination of a person’s experiences allows them to create an expectation for what constitutes perfect forms, built gradually and empirically, but capable of changing in an instant. Another individual’s experiences will lead him or her into a different direction, and I cannot say whose is correct.

Regardless of the universality of the artist’s appeal, I still do not know if what I witnessed was truth or shadow or anything close to what the Form of artistry should entail. Does such a world even exist, resplendent with perfect counterparts of what we experience in the natural world? Possibly – I do not claim to know, for I have neither proof of its existence nor evidence of its fabrication. However, the ability for certain things to inspire awe suggests at the existence of a realm that transcends the day-to-day dealings of the natural world. Certainly a great majority of humanity has experienced that inexplicable sense of glee that manifests when we partake in something greater than ourselves or venture into realms previously uncharted. Some will devote their lifetimes to the search for that one ideal instance. Others, like me, will simply acknowledge its possible existence and then press on, noting that every step of human advancement will bring us closer. These paths are by no means conflicting or mutually exclusive, and any claims to the contrary are wrought simply by differences in perspective.

In these pursuits, humanity will ascend ever higher, reaching asymptotically for something that is always just out of reach. Perhaps someday, the combined weight of our observations and experiences will allow us to perfect an institution, art, or feeling. It is not today, and it will not be tomorrow.

Doubtlessly, there are many who would be swayed by the apparently futility of the task; why strive for something that we can never reach? A difficult inquiry indeed – allow me, just this once, to answer by posing a question of my own. I say this: everybody dies. Every breath you take is one closer to your last, and knowing the inevitability of the outcome, why do you opt to live rather than to stop breathing altogether? Answer me thus, and you will have your answer to our previous inquiry.

Hahn-Bin: a Glimpse into the World of Forms