Parmenides’ Stunning Inspiration

The pre-Socratic philosopher Parmenides would appear to be a crown witness for the emergence of philosophy out of contemplative practices (which I described as an important feature of philosophy in this previous post).

He opens his philosophical work with a description of a chariot ride – guided by goddesses – to the abode of the goddess Justice. She teaches him “both the steady heart of well-rounded truth, and the beliefs of mortals in which there is no trust.”

Some see this as a genuine description of Parmenides’ approach to gaining insight. A shamanic journey to the underworld where he is instructed by divine inspiration.

Others see it as merely a standard literary device: the invocation of muses and gods that is standard in poetic works of his time. (And why should a philosopher write in a poetic format? Possibly just because didactic works were written in that way.)

Here is some of what the goddess teaches Parmenides:

“There is the way ‘that it is and it cannot not be:’ This is the path of Trust, for Truth attends it. Then there is the way ‘that it is not and that it must not be:’ This, as I show you, is an altogether misguided route.”

So again, as with Heraclitus’ journey into the soul, the philosophical teaching is presented as a journey. There is a fork in the road, a choice of two directions. The two paths have ontological names, but as the image of the crossroads often suggests, the choice is also an ethical one: to go down the path of what is, or to chose the path of what isn’t. The (shamanic-)philosophical project of finding the truth is also the project of choosing to live in accordance with truth, of leading a good righteous life. Those who go down the path of “what is not:”

“stray two-headed; for confusion in their breasts leads astray their thinking. On this way they journey deaf and blind, bewildered indecisive herds, in whose thinking being and not being are the same and yet not the same. For all of them the path turns back on itself.”

The right path, the path of “what is,” leads Parmenides to the kind of non-dualism which we have also seen in Heraclitus: He rejects opposites such as dark and light, hot and cold, heavy and light:

“Mortal beliefs, listening to words which, though composed, will be lies. For they proposed in their minds to name two forms, one of which should not be named; this is where they went wrong. They selected things oppositely configured and attributed to them features distinct from one another—to the one form the bright fire of flame, Which is gentle, very light, and in every way the same as itself, But not the same as the other. This too is self-consistent in the opposite manner, as impenetrable night, a dense and heavy body.”

And it is the exclusive existence of “what is,” uninterrupted, unvaried and unchanging, that leads to this rejection of dualism and the view of a single coherent and sphere-like reality:

“For apart from ‘what is’ nothing else either is or will be, since ‘what is’ is what Fate bound to be entire and changeless. Therefore all those things which mortal men, trusting in their true reality, have proposed, are no more than names – both birth and perishing, both being and not being, change of place, and alteration of bright colouring. Now, since there is a last limit, ‘what is’ is complete, from every side like the body of a well-rounded sphere, everywhere of equal intensity from the centre. For it must not be somewhat greater in one part and somewhat smaller in another. For, first, there is no such thing as ‘what is not,’ to stop ‘what is’ from joining up with itself; and, second, it is impossible for ‘what is’ to be more here and less there than ‘what is’, since it all inviolably is. For from every direction it is equal to itself, and meets with limits.”

Parmenides argues for these conclusions about “what is” based on insights into the completeness and uninterrupted nature of existence. He argues that things must be different from the way the appear to the eye based on reasoning.

Given the strength of the vision though, it is possible that Parmenides’ well-rounded sphere of being is something seen, or experienced, more through contemplative practice than through logical reasoning alone. How can Parmenides so categorically deny the realities of growth and perishing, of change in the world all around us? That denial rests on the idea that there is a different way of perceiving what is: One based not just on sense perceptions but on contemplation of truths. And this way allows us to live more in accordance with truth.

That was surely a key moment in the history of human thought, when someone or a small number of people first had the insight that things could be different from the way they appear to us and that we should engage the mind and thought to work out a better view of reality. I can’t help wondering what kind of mental process first led them to this kind of insight, how they would have been received by their contemporaries. We know some of these early philosophers had difficult relationships with the communities they were in. They were thought to be obscure, arrogant, impractical.

Parmenides’ suggestion reminds me of a thought experiment I once read in  a book about the geometry and mathematics of the dimensions: Imagine creatures of two dimensions who live on a plane and perceive objects in two dimensions. Now imagine what a sphere looks like that moves through their plane. It will be a dot, then a growing circle, then a shrinking circle, then a dot, then nothing.

sphere

The 2D creatures would therefore see it as a circle that comes into being, grows, the at some point starts to shrink again and finally perishes. Now imagine though one slightly special 2D creature, call it Parmenides, who works out a whole new way of “seeing.” It is based on some idea that what is cannot just not be, and vice versa. Through an astonishing mental effort he combines the two-dimensional slices of growing and shrinking circles and suggests that instead of concepts like the birth and perishing, growth and shrinking of a circle, there is merely a sphere that stays the same as it travels through the experience world of 2D creatures, despite appearances. How would other 2D creatures react? First of all it might still require a huge mental effort for 2D creatures to “see” what Parmenides “saw.” Some might react against it and argue that there’s no point in assuming anything that is not part of the world as it’s experienced. Some might just ignore Parmenides. They might tolerate what he says but simply think that it doesn’t affect them. They want to navigate the “real world” of growing and shrinking circles. Some might “get it.” and feel enriched by the insight. Some  of them might develop new theories about the eternal life of shapes against the background of the appearance of birth, growth, shrinking and death. Who knows.

