Plato's Epistemology: Is Faith a Valid Way to Know?
June 23, 2018 at 12:24 am
(This post was last modified: June 23, 2018 at 12:37 am by vulcanlogician.)
"The mind is not a vessel to be filled, but a fire to be kindled."
--Plutarch
The purpose of this thread is to examine the value of faith or (at the very least) to explore its relation to true knowledge. Be forewarned, the OP goes into some boilerplate ancient Greek philosophy, so if that isn't your thing, I would recommend not reading past the next paragraph. But I will try to convey the gist of things in the first two paragraphs, so if you have a response to what is said in there, feel free to ignore the rest.
In his essay "The Will to Believe," William James tries to make the point that faith is a genuine means to attain knowledge. To argue his point, he uses the example of a young man who is interested in a woman. The question the young man wants to answer is: "Does she like me?" To answer his query, the young man might conduct all sorts of analyses, but James suggests that the best way to obtain an answer is to begin with faith that she does. Assume she likes you, James advises, and it is more likely that she will. Wallow in skepticism whether she likes you or not--and chances are she won't.
I find James's approach compelling, but (in the end) I must return to my rational roots and question the validity of faith by more conventional means. How valuable is faith at leading us to the right answer? As human beings we are confronted with the known and the unknown. How do we know that we actually know something? How do we come to know what is (by default) unknown? The concept of faith seems to undermine that which supports a genuine quest for real knowledge.
So let's ask ourselves: "What is genuine knowledge?" or "Who is the person who can best receive real knowledge?" Is it the faithful? Or is it the skeptical? I say the latter. And so does Plato. Let's take a look at four types of people: the knowledgeable, the philosophers, the ignorant, and the misunderstanding.
1) The knowledgeable-- (or the "knowing") these people have correct knowledge, and they know that the knowledge that they have is correct.
2) The philosophers-- do not have correct knowledge, and if they do have correct knowledge, they don't know that it's correct. They understand Socrates when he says, "The only thing I know is that I know nothing." They are empty vessels, waiting to be filled, or better yet... as Plutarch puts it... fires waiting to be ignited.
3) The ignorant-- They do not have knowledge, but nor do they want it. They don't know it. Nor do they pursue knowledge. Some of my favorite people fall into this category.
4) The misunderstanding-- These people have false knowledge. Though they mistake it for real knowledge. But they are very certain of their false knowledge.
To me, faith makes one prone to fall into the category of "the misunderstanding"... those who do not know, but think that they DO know. Those who misunderstand are worse than the ignorant, in my opinion. To think the wrong answer is correct is worse than simply admitting one does not know at all. It is better to be ignorant than mistaken, that is what I think.
We want medical doctors who are well-educated. If we were to "go under the knife" of a surgeon, we would prefer that he or she was knowledgeable. We might not care so much how inquizitive he or she was. We don't care so much if our surgeon is a philosopher. What we do care about is that he/she knows what they are doing. To use Plutarch's language, with a surgeon, we want a filled vessel. Not necessarily an ignited mind. But what about the surgeon's teachers? The surgeon's teacher's teacher's? Somewhere along the line, we need an ignited fire; we need someone who wants knowledge for its own sake. We need someone who quests for genuine knowledge to pass on to his or her pupil. Otherwise we wouldn't discover the secrets of the body. And if we don't discover that, then we can't train good surgeons in the first place.
So the best surgeons are generated when the seekers of knowledge find what they seek. But that journey towards knowledge begins with "I don't know."
"Philosophy begins in wonder." So says Aristotle. And he was right. But it doesn't end there. It ends in resolution. It ends in knowledge.
As I said before, the philosophers are those who do not know. Yet they seek knowledge. How can they be of value? Aren't the knowledgeable more valuable than they? The short answer is: no.
The knowledgeable have ended their quest to learn new things. Thus facts evade them. The faithful have decided not to learn. Thus facts evade them. The ignorant have decided to evade facts. Thus facts evade them. The only one receptive to facts is the philosopher.
--Plutarch
The purpose of this thread is to examine the value of faith or (at the very least) to explore its relation to true knowledge. Be forewarned, the OP goes into some boilerplate ancient Greek philosophy, so if that isn't your thing, I would recommend not reading past the next paragraph. But I will try to convey the gist of things in the first two paragraphs, so if you have a response to what is said in there, feel free to ignore the rest.
In his essay "The Will to Believe," William James tries to make the point that faith is a genuine means to attain knowledge. To argue his point, he uses the example of a young man who is interested in a woman. The question the young man wants to answer is: "Does she like me?" To answer his query, the young man might conduct all sorts of analyses, but James suggests that the best way to obtain an answer is to begin with faith that she does. Assume she likes you, James advises, and it is more likely that she will. Wallow in skepticism whether she likes you or not--and chances are she won't.
I find James's approach compelling, but (in the end) I must return to my rational roots and question the validity of faith by more conventional means. How valuable is faith at leading us to the right answer? As human beings we are confronted with the known and the unknown. How do we know that we actually know something? How do we come to know what is (by default) unknown? The concept of faith seems to undermine that which supports a genuine quest for real knowledge.
So let's ask ourselves: "What is genuine knowledge?" or "Who is the person who can best receive real knowledge?" Is it the faithful? Or is it the skeptical? I say the latter. And so does Plato. Let's take a look at four types of people: the knowledgeable, the philosophers, the ignorant, and the misunderstanding.
