Saturday 12th April 1980, Dr Kenny, the Master of Balliol, was giving a lecture in my seminar, the lecture to which I referred in my last post. On April 2nd 1980, the secret police wrote in the file entitled “Strojnik”: ‘Concerning Julius TOMIN, I propose: The lecture in his flat should be attended by 2 politically correct students of the FF UK [Philosophical Faculty at Charles University] with good knowledge of English and good knowledge of the history of Greek philosophy, and by a young operative [i.e. a Secret Police Member], who will become acquainted with the given theme. Following the lecture, these students will enter the discussion, pointing to Tomin’s inadequate grasp of the matter.’
In March 1980,
in my seminar, Bill Newton-Smith was giving a lecture on ‘The Rationality of
Science’. His lecture was interrupted by the Secret Police. Barbara Day writes
in The Velvet Philosophers: ‘On Monday 10th March 1980 the
Master of Balliol, Anthony Kenny, wrote a formal protest to Dr Zdenek Cernik,
the Czechoslovak Ambassador, asking what had been “improper” about
Newton-Smith’s behaviour. “I cannot conceive how there can have been anything
illegal in reading a philosophical paper on the role of reason in scientific
thinking to a private group of students.” He requested a meeting … Precisely a week later (19th March)
Professor Kenny was received at the Czechoslovak Embassy in London, not by the
Ambassador as he had requested, but by his second-in-command Dr Frantisek
Telicka. Professor Kenny subsequently recapitulated the content of the
conversation in a letter to Telicka. They mutually deplored the fact that the
incident “could be seen as an impediment to normal cultural relations on
academic matters”, and Telicka reluctantly allowed that maybe the police had
been “over-zealous” … Part of the purpose of Anthony Kenny’s visit to the
Czechoslovak Embassy on 19th March had been to ask for clear
guidance as to what was and was not permitted to academic visitors to
Czechoslovakia … Dr Kenny also needed to know on his own behalf, as he and his
wife were due to leave for Prague in the second week of April (p. 54-55).
On Saturday
12th April, the Master of Balliol and his wife sat in Tomin’s flat …
Kenny remembered: “We had more than an hour reading Aristotle together and we
had the impression that the police were going to leave us alone. We were
discussing the passage where Aristotle says that philosophy is the most noble
of all pursuits when the police came in.” (p. 57)
Anthony
Kenny, his American-born wife and
Jacques Laskar, who had been the first to be driven off to Bartolomejska
[police headquarters], were held until three in the morning and interrogated in
separate rooms … The Kennys were delivered to the same border-crossing with West
Germany as Newton-Smith, and, carrying their luggage, walked through the woods of
Rozvadov in the frosty dawn of an April morning. Tomin and his students remained
locked up for something over the statutory 48 hours.’ (p. 58)
***
I devoted to
Kenny’s visit the ‘PURSUIT OF PHILOSOPHY’, published in HISTORY OF POLITICAL
THOUGHT in 1984, which I put on my website. Follows the introductory part,
entitled ‘To Resume an Interrupted Discussion’:
My
discussion with Anthony Kenny on the right pursuit of philosophy took place in
Prague in April 1980. At that time my philosophy seminar had been harassed by
the Czech police, but we still managed to meet. The arrival of the Master of
Balliol was anticipated with great expectations. Some expected a catastrophe
which would definitely finish my seminar. I could not imagine the police
interfering once Kenny was granted the visas. That is why I hoped for a
breakthrough. If the police had refrained from harassing us in this case they
would hardly interfere on future occasions. My aspirations would have been
fulfilled. Prague would have had a place where once a week young people could
come and openly discuss philosophy. That would have given us strength to be as
free as the physical parameters of the situation allowed, free enough, I felt –
even without the possibility to travel abroad, to publish, and to speak in
public – to confront the system with a problem of governing a society with free
people in its midst. I hoped the regime could grow up to the task and so get
positively transformed without falling apart in the process. Hoping for the
continuation of my seminar I hoped for the optimal development of our country.
Our philosophy seminar was a step on the road towards a society which would
maintain the social and economical framework of socialism but would allow free
development of individuals,
Kenny
arrived at our apartment about half an hour before the actual beginning of the
seminar. It was essential for us – me and him – to discuss his talk a little
beforehand. It facilitated my task of interpreting it into Czech for the students.
