On page 261 of Book One of Father Frederick Copleston's A History of Philosophy (this morning's First Reading), I encountered this bit (courtesy of Plato):
"' . . . imitative art must be a long way from truth.' It is 'two grades below reality, and quite easy to produce without any knowledge of the truth--for it is mere semblance and not reality.' The man who gives up his life to producing this shadow of reality has made a very bad bargain."
Ironically (?), I've also been reading I. Asimov of late . . . an autobiography of a man who (according to Wikipedia) "wrote or edited more than 500 books and an estimated 90,000 letters and postcards." Only conclusion possible? According to Plato (at least as mediated by Father Copleston, but I think we can trust him on this), The Good Doctor Asimov wasted most of the 72 years of his life.
And . . . well, apologies to Plato 1 , but that's just bullshit. I've personally read a few of those 500+ books (I'd guess about 50 of them), and they have given me great pleasure and stimulated my brain and taught me things and increased my happiness, and I am pretty sure that that counts.
Which got me to thinking about some of the premises that Plato's argument--at least as presented in this truncated form--rests upon.
First off, this notion that art is imitative. That might be true of some forms of art. Painting a landscape, for instance. And I suppose you could make a case for it being true of "realistic" literature . . . but not a very good one. There's not much about art that is imitative in my mind. Art is by its nature interpretive. And it seems to me that as every art evolves it becomes more and more removed from a straightforward presentation of that which is is interpreting (or "imitating" if you still want to swing that way).
Let's put it this way: last night I went to St. Matthews Cinemark and saw the filmed version of Thomas Adès Exterminating Angel opera. Anybody who thinks that that work is imitative is living in a very different reality than the one which I inhabit. (One fueled by Industrial Strength Hallucinogens, at the very least.) As an interpretation, however, it is pretty fuckin' brilliant.
Second off, this "two grades below reality" bullshit? That doesn't even make any sense within the larger context of Platonic thought, does it? If you want to put Plato into a nutshell, you're going to have to end up saying that Reality--supposing that that refers to Real Life in the Sensible World . . . and I don't see what else it could refer to here--is vastly inferior to the World of Forms. So instead of being "two grades below reality," it seems to me that Art would be two grades above reality, because it is removed from Reality. I mean . . . am I missing something here?
I also think it's interesting how all of this plays into the common conception that Art is at least to some extent a waste of time. People who think that are, I believe, always people who believe that Art is Two Grades Below Reality. Instead of getting drunk, listening to loud music, pretending that you can dance, or fucking someone you don't care about, you're wasting your time reading? What a fuckin' loser.
Oh, Plato.
Consistency is all we ask.
And, come to think of it, Oh, Father Copleston. I know that you're just trying to report the facts here, but couldn't you help a brother out by either (1) clarifying this point or (2) affirming that there is a contradiction.
Come on, people, now smile on your brother.
1 Pun intended, but you knew that, right?
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