1) The knowledgeable-- (or the "knowing") these people have correct knowledge, and they know that the knowledge that they have is correct.
2) The philosophers-- do not have correct knowledge, and if they do have correct knowledge, they don't know that it's correct. They understand Socrates when he says, "The only thing I know is that I know nothing." They are empty vessels, waiting to be filled, or better yet... as Plutarch puts it... fires waiting to be ignited.
3) The ignorant-- They do not have knowledge, but nor do they want it. They don't know it. Nor do they pursue knowledge. Some of my favorite people fall into this category.
4) The misunderstanding-- These people have false knowledge. Though they mistake it for real knowledge. But they are very certain of their false knowledge.
To me, faith makes one prone to fall into the category of "the misunderstanding"... those who do not know, but think that they DO know. Those who misunderstand are worse than the ignorant, in my opinion. To think the wrong answer is correct is worse than simply admitting one does not know at all. It is better to be ignorant than mistaken, that is what I think.
We want medical doctors who are well-educated. If we were to "go under the knife" of a surgeon, we would prefer that he or she was knowledgeable. We might not care so much how inquizitive he or she was. We don't care so much if our surgeon is a philosopher. What we do care about is that he/she knows what they are doing. To use Plutarch's language, with a surgeon, we want a filled vessel. Not necessarily an ignited mind. But what about the surgeon's teachers? The surgeon's teacher's teacher's? Somewhere along the line, we need an ignited fire; we need someone who wants knowledge for its own sake. We need someone who quests for genuine knowledge to pass on to his or her pupil. Otherwise we wouldn't discover the secrets of the body. And if we don't discover that, then we can't train good surgeons in the first place.
So the best surgeons are generated when the seekers of knowledge find what they seek. But that journey towards knowledge begins with "I don't know."
"Philosophy begins in wonder." So says Aristotle. And he was right. But it doesn't end there. It ends in resolution. It ends in knowledge.
As I said before, the philosophers are those who do not know. Yet they seek knowledge. How can they be of value? Aren't the knowledgeable more valuable than they? The short answer is: no.
The knowledgeable have ended their quest to learn new things. Thus facts evade them. The faithful have decided not to learn. Thus facts evade them. The ignorant have decided to evade facts. Thus facts evade them. The only one receptive to facts is the philosopher.
Plato Wrote:Once upon a time all of the gods were invited to Zeus' mansion to celebrate the birth of Aphrodite. One of the guests was Wherewithal, the handsome young son of the goddess Wit. Also in attendance at the gala was the goddess Want, a rather needy divine who was in the habit of arriving long after the meal had been served in order to scavenge for leftovers at the rear of the mansion. Now during the party Wherewithal became quite drunk... and staggered outside into Zeus' extensive garden where he collapsed dead asleep. When Want, peering into the garden in search of a scrap of food, caught sight of the handsome Wherewithal lying there asleep, she suddenly felt impelled by her general lack of resources to lay down beside him and conceive of Love. And that, Socrates, is the reason why Love, the god, is Aphrodite's servant and is always by her side, for he was conceived on her first birthday. It also explains why Love is constantly drawn to beautiful things, for Aphrodite is the very essence of beauty.The problem I see with faith is that she embodies Wherewithal too much, yet disowns Want. Therefore, faith is not a pathway to knowledge, but rather, a pathway into ignorance, for the reasons discussed above.
Therefore, a direct descendant of both Wherewithal and Want, Love has not fallen far from the tree. His mother's son, he is ever wanting and, although some may find this hard to believe, he is not the least bit delicate or handsome. On the contrary, he is a vagrant with tough, parched skin. He is always barefoot and homeless, sleeping under a roof of sky or in the doorways of strangers. Sometimes you can hear him snoring in ditches by the side of the road. In all this he takes after his poor mother and is always in need.
From Wherewithal, his father, Love gets his cleverness and ingenuity and a passion for everything that is beautiful and good. He is a genius at magic and an expert in the use of words and herbs. He has a notorious reputation as a daring and ferocious hunter and is always devising clever snares for us. Endlessly resourceful, he is constantly on the trail of truth and wisdom.
By nature he is neither mortal nor god but drifts continuously between the two. On some days he blooms like a plant and is in full flower, only to wilt and die that very evening. But straightaway he revives, thanks to his father's influence. Now and then he'll come into some money, but it's always trickling away, so love is never with or without resources. Moreover, he has a middling intellect possessing neither divine omniscience nor untrammeled ignorance. The reason is that the gods and those few men whom we consider truly wise never feel any love or desire for wisdom since they already possess it. And the same holds true for the ignorant: they too have no desire for wisdom, but in their case it is due to their willingness to remain as dumb as the day they started. This golden rule applies: if someone doesn't think he needs something, he will not want it, since he cannot want what he doesn't think he needs. Do you understand?
...
Isn't it obvious by now, Socrates, that those who love wisdom are not wise nor ignorant but the ones in between, like Love himself. In addition, the young god Love loves wisdom because wisdom and knowledge are the most beautiful things we know of, and Love is always drawn to beauty. It follows that love must be a lover of wisdom and that all lovers of wisdom, that is, philosophers, like Love himself, are somewhere in between total ignorance and complete omniscience. The cause of his generally in-between state lies in Love's parents: his father, you recall, was wise and resourceful, while his mother, well, his mother was not.