The existence of a “sphere” in real Parmenides’ philosophy and his 2D namesake is coincidental. I don’t mean to suggest that this exact thought experiment was what Parmenides had in mind. But what is relevant, is the radical nature of the insight based on mental process other than pure sense perception. The sheer mental effort of gaining such and insight. And the difficulty of communicating it, let alone persuading others that there is truth and relevance in it. How do human beings do that kind of thing? That is the job of contemplation and philosophy.

 

Advertisements

The Birth of Philosophy from the Spirit of Contemplative Practice

There’s a lot of interest in contemplative practices and traditions at the moment. Their steady but circuitous route to their current position in public consciousness went something like this: a number of contemplative practices were reduced to the non-religious and non-metaphysical core practice of mindfulness meditation. Its positive impacts on things like general health and wellbeing, chronic pain reduction and stress management, job performance and effectiveness has been shown in study after study. Neuroscience proved that mindfulness meditation could lastingly alter the structure and activities of human brains. Then interest grew again in the spiritual hinterland of mindfulness meditation. Buddhism provided much of that background. And from there, interest grew again in the contemplative practices of other traditions. As it turns out there is a “contemplative core”  present in a variety of cultures and traditions which is highly meaningful for humanity.

So, for example, the meditation teacher Shinzen Young writes about his own research into the contemplative traditions of various cultures and religions:

It was quite astonishing for me to discover that all over the world and in every historical period there had been people who lived their lives in the state of high concentration that I was just beginning to explore. I began to feel a link to them all. It was fascinating to feel that I shared something deep and important with people living centuries ago and having customs and beliefs completely different from mine. I realised that when we practice meditation, we are engaging in a quintessentially human endeavour. The science of enlightenment doesn’t belong to any particular religion or culture or period, rather it belongs to humanity as a whole and helps us to connect to our basic humanness.

But What is a Contemplative Tradition?

There are a number of interrelated elements that belong to a working definition of a contemplative tradition:

  1. We could say it requires a system of insights or teachings (most likely about the place of human beings in the universe).
  2.  Specific techniques or practices to experience, deepen and reap the benefits of those insights.
  3. More specifically, the techniques and practices of contemplative traditions involve the temporary narrowing of mental focus onto single items or concepts.
  4. A key aspect of contemplative traditions is that they promise that the practice of their techniques are a route to a better, more fulfilled, in some senses, happier life and a liberation from the struggle, dissatisfaction and drudgery of non-contemplative day-to-day life.
  5. There is something important about how the practice and techniques of the contemplative practice lead to a better life. The practices themselves may generate feelings of fulfilment and happiness while they are being practiced and in the immediate aftermath. But the important thing is that a brief but regularly repeated period of practice carries over into the rest of life. So, for example, mindfulness meditation is practiced at best for a small proportion of a day, but imbues daily life with greater awareness.

These are basic central formal elements of contemplative traditions, even if the nature of the insights and practices differ. As Shinzen Young writes:

One way to trace the theme of meditation in world spirituality is through vocabulary. Most of the world’s contemplative traditions have a generic technical term that designates any concentrated state. In addition, there are often specific technical terms used to describe different depths or levels of concentration. When we take the systems and put them side by side, we notice some broad parallels between the Christian, Jewish, Islamic, Taoist, Buddhist, and Hindu systems of contemplation.

Similarly, the Sri Lankan Buddhist monk Bhante Henepola Gunaratana writes about the “overlapping practices called prayer and contemplation” that are present in many different religions and cultures:

Prayer is a direct address to a spiritual entity. Contemplation is a prolonged period of conscious thought about a specific topic, usually a religious ideal or scriptural passage. From the standpoint of mental cultivation, both of these activities are exercises in concentration. The normal deluge of conscious thought is restricted, and the mind is brought to one conscious area of operation. The results are those you find in any concentrative practice: deep calm, a physiological slowing of the metabolism, and a sense of peace and well-being.

