<p>In my last post I ruminated on the theme of response and responsibility, the theme of one of the panels at the Society for Classical Studies conference this year. In this post I’m going to build off of one of the images that the presenters repeatedly used to frame their work.</p>
<p>That image is the image of the guest. No doubt you have heard the expression, “The past is an another country. They do things differently there.” Basically the panelists were using the image of the guest to play upon the various responsibilities that we have to ancient Greece and Rome. On the one hand we can imagine ourselves as guests in their country. In such a predicament, we have the serious expectations to play along with the social mores and not get to excited when something seems seriously wrong. This approach is the approach of the purest historicism, in which our responsibility to ancient texts appears to be simply to try and understand the words in the context in which they were originally written. (By historicism in this context I mean an analysis that places everything in its historical context).</p>
<p>However, if we only approach ancient texts in this way, we seriously limit our ability to understand the power of these words. We also very much shoot ourselves in the foot in terms of understanding how and why Greek and Roman art, literature and philosophy has so many resonances in our own culture. For example, it’s clear that neither Thoreau nor Martin Luther King Jr. had such an approach in mind when they examined Plato’s description of Socrates, as they both used this figure in their own construction of ethical and political action. Indeed, I don’t think that it would be an exaggeration to say that readers such as Thoreau or MLK would have found a purely historicist reading of Plato’s Apology as very much missing the point. In other words, it is very easy to describe situations in which our responsibility to and arising from ancient texts is greater than simple historicism. In the case of the Apology, to focus solely on historicism is to miss power that this text has to shape the ethical direction of its readers.</p>
<p>Let us return to the image of the foreign guest. Just as through the power of imagination we can imagine ourselves as guests in antiquity, we can likewise imagine the people from antiquity as guests in our, contemporary world. Indeed, sometimes writers do just that, such as Goldstein’s Plato at the Googleplex. However, in a way, the ancients are our guests whenever we read their words, as we have decided that they are nonetheless worth our attention.</p>
<brk>What then do we make of guests to the present who are slave-owners?
<p>It much easier to imagine our responsibility of guests to the present who are slaves. The moral reflex is to at minimal provide them with safe haven, if not the additional resources to thrive in new freedom. Since these ancient slaves are dead, the same moral reflex would appear to guide us commemorate their lives at a minimum, if not take up the additional burden of reevaluating all of antiquity in light of their experiences.</p>
<brk>But again, the question of what do we make of guests to the present who are slave-owners?
<p>One response is simply to ignore it. Another response is to compartmentalize their identity, so that we can discuss them as slave-owners and as founders of moral philosophy. We can talk about them as slave-owners and as poets. Such a response seems to me unsatisfying. On the other hand, to only look at ancient writers as slave-owners seems to me to also be unsatisfying, similar to how it is now possible to evade any engagement, whether intellectual or political with Thomas Jefferson by simply reminding ourselves that he was slave-owner.</p>
<brk>What then is the way forward? What is our responsibility to ancient slave-owners?
<p>That image is the image of the guest. No doubt you have heard the expression, “The past is an another country. They do things differently there.” Basically the panelists were using the image of the guest to play upon the various responsibilities that we have to ancient Greece and Rome. On the one hand we can imagine ourselves as guests in their country. In such a predicament, we have the serious expectations to play along with the social mores and not get to excited when something seems seriously wrong. This approach is the approach of the purest historicism, in which our responsibility to ancient texts appears to be simply to try and understand the words in the context in which they were originally written. (By historicism in this context I mean an analysis that places everything in its historical context).</p>
<p>However, if we only approach ancient texts in this way, we seriously limit our ability to understand the power of these words. We also very much shoot ourselves in the foot in terms of understanding how and why Greek and Roman art, literature and philosophy has so many resonances in our own culture. For example, it’s clear that neither Thoreau nor Martin Luther King Jr. had such an approach in mind when they examined Plato’s description of Socrates, as they both used this figure in their own construction of ethical and political action. Indeed, I don’t think that it would be an exaggeration to say that readers such as Thoreau or MLK would have found a purely historicist reading of Plato’s Apology as very much missing the point. In other words, it is very easy to describe situations in which our responsibility to and arising from ancient texts is greater than simple historicism. In the case of the Apology, to focus solely on historicism is to miss power that this text has to shape the ethical direction of its readers.</p>
<p>Let us return to the image of the foreign guest. Just as through the power of imagination we can imagine ourselves as guests in antiquity, we can likewise imagine the people from antiquity as guests in our, contemporary world. Indeed, sometimes writers do just that, such as Goldstein’s Plato at the Googleplex. However, in a way, the ancients are our guests whenever we read their words, as we have decided that they are nonetheless worth our attention.</p>
<brk>What then do we make of guests to the present who are slave-owners?
<p>It much easier to imagine our responsibility of guests to the present who are slaves. The moral reflex is to at minimal provide them with safe haven, if not the additional resources to thrive in new freedom. Since these ancient slaves are dead, the same moral reflex would appear to guide us commemorate their lives at a minimum, if not take up the additional burden of reevaluating all of antiquity in light of their experiences.</p>
<brk>But again, the question of what do we make of guests to the present who are slave-owners?
<p>One response is simply to ignore it. Another response is to compartmentalize their identity, so that we can discuss them as slave-owners and as founders of moral philosophy. We can talk about them as slave-owners and as poets. Such a response seems to me unsatisfying. On the other hand, to only look at ancient writers as slave-owners seems to me to also be unsatisfying, similar to how it is now possible to evade any engagement, whether intellectual or political with Thomas Jefferson by simply reminding ourselves that he was slave-owner.</p>
<brk>What then is the way forward? What is our responsibility to ancient slave-owners?