Facing the hostile attitude of the Prague regime I had to operate on a week to
week basis, every talk had to be prepared so as to retain its meaning and be
worth the risk for the participants even if it was to be the last talk. That is
why I kept asking my visitors to present themes that would be central to their
thought, yet comprehensible to an audience without special preparation. Kenny
chose to talk about the pursuit of happiness in the Nicomachean and the Eudemian
Ethics. He dealt with the problem in his recently published The
Aristotelian Ethics (Oxford, 1978). In the book he proved, against the
dominant opinion of scholars, that it was the Eudemian Ethics which
contained Aristotle’s mature theory of ethics and that the three common books
disputed between the two treatises belonged originally to the Eudemian
Ethics. Though the matter as such was complex and involved highly technical
procedures Kenny believed that the main results could be presented in a clear
and intelligible manner, and what is more, contained a philosophic message of
current interest. He would begin the talk by presenting some texts from the Eudemian
and Nicomachean Ethics. Would I have a look at the passages in Greek?
I was
relieved when I saw the Nicomachean passage (10th book,
1177a12-b6). In my text it was heavily underlined and marked by an exclamation
mark. Though I had not read the text for years I was confident that little
would be needed to revive it in my mind. I began to sweat when I saw the
lengthy passage in the Eudemian Ethics. I had never read the Eudemian
Ethics. I would have loved to go through the text together with Kenny and
benefit from his help, but there was no time for it. The students began to
arrive. I excused myself and retired to the kitchen. I barely managed to read
the text once when my wife summoned me to open the seminar.
If I
remember it well, Kenny began with the Nicomachean passage. There, he
argued, happiness consists in contemplative activity and philosophy becomes
thus the primary source of happiness. For the Eudemian Ethics, to which
he came afterwards, happiness consisted of an ideal functioning of every part
of the soul. Kenny argued that the Eudemian conception was critical of
the Nicomachean conception. Let me quote from his book: ‘A person who
organized his life entirely with a view to the promotion of philosophical
speculation would be not wise but cunning, not phronimos but panourgos.
The type of person whom many regard as the hero of the Nicomachean Ethics
turns out, by the standards of the Eudemian Ethics, to be a vicious and
ignoble character.’ (p. 214)
We arrived
at the point where I had to exchange the role of an interpreter for the role of
a discussion partner: In the Nicomachean Ethics Aristotle considers the
life in philosophy to be the source of happiness because the activity of
intellect is the highest one. Why should I see it opposed to the ideal
functioning of the other parts of the soul in the Eudemian Ethics? May
not Aristotle be pointing in the direction of the theory fully developed in the
tenth book of the Nicomachean Ethics when he says in our Eudemian passage
that the End (to hou heneka, telos) is the best as being an End, since
it is assumed as being the best and ultimate, for the sake of which all the
other things exist? (1249b6-25) In the Nicomachean Ethics Aristotle puts
forward reasons why philosophy is the accomplished source of good life; he
points to its being most continuous and independent of external circumstances.
Even if deprived of exchanging ideas with his colleagues (sunergoi) he
may continue doing philosophy (1177a12-b1). This is especially important for us
in Prague who may face imprisonment any day. It further reminds me of Socrates.
In the Apology he says: ‘as long as I live and as long as I am able to I
will not stop doing philosophy.’
Kenny did
not oppose the ‘Socratic’ interpretation of the Nicomachean passage. He
questioned instead the philosophic credentials of Socrates. Wouldn’t I consider
Plato a much better philosopher? I could not accept the question as simply as that.
How can I accept that Plato was a better philosopher if Plato is full of
Socrates? It would prejudice my reading Plato. While reading the dialogues I
try to understand what was Socrates’ philosophy that it gave him strength to do
philosophy ‘as long as he breathed’ (29d4). But should I not better return to
my role of an interpreter? – At this point dozens of uniformed and plain-clothed
policemen stormed into the room.
***
As can be
seen, I eschewed the beginning of the seminar. Kenny opened the seminar by informing
the audience that in his lecture he will be referring to a passage from the Nicomachean
Ethics and a passage from the Eudemian Ethics of Aristotle. Then he
turned to me: ‘Julius, would you translate these two passages into Czech?’ I
replied: ‘Yes Tony. I shall read each sentence aloud in Greek, and then render
it in Czech.’