While the practice of restricting the breadth and increasing the depth of concentration and focus is something that takes place as a conscious practice for designated periods of time in a day, the results of such practices are changes in the overall life of the practitioner. There are a many mechanisms by which this might happen, such as a) that the insights gained during the practice allow for a better understanding of the practitioner’s place in this universe and therefore better navigation in life, b) that the overall better control of the own mind and the ability to concentrate leads to greater effectiveness in addressing any opportunities or challenges that life might offer, c) that greater feelings of connectedness to the world and other human beings (e. g. through a practised focus on compassion, loving-kindness or charity) evoke and strengthen such feelings outside of the contemplative practice, d) that brain activity during contemplative practice changes the structure of the brain long term in a way that increases contentment and decreases feelings of craving and dissatisfaction.

This last point is a more recent focus of neuroscience and again one that is true for contemplative practices with differing forms and content. Shinzen Young, for example, writes:

First, the research seemed to show that while the conceptual systems of the various religions (and specifically those of Buddhism versus Christianity) are very different, the underlying neurological correlates of contemplative adepts in those traditions are often rather similar. This lent credibility to the notion that the world’s contemplative traditions can be viewed as a unity.

So Where Does Philosophy Come Into It?

Is philosophy a contemplative practice? Is Western philosophy one kind of contemplative tradition? We can certainly trace aspects of contemplative traditions through the history of western philosophy. I would argue that philosophy is at its best when it connects to its status as a contemplative practice and weakened when it moves away from it.

Let’s run through the five aspects of contemplative traditions set out above:

A System of Insights or Teachings and Specific Techniques or Practices

It could be argued that Western philosophy can’t possibly be a system of insights or teachings, as there are too many differing strands that are in conflict with each other. But if we gain enough distance from it, we may be able to detect a system of key insights that are in some form or other relevant to the whole tradition. That would be equivalent, for example, to seeing fundamental philosophical tenets of Buddhism as the theoretical backdrop for the practice of mindfulness meditation without worrying too much about the difference between Theravada and Mahayana Buddhism and the many arguments and differing theories between or within those schools.

It might be possible to extract certain insights as key to the contemplative tradition of Western philosophy. Just a few of these might be:

  1. We cannot rely on appearances. There is a truth that is somehow behind or beyond the things of our world. This is a key point from the attempts of pre-socratic philosophers to identify the original substance from which everything is made, be it water, fire or an ever-changing mix of source elements. This is behind the Platonic idea that the objects we perceive through our senses and handle in every day life are instances of more abstract ideas and forms. This is behind the idea that there is a nature of things beyond their appearance as phenomena. This idea is alive and well in the pop-philosophical question about whether our lives could be taking place in a simulated virtual reality. A special case of this insight is the Heraclitean idea (also flowing through Stoicism) that everything is in flux, or the insight that the things we regard as hard and fast are in fact ephemeral. Corresponding contemplative practices are: radical doubt, whereby we apply discipline in order to second guess everything that seems reliable until we get to a core of certainty (perhaps most obviously associated with Descartes). Aiming to see the abstract and eternal beyond the practical and fleeting. The practice of really de-valuing things that are part of the unreliable and fleeting world of appearance and looking for things that are eternal (including the devaluation of the body in favour of the soul).
  2. It is important to understand the real reasons for things and events. Philosophy (and from it science) started when people stopped seeing certain events as acts of gods and started looking for other (better) reasons. From that the practice of looking for and providing reasons became important in being able to say what is true and what is good. This capacity for perceiving, critiquing, providing and acting on reasons – rationality – became seen as a distinctly human capacity, or more lately as a capacity available to a distinctly larger extent in human beings. Rationality here is not meant as a contrast to being emotional but as an ability to deal with reasons. Corresponding contemplative practices are: looking for reasons, critiquing reasons, refining our ability to perceive and act on (right) reasons.
  3. There are ideals that we can somehow aim to get at. The True, The Good and The Beautiful to name but a few. Freedom, Right Action, the Good Life. These things are out there and it is our job to somehow get closer to them, unveil them, get them to reveal themselves, define them. Philosophy is a journey towards such ideals (out of the cave). Corresponding contemplative practices are: the contemplation of ideals.

The temporary narrowing of mental focus onto single items or concepts

  • Contemplation and Deep Thought: The practice of Western philosophy may not have the same specificity of practices as other contemplative traditions – it doesn’t have particular cushions, mats or stools for sitting on during practice, it doesn’t have the sounds of gongs or chimes – but it has its own forms of temporary narrowing focus. What does a philosopher do? In the first instance he or she narrows his or her thinking onto a single concept or proposition in order to develop and illuminate it.
  • Dialogue: Not too long ago, a newspaper published a letter-to-the-editor from Professor Simon Blackburn, that described the following course of events:

Sir, I was a member of the then sub-faculty of philosophy in Oxford some 30 years ago when the chairman received a letter from the administration asking us to detail innovations in teaching methods we had recently made. His reply was that the right method of teaching philosophy was discovered by Socrates some 2,500 years ago, and we had no intention of changing it. We heard no more about it.

