Of course, Plato would have a cave in which prisoners of sorts would be held against their will and shown only shadows. I say of course, because, in his philosophy, everything was in fact a mere imitation. A replication, a shadow. And to have seen the object in its true form was something we, as puny humans, simply could not do. His philosophical story/question, from what I gather, is this, can we really use words to describe something that is in fact intangible? And if we use these words to imitate the imitated, can those words be trusted as truth?
Being a narrative writer, and a novice poet, I was immediately and selfishly offended. How could he question the use of a word; a word that was so carefully chosen by the writer? In short, his quick dismissal and scrutiny of these creative words was really irking me. But why? Why was I so hung up on some centuries old philosophy? Then, I thought, was there really some truth to this Cave business? Are we really just the audience in a higher order’s puppet show? All these questions flooded my mind, cutting off the circulation to the vocabulary parts of my brain. Why were we choosing certain words? Was there something to this idea that words are really meaningless? Or rather, that words are misleading. I thought back to all of the Shakespeare I’ve read; and the beautiful poetry the Bronte sisters published; and the stunning novels about war and coming of age. I’m sure that Plato wouldn’t have had a very profound love for these texts, as I do. But was owning and claiming the Writer title synonymous with the Liar title?
I’m still unsure about the truth of words. I can’t wrap my mind around the concept of words being nothing more than arbitrary sounds and letters stigmatized with definitions and connotations. And that these “definitions” are used to convey misconceptions, or inaccurate descriptions of something so indescribable. Perhaps more reading of Plato’s Republic will clarify or resolve this conflict I’m having.
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