I had to
concentrate on what I was doing and could not think of anything else. But it
must have been a great show. It seems to have mesmerized even the Secret Police
experts who were undoubtedly sitting at their listening devices. They intervened
only when it all went wrong for Anthony Kenny. I was well prepared to discuss
the two passages, for I read the two passages very attentively just then and
there; the Nicomachean passage once, the Eudemian passage twice,
once in the kitchen, once for the audience. To this must be added my rethinking
and rendering each sentence in Czech. But Kenny appeared to be completely unprepared
for any discussion of Aristotle. It never occurred to him that I might comply
with his request and translate the two passages. I was to be exposed as ‘a
vicious and ignoble character by the standards of the Eudemian Ethics’.
***
How can I
make such an allegation? Let me answer this question with a few anecdotes.
During my
first year at Oxford I attended Owen’s seminar, which took place three times a
Term in London and was attended by the best classical philosophers from
Cambridge, Oxford, and London universities. We ‘read’ Aristotle’s Metaphysics
Z. I put ‘read’ in quotation marks; each session began with the translation of the
passage, which was then discussed. One day Richard Sorabji was the chosen man,
but he apologised for finding no time to prepare his translation. He suggested
that everybody should read and translate the given passage for himself. And so
we all sat quietly for some fifteen or twenty minutes, then we began to discuss
the passage.
In 1980/1981
my son Lukas was attending St Edward’s public school at Oxford, and Ancient Greek
was one of the subjects. He asked his teacher: ‘Do you read Plato in Greek?’
The teacher replied: ‘No, I don’t; there are better translations.’ In other
words, classicists (in Britain, in France, in Germany … in the Check Republic)
must translate the Greeks to understand what they say. As Lukas well knew, I understood
Greek directly in Greek, that’s why he asked his teacher as he did.
During my
first year at Oxford I attended Colin MacLeod’s seminar on Plotinus at Christ Church College. Colin realised what a
great advantage I had with my understanding Greek directly in Greek. He asked
me to translate a passage my way. I read each sentence of the passage aloud in
Greek, then gave its meaning in English. But we soon stopped it, for it was
clear that hearing the Ancient Greek didn’t help; it disturbed the others, or
they simply switched off.
In 1989 I
was having a seminar on Plato for students at Corpus Christi College. They read
Cohen’s ‘The Pub philosopher’: ‘Tomin’s most serious accusation is that
British classical philosophers cannot understand Ancient Greek and are
deliberately misleading their students … Tomin’s criticism has not been well
received. “It’s crap,” said Jonathan Barnes. “I have absolutely no idea how he
can say it. One of the relatively decent features of this university is that
people have to read the original texts, not the translations.”.’ They appeared
to have agreed with Barnes. And so I subjected them to a test. I chose the
student who could read the text aloud in Greek really well. I picked up one of
Plato’s dialogues and chose a passage at random. I asked the student to read
the first sentence aloud. She read it well. I asked her to translate it; she
did so brilliantly. I asked her to read the next sentence aloud, and when she
finished reading it, I covered it and asked her what she read. She could not
say. I said: ‘You did not know, what I was going to ask. But now you know. Read
the next sentence aloud; when you finish reading it, I’ll cover it and ask you
what you have read.’ Again, she could not say what she read. One cannot
translate a sentence at the same time as he/she is reading it aloud. But when
one understands Greek directly in Greek, reading any text aloud helps one’s
understanding it.
When I came
to Oxford, the most eminent classical philosopher in the English-speaking world
was Gregory Vlastos. Born in Constantinople, he was a Greek; but modern Greek
as one’s mother tongue does not help one to understand Ancient Greek. Gregory
Vlastos learned Ancient Greek in Harvard University. In 1991 he published his Socrates
at Cambridge University Press. On page 204, in his note on Aristippus, who ‘identified
happiness with pleasure’, Vlastos says: ‘Pace Xenophon’s hostile
portrayal of him [Aristippus] was undoubtedly a member of Socrates’ inner
circle, one of Socrates’ closest, most devoted friends, mentioned as present at
the death-bed scene by Plato (Phaedo 59c2-3). But in fact, Plato says
just the opposite. How did it happen to Vlastos that he read Plato wrongly? In
Ancient Greek texts, the question mark is expressed by semicolon. At 59c3
Echecrates asks: Aristippus kai Kleombrotos paregenonto; ‘Were
Aristippus and Cleombrotus there?’ If you miss the semicolon at 59c3 and read
it as a full stop, you get: ‘Aristippus and Cleombrotus were present.’
Obviously, Vlastos’ eyes never slipped to the next sentence, where Phaedo
answers: Ou deta ‘No’, en Aiginei gar elegonto einai. ‘They were
said to be in Aigina.’
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