That method which has run through Western philosophy for more than two millennia is the practice whereby two or more people are engaged in the practice of talking to each other, more specifically asking and answering questions, in order to establish the truth about certain concepts. Whether this takes place in the agora, the Ancient Greek market-place, where one might have found Socrates, the particular stoa, or portico, where the (therefore) Stoic philosopher Zeno taught, the seminar rooms of universities, or elsewhere doesn’t particularly matter.

  • Reading and writing: These are key practices of the contemplative tradition that is Western philosophy. Of course we are not talking about any kind of reading or writing. It is much more a case of extending the practice of dialogue to a situation where people aren’t necessarily in each other’s presence. So the writer in this practice writes in a way that allows the reader to understand his or her insights. The writer also anticipates objections the reader might advance and answers them. The reader not only aims to take them in, but reads critically, i. e. thinks about what his or her objections would be, what he or she agrees with, and what could be said in response. The reader aims for a charitable reading whereby he or she reads the arguments of the writer in a way that gives them as much sense as possible, before opening the text up to critique. The practice of teaching or learning philosophy by working with classic texts comes close to the idea of contemplating certain bits of scripture as a way of narrowing the focus of concentration.

A better, happier life through brief but repeated periods of practice

Does the practice of philosophy make life better? And do occasional periods of practising philosophy have a positive effect on life as a whole?

Philosophers have long argued that the answer to both questions is yes. In Plato’s famous allegory of the cave, he talks about people who are constrained to life in a cave where they can only observe shadow images on the walls and guess at what objects they represent. Some lucky cave dwellers manage to escape. On leaving the cave these people start seeing real objects, reflections of the sun in water and finally the sun whose light makes everything visible. These people are the philosophers who move from merely dealing with the objects and concepts of the practical world to being able to contemplate the forms, the essences of things, and eventually the form of the good – the ultimate source of truth.

In the ideal society, Plato argues, these people who have seen the light, must not be allowed to stay out there basking in the sunlight – even though they will “think that they’ve been transported to the Isles of the Blessed.” The philosophers will have to go back down to the cave to use their advanced understanding gained from contemplation of the sun to lead the community in the cave and share their understanding with them.

In other words: although philosophical contemplation is a pleasant and liberating experience in itself, those practicing it, must return to “real life,” better able to act there because of the insights gained in contemplation and with a responsibility to enlighten their non-contemplative fellow citizens insofar as they can.

There is also a famous paradox in Aristotle’s Nicomachean Ethics which may benefit from applying to it the idea that philosophy is meant to be a contemplative practice. The paradox is in the fact that in book 10 of the Ethics, Aristotle says that happiness consists in contemplation, that contemplation is the highest form of virtue and that it is divine. Whereas elsewhere he gives the impression that all the virtues are equally valuable and that human life is at its bests when it contains activity and social interactions. This is a bit of a paradox that comes about from the fact that engaging in contemplative practice provides a different mindset and perspective in which contemplation is a superior activity. But its value consists in when it carries over to the activities of “normal life.”

Then we have the Stoic philosopher Seneca who, in his essay on the Shortness of Life, proposes that practising philosophy is really the only worthwhile, happy-making and life-prolonging activity. He recommends an ongoing dialogue with the philosophers, as:

“No one of these will force you to die, but all will teach you how to die; no one of these will wear out your years, but each will add his own years to yours; conversations with no one of these will bring you peril, the friendship of none will endanger your life, the courting of none will tax your purse. From them you will take whatever you wish; it will be no fault of theirs if you do not draw the utmost that you can desire. What happiness, what a fair old age awaits him who has offered himself as a client to these! He will have friends from whom he may seek counsel on matters great and small, whom he may consult every day about himself, from whom he may hear truth without insult, praise without flattery, and after whose likeness he may fashion himself.”

So What?

So what if philosophy once was, or in some places still is a contemplative practice? It certainly has moved on now. It is now taught as an academic discipline, rather than a contemplative practice. Isn’t that better? It depends. There are those who regret that philosophy is becoming increasingly invisible in the public space. (I have written about that in this post.) Philosophy could re-connect with its roots as a contemplative practice. It could be a discipline that aims to benefit its practitioners and through them the wider world. Or it could become ever narrower, thinner, specialised and removed from the circumstances of the lives human beings lead. Then it shouldn’t be surprised if people turn either to the ancient philosophers who took their task seriously (has anyone noticed the resurgence of Stoicism) or the teachers of other contemplative practices when they need some insight into what is going on in their lives and the world.