What makes a good story “good”?
It’s a question pondered too often, yet it never seems to go away. Particularly in Christian circles. Even if it isn’t stated verbatim, it’s often the question that lurks behind most projects addressing the “state of the arts” or how Christians should “engage culture.”
But did you know that Plato had an eerily familiar answer? Eerily familiar, that is, for anyone who’s encountered these kinds of “culture” projects.
In Book 3 of The Republic, Socrates takes Homer and Hesiod to task for their poor behavioural models. To his reasoning, it is not right—let alone heroic—for a man to be caught weeping, mourning for the death of his friend. Why should we mourn something that is better for a friend, he asks. The solution? “We shall be right, then,” he declares, “to get rid of the heroes’ songs of lamentation, putting them in the mouths of women—and not even the best women, at that—and cowards.” Why? “We want the people we say we are bringing up to be guardians of our country to be appalled at the idea of behaving like this.” (388a)
And in case you’re confused about with this means, Socrates makes it quite clear earlier: “We shall ask Homer and the rest of the poets not to be angry with us if we strike out these passages, and any others like them.” (387b)
As the discussion continues, Socrates and his yes-men proceed to criticize all the “excesses” they can think of—over-laughing, over-eating, over-drinking, and over-sexing. Slowly, their reasoning emerges: men are too impressionable, too eager to imitate whatever they see without discernment. If you don’t want your men to be given to weeping, then make sure that their heroes are never weak. And don’t you dare tell any stories that show the gods at their worst: don’t you know what that’ll do to our people?
It should be noted here that the people in question are the guardians (those whom Socrates later refers to as the “gold” of humanity). These are the people born to lead and care for those who aren’t born well enough to guide the course of the city. If they can’t withstand these stories, who can?
Obviously, there’s something to be said for not immersing yourself in garbage. We are impressionable, which is why we’re each responsible to know our frames and our weaknesses. Yet, there’s something inherently wrong with the way Socrates is reading poetry. It’s not just that he believes poetry is only good for education—it’s that he never asks, “What happens in this story?” The problem is not that Achilles teaches young men to be first sulking and then heartlessly vengeful (something that Socrates probably wouldn’t find praiseworthy). The problem is that Homer focuses on Achilles’ bout of weeping. Socrates doesn’t take into account the rest of the story; instead, he focuses on one pitiful moment and decides that it needs to go, without looking to see why it’s there and whether or not Achilles would be worthy of praise without it.
It’s cliche to point that Christians do this sort of thing, a lot. Talk about “shit,” and it’s doubtful that your story will be read, much less respected. Talk about extramarital sex, and you’re guaranteed to be blacklisted. Unless, of course, the girl sleeping around is the whore of Babylon, and she gets properly punished by the end of the story.
But I think Plato offers us some insight into what we need to change. We are prudes with the best of intentions. Those who grew up without Christ remember the gunk they soaked up, and they’re determined not to let their kids make the same mistakes. And so the answer, of course, is to build an impermeable brick wall. Parents become Plato’s guardians, careful to make sure that their kids only know about the admirable things in life. Not because they think evil doesn’t exist—they know the opposite far too well. It’s a misguided act of love, because they know what it means to be impressionable.
But maybe that’s the point? Why else do we have the story of the dismembered concubine? Or the story of Judah and Tamar? Or the countless other distasteful moments in the Bible. Perhaps we live as if wisdom is the disappearace of nasty stories, when we really ought to be thinking that wisdom is knowing how to respond to nasty stories. And if that’s true, then a lot of our stories aren’t doing a whole lot of good.
F,
I once had a teacher who was fond of telling her students that bankers are never taught to detect a counterfeit bill. Instead, they are made to touch countless legitimate bills, stack after stack after stack of them. The thought is that after so many good bills, they have developed a wisdom in their hands; the very first time they touch a counterfeit bill, boy howdy, they feel it.
I’m not sure if this is actually true. The illustration is used to support Paul’s instruction to Christians to seek after good things. I’ve always remembered it.
Plato regarded the greater mass of humanity as brutes, squintily discerning chair-like shadows on walls and never awakening to the larger reality of the cave, the sun, and the Good. They were, in a way, children.
I see some wisdom in what Plato says here, though his view of people and emotions are both scrambled. The New Testament teaches us that the Law is something of a schoolmaster, bringing us up until we are wise enough to move from milk to meat. Likewise, it’s possible that we should write some stories to serve as schoolmasters – the milk – to train up our children until their eyes are wise. We should have them count only good bills for a time. If this is true, and Plato regarded the great mass of humanity as children, it’s entirely consistent for him to insist on simple heroes. To describe the contours of the cave could be dangerous.
There is of course a place for more complex stories, but in Plato’s world they are meant only for the philosopher, and in our world they should perhaps be meant for the mature, those who have teeth to cut through the meat. The specifics of this issue are far beyond my experience or the confines of a comment box, but I’d like to affirm that Plato’s heroes are good for something, if only for our children.
C,
Point well made. It wasn’t my intention to suggest that heroes are bad (far from it!), only to point out that Plato/Socrates advocate something that the contemporary Christian world has managed to implement quite widely. And I don’t think it’s been particularly helpful, for two reasons.
First, what is “milk?” Many of the pastors I’ve sat under have made a strong case for not skipping over anything in Scripture when you’re reading to your children. Yet, do any of us really want to explain Onan’s sin to our five-year-old sons? Or what about the case of Jacob deceiving Isaac—how are we supposed to explain that to our third- and fourth-graders? The fact is, the Bible is chock full of “inappropriate” material, and if we’re going to faithfully read Scripture to our children, we’re going to have to deal with things that aren’t cut and dry. Which is why I wonder if biblical “milk” isn’t the same thing we usually think of.
Second, while I agree that we shouldn’t be showing our children American Beauty, I don’t think it’s possible for someone to become mature without first dealing with these kinds of nasty stories. For example, I have several childhood friends whose parents were quite restrictive (even by my parents’ standards, and they were pretty strict). I can see now that those parents acted out of love—they remembered the follies of their youth and didn’t want to see their kids repeat—but I don’t think “waiting for maturity” really worked for them. Most of those kids aren’t going to church any more, and what’s more, they don’t have a shred of discernment. What are we to make of that?
In the end, though, I have to admit that my main beef with Plato/Socrates is that they read the poets so poorly. They pay no attention to the story, only to isolated events that happen to send off warning bells. Kind of like a doctor that merely treats the symptoms while the cancer rages underneath the surface. I’m all for calling some stories bad or unhelpful for those you’re training, but don’t do it for mere cosmetic reasons. That never works out.
Frank,
Perhaps I’m missing an important detail, but aren’t you and Chris in complete agreement?
Davey,
I don’t know if you’re missing an important detail — I think I merely wanted to make a different emphasis. I agree (with Chris) that we need Plato’s heroes, but I think that some degree of complexity/nastiness is necessary in at least some of the stories we tell our children. Just like Mr S wouldn’t ever answer our questions fully in history, so it seems that our kids ought to be left wondering or confused about some things—they need to build up those “maturity” muscles somehow.
Or maybe I’m way off course. I’m still knocking this around, trying to get a reasonable explanation.