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.

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